“Bah humbug.” Inspector Brown muttered as he stomped his feet in a futile attempt to force some feeling back. He loathed Christmas. It was like the bat signal for nut-jobs and he invariably found himself freezing his balls off in some redneck’s backyard.
At least his partner was the one having to wrestle the suspect into their car, some pimply kid who kept screaming about a snowman even when his bloody fingerprints covered the knife. Inspector Brown frowned at that self-same snowman, which stared contemptuously back.“Must be losing it.” He muttered. “Could have sworn he wasn’t so close before.”