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I was utterly stunned to find Emma sprawled lifeless on the floor. It felt akin to standing in the midst of a tumultuous thoroughfare, disoriented and paralysed by the cacophony surrounding me. The flashing lights from police cars and ambulances obscured my view, preventing me from discerning the media and onlookers who had been ushered away by constables. Shards of window glass littered the area, hinting at a possible fall from the uppermost level. When I glanced upward, it became evident that Emma had plunged from the fifth floor of the building. Turning to Dave, I inquired, “Does this strike you as a suicide?” His expression confirmed my suspicion, and he replied, “I doubt it. You see, the way she landed on that car suggests otherwise.”
Leading me to the vehicle Emma collided with upon falling, Dave elaborated, “Observe the roof of the car — it bears the imprint of the impact, the point where her body made contact. Initially hitting the car’s back, she then tumbled onto the road, her body assuming a different orientation.” Perplexed, I gave him a quizzical look. Continuing, Dave reasoned, “If this were a suicide, there would be no need to shatter the window and leap. However, considering the impact on the car and the subsequent fall, it seems more likely that she was in an altered state, accidentally falling. In such cases, the body typically attempts to self-protect by reflexively contorting or folding limbs. Moreover, the impact wouldn’t have been car-first if it were intentional; instead, the body would have hit the road first, propelled a bit farther as it descended.” He illustrated the scenario with a motion reminiscent of flicking a cigarette.
I marvelled at his elucidation; it seamlessly wove into the unfolding scenario, yet my discontent lingered as he leisurely lit his cigarette. A law enforcement officer, approached us. He extended a firm handshake and divulged his Italian heritage through his appearance, particularly in the expressive hand gestures accompanying his speech. Granting us permission to follow the case, he emphasised the necessity of reporting any leads to the department. Exiting the crime scene, Dave’s theory reverberated in my thoughts as we made our way to Emma’s flat within the building. Law enforcement personnel were already scouring through the premises — Flat number 54. The constable there briefed us on the details, revealing that the flat’s landlord, a resident of Luxembourg, had acquired the property a decade ago. Presently, a man named Stephen Robinson occupied the space.
Turning to the constable, we inquired, “Have you gathered any information about this man?” He responded, “Not yet. We’ve canvassed the neighbours, and they claim rarely to have seen him. Occasionally, a group of friends or some female acquaintances would enter and exit during late hours, but interactions were scarce. The flat remains predominantly locked in the mornings.” Observing the surroundings, Dave mused, “So, Robinson emerges as an enigmatic figure in this narrative?” The constable affirmed, and I probed further, “What narrative?” Dave glanced at me, and with a hint of a smile, he replied, “The narrative we find ourselves entangled in. Emma’s demise suggests a connection with Robinson, and perhaps Monica as well.”
I shot him an irate look, retorting, “Come on, not again. What does Monica have to do with any of this?” Smirking, Dave responded, “Relax, just a jest. But consulting her might yield leads; currently, she’s the sole individual privy to Emma’s affairs.” Acknowledging Dave’s perspective, I nodded in agreement. We meticulously combed through the flat, scouring for any clues that could fortify our case. To our surprise, the apartment appeared immaculate, save for a few beer bottles in the fridge and remnants of a pizza along with some oranges. The bedroom housed a diminutive wardrobe, yielding only scant women’s undergarments, condom boxes, and various lubricants. The sparse attire hinted at the possibility that the flat served as a rendezvous point for escort services rather than a conventional dwelling.
Amid my investigation, Dave beckoned me with an unassuming call from the kitchen. As I ambled towards him, my gaze swept the walls, revealing an unexpected masterpiece — an exquisite rendition of the Mona Lisa adorned one of them. Upon reaching the kitchen, Dave stood near the trash bin, prompting me to inspect its contents. Among used condoms and discarded tissue papers, Dave deftly employed a stick to sift through the refuse, unveiling a shattered SIM card. Donning gloves on my right hand, I retrieved the SIM card and, to our astonishment, discovered a lone tooth nestled within. An inexplicable elation gripped my heart — two-fold in nature. Firstly, it spared me the need to delve once more into spying on Monica, a task I found distasteful. Secondly, it offered a glimmer of hope that our involvement in the case might not linger as expected, as these two compelling pieces of evidence had been inadvertently left behind by those responsible for Emma’s demise.
