‘I’m sorry, sir but…’

‘Are you Dobson? I’m Mobbs. Inspector Mobbs.’

‘Sorry sir. Didn’t know you’d be along. They said you’d need to acclimatise…’

‘Hardly the Himalayas, Hobson.’

‘No sir. And it’s Robson.’

‘Right. What have we got?’

‘It’s… well it’s a local… that is, around here…’

‘I was told there was a body.’

‘Yes sir. Only…’

‘Look Jonson, I’ve seen all sorts as a copper. Let’s have a peek.’

‘I really ought to warn you…’

‘Warn me, Sergeant? What’s going on?’

‘The Superintendent told me he’d explain. About this place.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve yet to meet the Super. When I heard there was a body in the sea I diverted straight here. Would you like to show me, or do I have to find it myself?’

‘This way, sir. Maybe I should explain as we go.’

‘Feel free.’

‘Right, well, see this spot is magical.’

‘It’s alright but a beach is a beach. I prefer cliffs myself, if we’re talking picturesque.’

‘No, I mean this place is full of magic.’

‘Spells and stuff?’

‘More your fairy mafia.’

‘This a wind up? We had a large gay community in Basildon and a few could get a little terse on a Friday when the clubs shut, but you’d hardly say the LGBTQ+ community was a natural fit for a gang. Especially out here.’

‘Just round the corner, sir. No, I wasn’t alluding to, well, you know their sexuality. I meant mystical persons. Sprites and goblins and the like. Here we go. Can you see it?’

‘Good grief! What in all the worlds is that?’

‘A Hagrid, sir. A type of giant popularised by the Scottish literati. They are quite sociable, easily led and appalling cooks. Often the Pan Gang use them as muscle.’

‘Why haven’t you brought it on shore? It looks like it might float away and if it stays there any forensics will be lost.’

‘Maybe we should wait for the Super, sir. He’ll explain better than me.’

‘Don’t waste time, Thomson. You must realise we need to preserve the evidence.’

‘Robson, sir. There’s no problem with that, sir. Not with a Hagrid. They tend to… self preserve.’

‘Are you taking the p…?’

‘No sir. It’s just that their blood is so thick it doesn’t so much clot as set. Like concrete. He’s already bound to the floor of the causeway and in another hour, when rigor has set in, he’ll have become another island.’

‘Another? Those…?’

‘Yes sir. Exactly. Outsiders like to think these are ancient rock formations but actually they’re more akin to your common or garden body in a motorway bridge.’

But there must be… hundreds.’

‘It’s been tough. The Griffin Gang has been trying to spell its way in but Pan’s People won’t have none of it.’

‘How on earth did they kill him, then? He’s huge.’

‘Indeed. We suspect the Griffin brothers have used a psychotic Driadal Minotaur to garrotte him. Hagrids are tough but they move with the grace of a collapsing chimney. Get behind one and you’re pretty safe.’

‘So, let me get this right. There’s been a suspicious death of an extremely large individual who is currently metamorphosing into an island and we think the killer is a hybrid hybrid of magical and mystical proportions?’

‘That’s about it, sir.’

‘And this all gang related?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And do we bother with forensics?’

‘We need a new diamond cutter, so for now, no. Still it’s not like we’re going to lose anything.’

‘And this is normal?’

‘Pretty standard, sir. I thought they’d have explained.’

‘I feel faint.’

‘Newcomers usually do, sir. Still it could be worse.’

‘Worse? How can it be worse?’

‘You should see what it’s like in town after the clubs close on a Saturday. Still, if you’ve experienced Basildon, I imagine you’ve seen everything…’

This was written in response to the latest #writephoto prompt