The phone call came at a little after one in the morning. Violet had just slipped into an exquisite dream involving Hugh Jackman, handcuffs and a tub of whipped cream when the shrill chirp of the bedside telephone shattered the delicious delusion!
“Damn and bugger it!” Violet groaned, opting to try and block out the bloody irritating noise at first by pulling the pillow tight about her ears. When after ten seconds or so the ringing suddenly stopped, she thought that she had won. But as she plumped up the pillow and settled back down to try and recapture the naughty nocturnal vision, the phone started screaming at her once more.
“Yes?” she snapped after snatching the receiver from its cradle. She was neither able nor bothered to conceal her annoyance.
“Sergeant?” she heard the familiar rasping tone of her subordinate.
“What is it, Müller?” she answered, still riled. “You do realise what time it is?”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” Müller apologised with not a hint of genuine contrition in his voice. “But we've had a development down here at the station and I thought you would want to be brought into the loop.”
Violet sighed. “For God's sake, just speak English, Müller. What the hell do you want?”
“I really think you need to see for yourself,” was all that Müller would say. “I'll pick you up outside your apartment in fifteen minutes.”
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