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Opening:
The problem with that old saying about the 'Fat lady singing' was that it didn't fit. It didn't fit Omera Fontaine. Not when she was alive. And not now she was dead.
Lance Fisher stepped up to the yellow line of tape and stopped.
Fontaine was sprawled out before the entrance to the Syndey Opera House like some strange avant-garde painting. Her legs were twisted. What was left of her face would have made Picasso look twice. She was thin. Reed thin. And dead. Oh so very dead.
Fisher turned away, fighting the bile that rose in his stomach. Wanting to shout and cry all at the same time.
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