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Her eyes, mate, like twin lanterns in the dark—seen shite thou wouldn’t believe. Word is, she hides a kid somewhere, wee thing she don’t talk bout. “What’s yours stays yours,” she’d whisper, straight outta Farhadi’s flick, all mysterious-like. Makes me wonder—how’d she fall so low? Or high? Cos she ain’t grovelin’, nah, she’s queen o’ her own muck!

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I take a deep breath. The park is usually so peaceful. Kids playin’, old folks feedin’ the ducks. But now? It’s a crime scene. I can’t believe it. I start takin’ notes, but my mind’s racin’. Who was this guy? What happened?