Kiwi Mouldy

Detective Graff dropped his shoulders like so many high expectations. A gorgeous wife. A fast car. An easy case.

“Nothing,” he said.

He looked about the fraught little apartment belonging to one Luke Jonathan Drake. He’d inspected every crevice.

“Nothing.”

Officer Blake sat down at the computer. Still on, still warm. He opened the internet browser and clicked on bookmarks. A goldmine of places Drake had visited, traces Drake had left.

A list of sites popped up like a police line-up. He began to interrogate each one in turn.

http://clik.clak.free.fr/film_high.htm

"You got something, rookie?"

Blake closed the site.

"Nope, sir. Notta."

Kiwi mouldy, he thought. Blake still wasn't sure whether this was police work or poetry. He emailed himself Drake's bookmarks and history while Detective Graff was taking a piss.

As they were about to leave Blake took one last lingering look at the apartment. He opened his notepad to a different page.

Kiwi mouldy, he scribbled.