Hindsight (9781921997211) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Melanie Casey
into an exhausted sleep.
After the breakdown, Ed sank into a pit of alcohol and depression. He couldnât get out of bed, couldnât eat, couldnât be bothered doing anything. The only thing that took away the pain was the booze, and that didnât last for long enough.
Three months passed in a drunken stupor until Phil finally reached the limit of her tolerance. She marched in one morning, dragged Ed out of bed and forced him into a freezing cold shower. She made him eat and drink what felt to him like a litre of black coffee and then she started talking.
She told him that she couldnât imagine what he was feeling but that Susan would be ashamed of him if she could see him. She told him how proud Susan had been when heâd solved the last case theyâd worked before her disappearance. She told him it was time to fuckinâ pull himself together.
After that day the blackness had started to lift. He made an effort to live and within a month he was back at work. The moods still hit him but less often.
The arrival of the meat wagon snapped Ed back to the present. The cold wind penetrated again and he stamped his feet and shoved his hands under his armpits to try to bring back the circulation. The empty street stretched in front of him. He and Phil headed over to talk to Sonya, the pathologist. She stood at the entryway to the lane. Weak sunlight had started to stretch its fingers into the shadows but it would be another hour before it was bright enough to see properly. Floodlights illuminated a doorway about a third of the way down. Sonya was hunched over a pile of rubbish next to a large wooden crate that took up most of the doorway.
She straightened up and turned to shoot them a smile. A pleasant-looking woman in her early forties, she had chestnut brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her face was bare of any make-up, not surprisingly considering the hour. When she smiled she showed a wide mouth full of straight white teeth. The effect was a bit startling and slightly horsy.
She swept a glance over Ed and laughed. âJesus, Iâve seen corpses that look more alive than you do this morning.â
âThanks for that. I know where to come when I need my ego stroked. What have we got?â
âItâs a nightmare of a crime scene for the forensic team, lots of traces of bodily fluids of one type or another, mainly urine. Itâs really too contaminated to be certain that anything they collect belonged to the killer. I might have more luck with the body when I get her back to the lab.
âIâm not sure what killed this one. No obvious wounds or injuries. No marks around her neck to indicate strangulation, although there is a small red mark over her carotid artery that could be a puncture wound. Iâll have a closer look back in the lab.
âThere are traces of fresh urine just outside the doorway over there. It could be hers. Looks like she soiled herself. Thereâs also a pile of vomit next to the crate. It looks fresh and smells of alcohol. Doubt it was hers but it might belong to either the killer or the guy who called it in.â
âWhat about the crate?â Phil asked.
âI donât think thereâs anything special there but the team are checking. It looks like a standard shipping crate. Itâll go back to the lab to be checked for prints. I donât like your chances though. This one looks planned.â
âCan we have a quick look before sheâs bagged?â Ed asked.
âYep, Iâm done here. Knock yourselves out.â
They edged closer and stared into the crate. Its sad contents were illuminated by the floodlights. The victim was curled into a ball. She was wearing a navy skirt, cream blouse, thick tights and sensible looking black court shoes with a medium heel. She had long blonde hair, like pale straw in the cold winter sun. It was tangled and partly covered her face. Her skin had taken on a blue tinge. Ed could
After the breakdown, Ed sank into a pit of alcohol and depression. He couldnât get out of bed, couldnât eat, couldnât be bothered doing anything. The only thing that took away the pain was the booze, and that didnât last for long enough.
Three months passed in a drunken stupor until Phil finally reached the limit of her tolerance. She marched in one morning, dragged Ed out of bed and forced him into a freezing cold shower. She made him eat and drink what felt to him like a litre of black coffee and then she started talking.
She told him that she couldnât imagine what he was feeling but that Susan would be ashamed of him if she could see him. She told him how proud Susan had been when heâd solved the last case theyâd worked before her disappearance. She told him it was time to fuckinâ pull himself together.
After that day the blackness had started to lift. He made an effort to live and within a month he was back at work. The moods still hit him but less often.
The arrival of the meat wagon snapped Ed back to the present. The cold wind penetrated again and he stamped his feet and shoved his hands under his armpits to try to bring back the circulation. The empty street stretched in front of him. He and Phil headed over to talk to Sonya, the pathologist. She stood at the entryway to the lane. Weak sunlight had started to stretch its fingers into the shadows but it would be another hour before it was bright enough to see properly. Floodlights illuminated a doorway about a third of the way down. Sonya was hunched over a pile of rubbish next to a large wooden crate that took up most of the doorway.
She straightened up and turned to shoot them a smile. A pleasant-looking woman in her early forties, she had chestnut brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her face was bare of any make-up, not surprisingly considering the hour. When she smiled she showed a wide mouth full of straight white teeth. The effect was a bit startling and slightly horsy.
She swept a glance over Ed and laughed. âJesus, Iâve seen corpses that look more alive than you do this morning.â
âThanks for that. I know where to come when I need my ego stroked. What have we got?â
âItâs a nightmare of a crime scene for the forensic team, lots of traces of bodily fluids of one type or another, mainly urine. Itâs really too contaminated to be certain that anything they collect belonged to the killer. I might have more luck with the body when I get her back to the lab.
âIâm not sure what killed this one. No obvious wounds or injuries. No marks around her neck to indicate strangulation, although there is a small red mark over her carotid artery that could be a puncture wound. Iâll have a closer look back in the lab.
âThere are traces of fresh urine just outside the doorway over there. It could be hers. Looks like she soiled herself. Thereâs also a pile of vomit next to the crate. It looks fresh and smells of alcohol. Doubt it was hers but it might belong to either the killer or the guy who called it in.â
âWhat about the crate?â Phil asked.
âI donât think thereâs anything special there but the team are checking. It looks like a standard shipping crate. Itâll go back to the lab to be checked for prints. I donât like your chances though. This one looks planned.â
âCan we have a quick look before sheâs bagged?â Ed asked.
âYep, Iâm done here. Knock yourselves out.â
They edged closer and stared into the crate. Its sad contents were illuminated by the floodlights. The victim was curled into a ball. She was wearing a navy skirt, cream blouse, thick tights and sensible looking black court shoes with a medium heel. She had long blonde hair, like pale straw in the cold winter sun. It was tangled and partly covered her face. Her skin had taken on a blue tinge. Ed could
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