[George Simmers]

What I like about Scandicrime is the grimness, misery and self-loathing. Here's my effort:

She had seen this kind of face too often in police mugshots. Strained eyes, poor complexion, a resentful pout. Inspector Jetta Nellstrom turned away from her reflection, shuddering, to consider the herring on her plate.
The telephone rang. Jetta grabbed it eagerly, hoping that this might be Grund with some fresh lead on the murders, but it was only her mother again, telephoning as usual to berate her failure as a daughter, and her taste in knitwear.
Outside, the rain fell more steadily. The phone again, and this time it was Grund. ‘Another disembowelling,’ he told her, ‘This victim is a greengrocer.’ He did not try to hide the satisfaction in his voice; her theory had been wide of the mark. ‘I’ll be right over,’ she told him flatly, sweeping her untasted herring into the bin. From now on, she instinctively knew, things would only get worse

[Janice D. Soderling]

That is s-o-o-o funny. Excellent.

[Lance Levens]

Hedwig "The Scowler" Henson finished sharpening her Swiss Bauchschneider. Struggling to appear cheerful, she thought happy thoughts and admired its glinting in the sun and the words etched into it: Hilarem gladium diligit Deus (God loves a cheerful blade). The knife was four feet of tingling titanium from grip to tip, precisely what she needed to deal with "His Rotundity" Roland "Tiny" d'Anterre, the billionaire French arms dealer who at that moment was screaming with corpulent joy in his butchered Swedish as he hurtled down the advanced slope on skis specially designed to balance his four hundred pounds of mostly Caille en Sarcophage. She loathed happy people, especially obese happy people, especially obese happy Frenchmen. Her upper lip twitched, which for her was a stomach splitting guffaw. Concealed behind a boulder she waited and sipped water laced with Zoloft which reminded her she had to locate a new therapist in Stockholm. Her joy faded as she recalled the dark time was drawing near. No one should face the dark time without at least one, preferably two therapists. In a few moments she heard that unmistakable glottal gibberish drawing ever closer, gripped the handle with both hands, reared back with her best Babe Ruth whallop, and gutted him like a flying tomato.

[Jayne Osborn]

What was it George said about 'grimness', Lance? Cor, that's grim, right enough!

(In my usual school ma'am-ly role, you don't need an apostrophe on its in the second sentence, and I'm wondering whether 'rared back' should be 'reared'.)

Hope you don't mind a small suggestion: you have 'flying' twice in your last sentence; the grim ending (it makes me shiver ) would be better as a completely fresh image IMO.

Jayne

[Lance Levens]

Jayne

Corrections made. Many, many thanks.