Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

the crime scene. Paton should have told the man about it in private but it was too late now. Paton was also conscious that he was under scrutiny for his commitment to the deputy role. The chief had commented about him rushing home on occasions when others worked on into the evening.

Yvonne’s call ended and she walked back into the room to press a key on her laptop. ‘Ready?’ She looked up and Paton nodded. ‘Our specialist forensic biologist usually attends scenes like this but unfortunately his wife went into labour early so he asked me to take photographs. He’s examined them and analysed the direction, speed and force of the spatter.’ Yvonne pointed to a photograph showing the wall of the cabin near the bedroom doorway.

Paton forced himself to look at the screen and inhaled deeply before letting his breath out slowly. He couldn’t make a fool of himself again. Maybe he should look into some sort of treatment for his phobia – Cognitive Behavioural Therapy or Neuro-Linguistic Programming. A bloody stage show hypnotist even.

‘If we look at the archways of this blood pattern we can see it’s from a pumping main artery. We already know the victim was stabbed in the heart and this is the correct height for that wound. What is interesting is the void in the spatter where the assailant stood. This tells us their height and width and also that their clothes and face must have been covered in blood. It also tells us that the assailant pulled the knife from the chest, allowing the blood to pump freely, and stabbed again, this time leaving the knife in the chest.’

Paton coughed and pointed at the photograph on the screen then said, ‘How do we know that void pattern outline isn’t just a witness?’

‘It’s almost impossible for more than two people to fit in the room alongside the single bed. If another person was on the bed we’d have seen their footprints in the blood as they left.’ Yvonne turned back to the screen but not before she’d frowned at him. Clearly she’d remembered him damaging the crime scene. ‘We also have smaller arcs of cast-off spatter here and here which indicate the victim was flailing his cut hand, possibly trying to defend himself.’

Paton braced himself for what was coming next.

‘There were some drops of blood on the floor that looked as though they’d dripped straight down from a larger wound – possibly a nose bleed – and we believe the victim may have struck the assailant when he tried to protect himself. Sadly, the evidence was contaminated so we couldn’t get photos or a sample of it.’

‘Contaminated? How?’ Superintendent Metcalf lifted his head sharply from his notebook and frowned. ‘Surely your main focus should be the preservation of evidence.’

Yvonne straightened her spine and pursed her lips. ‘I think you’ll find that it was one of your officers who put their bloody great foot in it and I’m talking literally here. The blood samples were mixed together.’

Paton knew he had to own up now or it would be worse for him. ‘I felt unwell, sir, and had to leave the room quickly. I didn’t want to add evidence of my own.’ He smiled ruefully as he remembered how sick he’d felt but no one reciprocated. ‘I caught Cheryl – DC Campbell – off-balance. She fell off the step plate and trod on the blood drips.’

‘Unless we have the perpetrator’s DNA on file it won’t make a significant difference plus there are other ways to collect DNA,’ Yvonne said.

Metcalf grunted and waved a hand at Yvonne. ‘Carry on.’

She gave Paton a small smile of thanks for saving her from criticism then turned her attention to the screen again. ‘These things happen,’ she said, then pressed a button on her laptop.

Another photo appeared, this time of the body on the floor. Paton swallowed several times. Raspberry jelly on a fruit flan. That’s what the shiny surface of the blood reminded him of. Bloody hell. Wendy had just made him one of those. When she started to feel better she always baked treats to show she was well again. He’d struggle to eat the flan now.

‘We looked at the pool of blood surrounding the body and how it had solidified at the edges.’

Paton’s stomach roiled and he swallowed.

‘After checking the ambient temperature of the room and the algor mortis of the deceased we’ve estimated the time of death as between 9am and 11am. We examined the knife for fingerprints but due to the amount of blood on it we were only able to find the victim’s prints and a partial print of another person. This partial is replicated on other kitchen items in the drawers, on the bed frame, coffee table and doors, which suggests the assailant was there for some time.’

That figured. Paton was confident now that this was a love tryst gone wrong. Maybe the lover discovered the existence of Mrs Nash.

‘We’ve also found hairs and fibres but as this property is a holiday rental there are numerous different DNA samples scattered around.’

Paton’s optimism faded. He’d been hoping the DNA would lead to one individual. Yvonne caught his expression and smiled at him. He was clearly in her good books now he’d confessed to his blunder.

‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘We’ve examined the body for DNA as well. We took a sample from the victim’s penis and found traces of vaginal fluid. We’re currently running the DNA through the police database for any match.’

Metcalf shifted in his seat. ‘What if the woman has never committed a crime before and isn’t known to us? Can you check the ancestry website databases and the clinics that carry out DNA tests? They must have thousands of samples of people checking their family relationships.’

Chapter 21

March | Sarah

I’m pulling on a denim jacket I’ve resurrected from my teenage wardrobe when the letterbox clatters and post falls to the mat. I rush forward and gather it up, shuffling through the junk leaflets