She moved with the sinuous grace of a dancer or a thief; sleek and deadly. Her eyes were wide, feigning innocence. Hiding secrets… She licked her lips, as if she liked the taste of blood.
The crime scene didn’t faze her, yet it was the worst I had ever seen. In my job, you see things you don’t want to remember.
He’d been cornered, caught in a dead end, a trap with no way out.
Blood spattered high up the walls. Gobbets of rent flesh clung to the paintwork. Dismembered life festered in scarlet pools on the pale carpet. The only thing she’d left intact was a foot, just one.
God knows what she’d done with the rest of him…
He must have struggled… fought back… the violence of the attack, the carnage…sickening.
This wasn’t just murder. This was slaughter.
I was glad I’d only had coffee. The clean-up was…
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