The Twisted Knot by J.M. Peace

in there? Long enough for the dog to get hungry. Definitely since yesterday if there was no sign of him when that scarecrow was lit up. Another hour’s not going to make any difference.’
    â€˜So, there’s a ped in the shed and he’s dead,’ Sammi said wryly.
    â€˜And it fills me with dread,’ Bob quipped back.
    â€˜I bet Dr Seuss never wrote that story,’ Sammi muttered. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and headed back towards the car away from the smell.
    It took her two calls to get hold of Terry but he wasn’t too far away and agreed to come out immediately. She noticed Bob had re-entered the house. He emerged and held up something small and grey in his gloved hand.
    â€˜Clicker for the remote control shed door,’ he said with a smile. ‘At least that’s what I hope it is. I found it in the kitchen.’
    â€˜Good one. Terry should be here in about ten, so we might as well wait,’ Sammi answered.
    â€˜Why don’t you try to get onto the senior and let him know the situation,’ Bob said. ‘Keep him up to date. He’ll appreciate that.’
    Sammi nodded and dialled the station.
    *
    They met Terry as he parked next to their vehicle on the front lawn. Sammi liked Terry Cousens. He was friendly and easygoing. He was also the least experienced of the CIB staff. He had only recently moved to the Crossing and was still a plain clothes constable, working towards the right to call himself a detective.
    â€˜So, tell me why I’m at a possible suicide where you haven’t even confirmed there’s a body?’ he asked.
    â€˜The bloke who lives here’s called Peter Woodford. He got off a pedophile charge several years ago. There’s rampant rumours around the town that he’s abusing another girl. But we haven’t been able to identify another complainant and no one’s coming forward with any info. And . . .’ Sammi gestured to the scarecrow, ‘. . . the townsfolk are getting restless.’
    Terry turned to examine the burnt scarecrow. ‘Ah, this is going to turn bad, isn’t it?’
    Bob held up the remote control. ‘Action’s in the shed.’ He offered it to Terry but the younger man held up his hands, refusing to touch it.
    â€˜Nah, mate. This isn’t a CIB job until it’s suspicious.’
    Bob snorted. ‘Just a matter of time.’ He led the way around to the shed.
    The three of them stood expectantly in front of the door while Bob pressed the remote button. With a click, the motor slid into gear and the door started its slow climb upwards, like a macabre curtain-raising.
    And so it was that the feet came into view first, suspended about a half-metre off the ground, a dark puddle below them. The rising door revealed a bloated body, clothes stained shades of brown with bodily fluid. Then the face, black and puffy, eyes swollen shut as if the man had been bashed before death, the black slug of a tongue forcing its way past the peeling lips. Sammi knew it was all normal discolouration and bloating for decomposing flesh. Only the forensic pathologist would be able to tell if there was bruising, and even then, it wouldn’t be certain with this amount of decomposition.
    The body was hanging from the rafters of the shed. It was clear to Sammi that it had been there for some time, though the heat generated in the closed-up shed would have quickened the decomposition. Maggots crawled around the man’s mouth and eyes, giving an illusion of movement. A chair lay on its side behind him. He was wearing the uniform of farmers around the state – a dark blue singlet and stubbies. The shorts were stained dark with fluid and, inevitably, his uncontrolled bodily functions.
    The three of them stood and looked for a moment. They had all seen decaying bodies before, but it was still unpleasant and no one was in a hurry to enter.
    Terry was the first to speak. ‘Fuck. Why