Time of Death
Peter took a deep breath and pushed open the door, entering the morgue surreptitiously. The pathologist was placing his instruments into the autoclave and the victim was covered from the head down with a long white sheet.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw how white her complexion was, so different from yesterday. There were no marks on her face, but her neck was deep red and there were many bruises, scrapes and abrasions.
He shivered. It was icy cold. He didn’t know how they could work in such a challenging environment, but he knew that it was necessary.
The Doctor must have heard him entering and he looked across the room.
“Oh it’s you Inspector …”
“… Still creeping up on people then,” he quipped.
Peter’s expression remained fixed and focused,
“Just need an indication of the time of death,” he retorted.
“As far as I can ascertain, it was between 10 and 11pm but I’ll have to make a secondary examination to be absolutely sure.”
Peter made a wry face, he knew the time of death to within a minute or two.
He had entered the house undetected, and waited silently behind the living room door. She turned off the TV and came into the hall.
He pounced from the shadows and went straight for the neck, encircling it with black leather gloves. He pulled her close to him, lifting her clear from the floor with surprising adrenalin fueled strength. She writhed frenetically.
Her movements became spasmodic and the strange gurgling sounds decreased.
He held her gaze as her pupils slowly dilated and her lips turned blue.
Time seemed to stand still.
Then she was no more. Her spark extinguished, her corpse lifeless and burdensome.
He let her drop to the ground. Checked to make sure his presence would remain undetected and left expeditiously, retreating back into the night.
Peter turned to face the Doctor and said grimly.
“We’ll get the bastard Doc!”
This fortnights subject provided by Laura Gabrielle Feasey (thanks Laura!) for Friday Fictioneers is Ice. I do hope this tale is sufficiently chilly 😉