I conveyed to Dave, “Evidently, this place has been extensively utilised for escort services. The used condoms in the bin and the condom boxes discovered in the bedroom wardrobe provide clear proof.” Dave shot me a contemplative look, extracting a cigarette from his pocket — an action that irked me. Undeterred, I continued, “Dave, it’s a crime scene; no smoking allowed here.” He acquiesced with a nod, stowing the cigarette back without a smile. He posed a thought-provoking question, “What are the odds that Emma wasn’t involved in all this mess, perhaps as an escort herself?” Recognising the validity of his query, I responded, “It’s a possibility, but if true, she must have been working under someone, someone who may have orchestrated this. However, it’s too early to draw such conclusions.” Dave arched his eyebrows, revealing skepticism. Seeking his opinion, I asked, “What are your thoughts?” He retorted, “I need a smoke. It helps me think.” Frustration welled up in me — why resort to such vices as a crutch for contemplation? Nevertheless, I couldn’t dissuade him, so I reluctantly nodded, wearing a visibly annoyed expression. Dave, catching on to my discontent, offered a small smile. We exited the flat, expressing gratitude to the constable and urging him to keep us informed of any developments in the case.
As we strolled towards the lift, a cascade of random thoughts surged through my mind. I pondered the origin of the tooth we found — was it Emma’s or someone else’s? If the flat served exclusively for escort services, who was this Robinson guy, and was he intertwined with Monica? Amidst these musings, a memory surfaced — the man Dave had investigated in the Michael and Steve case. This man had been with Emma on the night she went to meet Monica, and Emma had introduced him to Monica at a pub on the day the latter imbibed heavily. Suddenly, I exclaimed, “Dave!” Startled, he halted, his expression tense. “What’s going on?” he inquired. I blurted out, “Is the man you investigated for the Michael and Steve case still in custody?” Surprised by the question, Dave affirmed, “Yeah, but what does he have to do with this?” I reminded him, “I mentioned seeing this man when you first showed his photo.” Confirming recollection, he said, “Yeah.” I continued, “I saw him with Emma in a pub, where she introduced him to Monica.”
As we entered the lift, pressing the ground floor button, Dave remained silent. I awaited his response, finally asking, “What do you think?” Still, he uttered no words. Upon reaching the ground floor, Dave stepped out, ignited a cigarette, and exhaled the first puff as though emerging from a day-long confinement, gazing at the sky. Then, he began his response, “Hold on, I’m trying to piece everything together.” Intrigued, I listened as he continued, “Emma and Tony know each other.” I interjected, asking, “Who’s Tony?” He took another puff and clarified, “The guy I apprehended for the Michael case — his name is Tony.” Understanding, I nodded, prompting Dave to elaborate, “Tony and Emma are acquainted, and Emma, involved in some dubious affairs, met her demise — whether through murder or suicide — in a completely remote flat saturated with condoms. Connecting the dots, Emma had some connection with Michael and Steve.” It was a convoluted theory, but it held merit. I expressed my concern, suggesting, “What if Emma didn’t know about Michael and was only involved with Tony?” Dave pondered briefly, taking a final drag from his cigarette before responding, “I suppose Tony might not be directly involved, but he likely knows something about Robinson, Emma, Michael, and they’re all connected by one possible thread: drugs.” While my mind contemplated the plausibility of this theory, another unsettling suspicion lingered the potential involvement of Monica in this intricate web of events.
Emma’s body was sent to Autopsy, then I realised, what if the autopsy is done by Monica, it would be really so hard on her, I asked Dave, “Where is the body is sent for autopsy?”, he replied, to the same hospital as all our cases, goes and there was. Sudden pause and he looked at me, which said many words and he continued, “I guess it would be Monica who will be performing this”. I exhaled and said, “Can we suggest another doctor to perform this?”, Dave looked at me as we walked towards our car, and said, “its out of our control, we cannot insist on this as this shall be in court and if something goes wrong then, this point will be raised up, which can put us in trouble”. Here Dave has a good point, it is not recommended to prompt on any of these requests, but any ways Monica need to no this, it would be better if she knows early.
Monica
Like any other day, I began my morning with a jog, a cup of coffee, and unexpectedly, a slice of toast — a departure from my usual habit of skipping breakfast. As I stepped out of my flat, a sense of unease lingered in the air, accompanied by an unsettling feeling that something was amiss. My mind, prone to overthinking, was inundated with random thoughts, but I chose to ignore them and proceeded towards my car in the parking lot. The weather, albeit cloudy, showed no signs of rain according to the forecast, a comforting detail. While driving, my gaze caught a couple sharing a kiss, triggering memories of the previous night when Mark had kissed me. It was a sincere apology, but after being deceived before, I found myself hesitant to accept anything at face value. My mind advised caution — “take some time before drawing conclusions about Mark.” However, uncertainty persisted.
