What happened that night was like a strong spirit; the aftertaste lingered in his bones the next morning.
The sky had just fully brightened when Victor drove the garishly pink Porsche into the police station car park. Sunlight fell on the car’s bodywork, blindingly bright, as though it had no business being at a place like the police station. It was surrounded by cars in dull, utilitarian colours; only this one stood out, as flashy as a beautiful woman in the wrong outfit.
As Victor closed the car door, he was still holding the picture frame that he had brought from Villa 76 the previous day.
It wasn’t heavy, but he’d brought it with him that morning, not because it took up space, but because the blood-stained words written on the back of the photo had been weighing on his mind. It wasn
