It was not rare for the police to be crowding the streets this time of night, searching for those too drunk to make the adventure home. However, drunk after drunk had departed from the tavern, shoulders high about their ears, and not a one had been stopped.
“What on earth is goin’ on?” the barkeep mumbled.
Flipping the open sign over, the final patrons were ushered out on to the glossy streets, a few vulgar words spattering from loose mouths. Only one remained to investigate.
Policemen gathered like birds on a telephone line, bickering amongst themselves about motives and what their wives had made for dinner.
No eyes turned as the barkeep slipped through the ranks, hand falling to his pocket for a cigarette. He blew a puff lazily through the air, gazing through it at the deceased stuck to the riverside.
“One of yours?” came a voice from behind a thick, frost covered beard.
“Probably. Don’t recognize ‘im, though.”
True, he didn’t have a memorable face. No mustache or scar or particular missing teeth.
“Could be anyone.”