“How’d you find out there was a body there?” the forensic odontologist asked, pulling on a pair of gloves. The smell of the septic tank lingered in the room, despite the body being covered by a white cloth.

“We received an anonymous tip, actually,” Detective Harvey Brandt answered, a coffee in one hand. Brandt was a balding middle-aged man, fit for his age, but well past his prime. His wispy hair was salt and pepper in colour, and his eyes were sunken into his face. His wrinkled face was the face of a man who had seen many a gruesome murder, and he had an impressive list of solved cases under his belt. Wrinkles lined his tanned face, but he was still a cheerful man, if a bit overprotective of his family.

He made sure to take a long windy route home; paranoia had struck him after receiving countless threats in court.

The odontologist, Lewis Murray, was a pot-bellied old man, his skin dark. He had a knack for picking up the unusual, and often worked alongside leading pathologists. Murray was actually well-known for his work in high-profile crimes, and his autobiography was a best seller in the country.

Murray pulled back the cloth to reveal the face. Usually a well-mannered and polite man, he swore under his breath.

The face of the dead man had been mutilated. His eyes had been gouged out, and it looked as if his face had been kicked in.

“I doubt you’ll get much out of it,” Brandt said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Whoever did it thought to remove the teeth.”

“Same as the other two, I see,” Murray noted, gently opening the mangled jaw. “He’s getting better at it.”

Murray and Brandt had worked together on several occasions. Brandt was the leading detective in the Missing Persons Unit, and he travelled across the country to investigate missing persons. This ranged from children who go out and don’t return, to unidentified bodies turning up.

He had taken up this case after the unusual circumstances it was in. In a small city in rural Australia, an anonymous tipper had rung the police station, telling them that there was a body on a farm just on the outskirts of the town. The tipper had insisted they dig past the dead dog.

It was eerily specific details, but the tipper ended the conversation before she could be questioned further. Sure enough, when they bothered to investigate, they found a small grave, a hole just big enough to hold the dead German shepherd. After pulling the dog out, they dug a little bit further, and came across the top of a head. Whoever had dug the grave had had a lot of dedication, bothering to bury the corpse vertically.

It was a man, most of his teeth removed and his face kicked in. His fingers had been burned, so there were no prints. He was unidentifiable, and no one had been reported missing who could possibly fit the description of the dead man. It was believed that he died after sustaining a blow to the back of the head.

The farmer was still undergoing questioning, but there was little evidence to suggest it was him.

The second one was far more gruesome. The body had been drained of blood, and roughly hacked to pieces. The teeth were all removed, and despite having not yet found the hands, there was no doubt that the prints would be removed.

This one they had a possible victim name. Roger Jeeves, an ex-bikie who had been suspected of murdering several hitch-hikers. Due to the lack of evidence, Jeeves hadn’t been taken into custody. They had contacted Jeeves’ brother for a DNA sample and were waiting for the results. His wife had reported him missing a fortnight ago, a week after he had been murdered. She was afraid that hers and her husband’s background would land them in trouble.

The body pieces had been scattered around a farm on the other side of town. All that was really known about the killer was that he knew what he was doing, and that he must have had some form of transport to get from one farm to another. They weren’t even entirely certain he was a male, but the tip had given it away.

The third and most recent one had been dumped in a septic tank. Brandt suspected the killer was a local, and knew many of the farmers. How else could he know of all these farms and when would be the best time to dispose of the bodies.

“The tipper, what do you know of him?” Murray asked.

“Suspected female, young, though the phone often distorts the voice. Every call has been made from various phone booths around the town. We believe she’s close to the killer, but too afraid to come to us directly,” Brandt answered. He had read the conversation between the officers she had spoken to and her, and had no doubt that she knew the killer personally.

It was unknown what the link between the victims and the killers were, but Brandt knew that Jeeves would have a lot of enemies. Even his own wife wasn’t ruled out as a suspect.

“Strong lad, being able to carry all these bodies,” Murray muttered to himself, examining the mouth.

Brandt grunted in agreement, but before he had a chance to say anything, the shrill ring of his phone startled the two men. He pulled it out of his pocket, flipping it open. His daughter had tried to encourage him to buy a new phone, but he was happy with his old flip phone.

“Brandt speaking,” he answered shortly.

The voice on the end of the line was Susan O’Connor, a senior officer in this small town with a scratchy voice.

“The tipper called in again. Police are already on their way to the scene, but they’re doubtful of finding a body, let alone any evidence,” she told him, her voice grave.

“Why would they be doubtful of finding a body?” Brandt asked. Surely the killer wasn’t so skilled he could dispose of any evidence, the body included?

“It’s at a pig farm. There may not be any of the body left,” O’Connor answered, with a sigh. This town had never seen the likes of a serial killer before, with murders few and far between. Brandt could tell it was wearing the local police down. The Academy may tell you what to expect, but it never fully prepares you.

Brandt swore. If they were lucky the killer would have just dumped the body whole. Pigs weren’t inclined to attempt to eat larger bones. He had investigated a case before he joined the Missing Persons Unit where a man had died of a stroke while feeding his pigs. When they found him a large portion of his body had been devoured, and had he been left longer, only the larger bones would have remained.

“Send me the address,” Brandt finally told O’Connor, before shutting his phone.

“Another murder?” Murray asked, not even looking up.

Brandt nodded, his face grim.