Upon reaching the hospital, I parked my car and headed towards the pathology section. As I approached, I noticed Harry approaching with an air of despondency. His greeting, “Morning Monica,” was accompanied by a palpable sense that something was off. I reciprocated, asking, “Morning Harry, is everything alright?” His hesitant nod and doubtful expression prompted my concern. “I need to talk to you for a second,” Harry confessed, his nervous demeanour evident in the way he clenched his hands. Worried he might be confessing feelings for me, I anxiously said, “Yeah sure, what’s it about?” His response about Emma caught me off guard. “It’s about Emma,” he said, leaving me perplexed.
Concerned, I inquired, “Did she come here, or did she call you?” The confusion deepened as Harry hesitated. Impatient, I pressed, “Harry, what is it?” His words hit me like a blow when he finally said, “She is dead.” Unable to comprehend, I dropped my bag, bombarding him with questions. “What? Are you kidding? She spoke to me yesterday. How could she die, and how did you know?” Harry explained, revealing that Emma’s body was inside, and an autopsy was necessary due to suspicions of suicide and murder. In disbelief, I sprinted towards the room, swung the door open, and through tear-blurred vision, I beheld the lifeless form of Emma lying on the table.
I stood near her lifeless body, observing the small marks on her face and the black discolouration in her stomach region, evidence of wounds and compromised blood circulation. As I touched her hands, the coldness confirmed the unthinkable — it was Emma. I moved my hand slowly across her body, tracing the contours, and couldn’t help but caress her eyes, the most captivating feature. The urge to cry, to scream, and to simply walk away overwhelmed me, but duty dictated that I adhere to the protocol. I had to uncover the truth about who had done this to her because I couldn’t believe she would be a victim of suicide. Someone was responsible for her demise.
Recalling the unease from that morning, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Harry entered, offering tissues, and without thinking, I embraced him, releasing my anguish. In a gentle whisper, Harry tried to console me, “Monica, I know it’s hard, but she is a case like every other.” He pulled away, and I requested a moment to compose myself in the washroom. Harry nodded understandingly.
In front of the mirror, I confronted my red, puffy eyes — a reflection of the pain within. It was tempting to blame myself for not reaching out to Emma when she spoke to me the way she did, but I resisted. Self-blame would only add more stress and problems. After washing my face, I looked at my reflection and uttered, “Whoever did this to you, Emma, I will find them. I don’t know how, but I will.” Leaving the washroom, I found Harry had organised the necessary equipment for the autopsy. Donning gloves, I prepared for the procedure, a painful task that required cutting into Emma’s lifeless form. I never imagined I would have to perform such a task on someone I once knew.
Mark
I spent the entire night unable to sleep, resorting to alcohol after a long time. As I paced around my flat, I couldn’t shake the thoughts of how Monica would react upon seeing Emma’s lifeless body. It was now 10 in the morning, and I assumed Monica had already seen her. Dave, my friend, mentioned that he would go to meet her, a decision I approved of. Witnessing Monica in such distress was something I couldn’t bear — first, I had played with her emotions, and now life had dealt her another harsh blow.
With these heavy thoughts, I made my way to the office, intending to speak to Tony, whom Dave had arrested during the investigation into Steve’s death. This individual, introduced to Monica by Emma on the night at the pub, undoubtedly had some connection to this unfolding case. As I walked toward my car, my phone rang, displaying Dave’s name on the screen. Wondering about the reason for his call, I opted to answer. “Morning, Dave,” I greeted him. He replied, “Morning, and I need a favour from you.” Slightly irritated, I asked, “What is it this time?” Dave sighed and explained, “I need you to go to the hospital to get the report from Monica.” I couldn’t believe he was asking this of me, as I really didn’t want to witness Monica in such a vulnerable state. Questioning the sudden change, I asked, “Dave, what happened all of a sudden?” He replied, “Mark, I understand. Tony’s lawyer has been requested for an abrupt bail hearing. I need to be there with him.”
Surprised and skeptical, I questioned the urgency, reminding Dave that this man was with Emma at the pub and likely had vital information. Dave exhaled, his voice indicating he was smoking a cigarette, and explained, “Mark, I remember that. You know the law. I will try to extend it in court, but until the autopsy report is out, we can’t investigate him on this. It’s against the law. So, listen to me and go to the hospital. I know it’s hard, but you need to do this.” I found myself unable to argue as he had a point. Reluctantly, I agreed, “Okay, Dave, but you know he knows something about this. Please try to do something.” Dave responded, “Mark, it’s a case. We need to go according to the rules. Don’t push too hard and stress yourself. I’ll do what I can,” and he hung up.
His words hinted at his limitations within the system, yet I sensed he was concealing something. The sudden bail hearing without prior notice raised suspicions in my mind. Lost in my thoughts, I sat in my car and headed towards the hospital.
To be Cont….
