He couldn’t take his eyes off the young woman seated at the far end of the bar table. Iain sipped on his beer as he looked at her, contemplating if he should go and chat her up.

By usual Friday night standards, The Bulldog Bar was relatively empty. Iain took a good, long chug of his beer. He felt it go down his system and embraced its gentle intoxicating effects. He picked up his pint and walked towards her.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” she replied with a smile as she turned toward him, revealing a face that any man would fall in love with. Her silky, blonde locks fell carelessly over her shoulders.

She held his gaze for a second.

Damn… Iain thought to himself as he looked into her emerald-green eyes.

“I’m Iain. And you are?”

“Rose. Rose Henderson.”

“What’s a fine woman like you doing all by yourself at a bar like this on a Friday night?”

She looked into his eyes once more, trying to suss him out. “What’s a fine man like you doing all by yourself at a bar like this on a Friday night?” she asked with a cheeky grin and sipped on what looked like a vodka martini by Iain’s guess.

“At worst trying to get drunk by myself and at best meeting a fine woman like you.”

He sure was smooth, Rose thought to herself. She hadn’t realized she had gently begun biting the side of her lip. “You could say I’m doing the same as you are.”

Iain’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a tingle in his stomach. He smiled and they continued talking. They started slow but hit it off brilliantly after four more beers and three more martinis.

It had been close to 1 a.m. when Iain hit the jackpot he never thought he would that night.

“Would you like to come over to my place for a bit?” she asked. “I have some wine if you fancy.”

“Sure,” said Iain with a smile.

                 

It was biting cold and wet. What more could you expect from a January winter’s night in Edinburgh. It was a twenty-minute walk from The Bulldog on Clerk Street to where Rose’s apartment was on a quiet mew by Dublin Street. They had chatted and laughed nonchalantly all the way as they walked through the wet cobbled stone alleyways, rubbing against each other on the rare occasion, with the Edinburgh Castle watching over them on a mount in the distance. It had all felt easy and natural.

Rose opened the doors to a regally decorated one-bedroom apartment. It was small but cozy and classy, nevertheless. She removed her fur coat, slowly revealing the shimmery black dress that had not failed to catch Iain’s attention the first time he had laid eyes on her that evening.

“What do you think of my place?” asked Rose as she sat on her bed in an enticing manner, crossing one leg on top of the other.

“Beautiful,” said Iain as he took a sip of the wine, not taking his gaze away from her.

He looked straight into her eyes and she into his, the same way they had done the entire night, full of an unknowing passion and desire. Before they knew it, he was naked with her under the sheets, lips jamming against hers violently while their bodies merged, undulating rhythmically to an erotic symphony of moans and cries of pleasure.

                   

Iain awoke reluctantly under the sheets with a splitting headache. The rays of light from the window facing the bed tickled his eyes enough to wake him up from a deep sleep. It was one of the best nights he had had in a while. He realized he was still naked from last night and in his blurry, morning vision could see Rose asleep, turned over to the other side. He looked at his watch. 12 p.m.

“Rose…” he shook her gently on the shoulder trying to wake her up. “Are you hungry? Should I make us something to eat?” No response. He edged closer and shook her on the shoulder again. Nothing. He pulled her shoulder towards him and turned her body around. The moment her body fell lifelessly toward him, he felt the bile in his stomach rush out through his throat. The entire side of the bed was covered with blood and her neck had a gash so deep that her head was close to decapitation. Iain slapped his cheeks so hard trying to convince himself it was just a dream but soon realized it wasn’t. With trembling hands, he called the police.

                     

 Detective Inspector Alan Scott from the Major Investigation Teams sat stone faced across the table. The room was plain except for a large, dark glass panel on one side of the cement wall.

“So, you’re telling me you went out drinking, hooked up with her and woke up next to her dead body the following morning?”

“Yes, sir,” said Iain, with a tremble in his voice.

“You don’t remember anything in between?”

“Nope.”

Alan stared Iain in the eyes, unconvinced. He had a menacing face despite his lightly framed stature. “There were no signs of forced entry and nothing to suggest that there was a third party in the premises between the time she was alive and the time she was found dead.” He paused. “That puts you and only yourself in the crime scene at the specified time of the crime making you the prime suspect in this case.”

The word ‘prime suspect’ rang like a bell in Iain’s ears. He regretted drinking so much. He regretted giving in to his lust. He regretted everything.

“I told you that I suffer from auto-brewery syndrome. Which means every time I drink, even a little, I get overly drunk and pass out because my body turns anything sugary into alcohol naturally. The last thing I remember was getting into bed with her and then everything went black. The next morning, I woke up next to her and she was dead.” Iain’s hands were trembling.

“So…What… A ghost killed her?” Alan asked, with a heavy dash of sarcasm.

“All I know is that I did not kill her. Someone else must have broken in and done it. I passed out after you know… the sex.” Iain had to defend his innocence. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life languishing behind bars. “Besides, I was the one who called you guys in the first place. Why would I call the police if I had killed her?”

“If you confess, we can sort out a lesser sentence.”

“How can I confess to something I did not do?”

Alan bit his teeth and swallowed hard. He stood up and walked out of the room closing the door behind him. He entered an adjacent room where a tall, large man stood behind the glass panel, arms crossed.

“I guess we have no other choice but to release him, Sir. There’s no murder weapon and there’s no conclusive forensic evidence that links him to the murder apart from the fact that he lay piss drunk next her the whole night.”

Detective Chief Superintendent James Tennant took one last look at Iain sitting helplessly in the small room, turned towards his subordinate and nodded his head gently.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

No. Don’t do it, Iain tried to control himself, but his inner beast kept getting the better of him. He chugged on his beer and placed it on the side table. It was his seventh pint after the six he had had at The Bulldog. He looked at the sublime figure seated on the couch beside him. Her white shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the lining of a black bra that cupped perfectly shaped breasts, just the kind that turned him on.

“What are you waiting for Iain?” she asked, her voice permeating a raunchiness that he had longed for. She began unbuttoning her shirt one by one, seductively teasing him into the moment.

Iain couldn’t believe his luck again. Just a few hours ago, this stunning figure had sat down next to him at the bar and now he was sitting next to her, in her home, on her couch. Her shirt was off now.

What are you waiting for Iain?

He loosened his jeans and went straight for her. He rammed his lips into hers and began feeling the adrenaline rush down his spine. She held him by the neck and ran her fingers violently through his hair, a clear indication that she wanted to be in control. They went at it with a passion that was both lustful and plastic at the same time.

She felt his right-hand slip behind his jeans. She was prepared for what was coming next. Their lips were still locked. The moment she saw the sliver of the sharp blade in his grip come out for her neck, her muscle memory kicked in. She knocked the blade off his hand, disarming and overpowering him a single, slick move. She was now sitting on his back with his hands bound in a cable tie, pointing a gun at the back of his neck.

“Mr. Iain Ferguson. You seem perfectly sane and conscious after seven pints of beer, and I don’t see any signs of auto-brewery syndrome. I’m taking you in for your suspected involvement in the murder of Rose Henderson and your attempted murder of me. By the way, I’m not Chloe. My name is Detective Sergeant Karen Macdonald. Scotland Police.”