Page 2 of Killing Mind
Keats looked to her. She shrugged, having just as much an idea about his sour mood.
Keats stepped aside to reveal a room bathed in red.
Her keen sense of smell had already detected the metallic odour of blood. She could feel the sickly aroma wafting around her, sticking to her clothes, attaching itself to her hair. It would stay with her all day. But the smell had not prepared her for the quantity.
‘Oh my…’ Kim muttered, taking a step over the threshold.
Blood had sprayed around the walls, onto the ceiling and onto the window that was closest to the bed, upon which lay a young woman with a three-inch gash across her throat.
Her hand lay by the right side of her torso; a knife contained loosely in her grasp. Along with the blood that had sprayed around the room a line led from the wound down onto her breastbone and around into her long blonde hair. Cold, empty blue eyes stared up at the ceiling from a face that, despite its bloodless complexion, was lineless and pretty.
‘The carotid?’ Kim asked, removing her gaze for just a minute.
Keats nodded. ‘She clearly knew where it was and meant to end her own life.’
Kim could understand his reasoning. This wasn’t the first suicide they’d attended together but it was the first she’d seen where the person had cut their own throat. More common methods included overdosing, hanging and cutting the wrists. Some of which were cries for help and others definite attempts to end a life. But she’d never seen one as definite as this. If you knew where the carotid arteries were and you decided to take a knife to one of them, you weren’t expecting anyone to come and save you in the nick of time.
‘How long?’ Kim asked.
‘I’d estimate her time of…’
‘I meant how long would it have taken her to die?’ Kim asked, walking around the bed.
The room was sparsely furnished with only a bedside table and lamp to the left of the double bed, which was decorated with a white cotton quilt bearing daisies beneath the blood. On the window sill was a Jo Malone candle still wrapped with cellophane.
‘A couple of minutes,’ Keats stated. ‘After the initial spurting, it takes a short while for the body to bleed out. She would have lapsed into unconsciousness before her heart eventually stopped.’
Kim nodded coming back to the foot of the bed.
What were you thinking for those few moments? Kim wondered, looking at the peaceful expression on the girl’s unlined face. Were you frightened? Relieved? Content with your decision?
Kim knew she’d never get those answers.
‘No sign of forced entry or a struggle,’ Bryant said from behind. She hadn’t been aware he’d left the room to check.
‘Who raised the alarm?’ Kim asked, taking one last look over the body from the bare feet, cotton trousers, tee shirt to the blood spatter on her right hand.
‘Woman downstairs took her dog out into the garden before leaving for work at 8 a.m. Looked up and saw the blood on the glass. Knocked the door and called the police. Landlord was here by the time the police arrived and let them in,’ Keats answered.
‘Door was locked?’ she confirmed.
‘Landlord said so, and I’d estimate her death somewhere between nine and eleven last night.’
Kim acknowledged the information with a slight nod.
‘You ready to call it suicide, Inspector?’ Keats asked, knowing they had to be in agreement before he recorded it. Keats would still need to perform a full post-mortem back at the lab, as dictated by the coroner for a suicide, but he would not be searching for clues on her behalf. Her involvement with the victim would end here.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Samantha Brown,’ Bryant answered from the door. ‘Twenty-one years of age.’
Kim formed the mental checklist in her mind.
No sign of a struggle. No forced entry. Locked door. Method obvious to observers and achievable.
Well, Samantha, if this is what you really wanted, I hope you’re finally free of your pain and you’ll suffer no more, Kim thought, looking down at the lifeless face.
‘Inspector, are you ready to call it?’ Keats repeated.
