66

THERE WAS NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY ON THE ground floor, but we hadn’t expected there would be. I wasn’t even surprised to find a nearly empty rubbish bin in the kitchen and a fridge in which everything seemed fresh. There was nothing to explain the bad smell. Two minutes after starting our search, Mizon and I stood at the bottom of the stairs.

‘We could call it in,’ she said.

‘What if we’re wrong?’ I replied.

‘We didn’t bring gloves.’

‘We’re only going to look.’

Still we didn’t move.

‘We have to,’ I said, and before I could change my mind, took the first step up. That seemed to bring its own momentum and I was soon at the top. Mizon, to do her justice, was right behind me. There were five closed doors on the first floor.

‘Start at this end,’ suggested Mizon, indicating the door nearest to us.

‘Not sure that’s necessary,’ I said. Mizon followed my sight line and gave a quiet moan when she saw the cluster of flies hovering around the furthest door.

‘I’m calling this in,’ she said. She got her radio out of her bag.

‘Wait just a sec.’

The corridor wasn’t wide enough for two of us so I led the way towards the front of the house. When we reached the door, I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and pushed it open.

Behind me, Mizon made an odd gulping sound and stepped back into the corridor. I could hear her on the radio, contacting Control, requesting immediate presence. I took a step further into the room. Quite close enough. The flies sensed an intruder and their steady drone took on an angry sound.

The body of Karen Curtis lay on the large double bed. The bedspread was the old-fashioned type that I think is called a candlewick. Long narrow grooves ran across the fabric. The grooves had acted as channels for Karen’s blood, taking it away from her terrible wound, across the bed and down on to the flower-patterned carpet. Karen had been overweight, dressed in blue trousers and a brightly patterned smock. Her shoes on the pillow looked expensive and she’d been killed wearing a chunky amber necklace. It lay at the foot of the bed.

I heard Mizon come back into the room.

Karen hadn’t been tortured that I could see. She’d probably been killed quickly. All this was assuming, of course, that it really was Karen I was looking at. Because it was impossible to be sure. Mizon and I had seen Karen’s photograph downstairs, we knew exactly what she looked like. It wasn’t going to help us much. This woman’s head was nowhere to be seen.