Never in my thirty years of life did I ever imagine I’d be part of a murder investigation.

I work at a dry-cleaners for gods sake.

I wake up.

I get to work bright and early.

I do my job, check the pockets for forgotten change and trinkets.

And I go home as soon as I can.

Checking the pockets was how it started.

That was the event that sent me spiraling into this web of interviews and interrogations. Police tape and flashing lights.

I was just doing a routine check, and I reached into a pocket of a ratty old denim jacket.

The jacket itself was nothing much to look at. Frayed and worn, stains dotting the sleeves.

I reached in to the depths of the pocket and touched something small, and round, a little sticky.

I was instantly disgusted, I thought it was chewed gum, but I pulled the item out anyway, drivin my curiosity.

When I saw what I held my stomach dropped through the floor and I couldn’t move. I was frozen in my fear and shock.

A thumb…

A fucking severed thumb!!!