‘I want checkpoints placed on all routes out of town,’ Inspector Olafsson said.
‘Are you sure?’ the local police officer replied.
They both glanced over at the husband, his hands and chest covered in blood, his eyes vacant.
Olfasson sighed. Despite the dozen murders that happened each year in Iceland’s burgeoning crime fiction, he’d only investigated seven homicides in ten years. All but one had been an open and shut case, solved within a few hours.
This would be no different, but he wasn’t willing to sign-off the inquiry just yet.
‘We need to cover all possibilities,’ he said morbidly.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.