Blood Loss

him a man in a white suit was taking photographs of the mud and stones, swearing as the snow obliterated his evidence.
‘You need to get suited and booted, and take a spare pair of shoe covers for indoors,’ the officer said, running a finger around his collar and hunching his shoulders as large snowflakes melted against his neck. ‘Are you both on the fingerprint and DNA databases?’
They nodded.
‘When you’re ready, follow the path marked out by the tape.’
Paton was puffing by the time they reached the cabin at the top of the hill.
‘Maybe you should join my gym,’ Cheryl said.
‘I’m too old for all that nonsense. Besides, I do get exercise,’ he said.
‘Oh yeah? What?’ asked Cheryl.
‘Bowling with Tommy,’ he said, with a grin.
As they crested the hill the log cabin came into view, nestled between tall conifers. It was constructed of what appeared to be whole pine trees stacked on top of each other, the corners overlapping and sticking out like a giant game of Jenga. A porch ran across the front, the entrance barred with yellow Crime Scene – Do Not Enter tape. Paton looked around at the wide lawns and spiky shrubs. There were no other properties in sight. Just hills, trees and a distant view of the loch.
He ducked under the tape and opened the door to the cabin. ‘Is it okay to come in?’
A short woman in white barrier clothing, with only her serious brown eyes visible above a face mask, nodded and beckoned them forward. A man in the same attire stood in the lounge writing notes on a clipboard.
‘I’m Yvonne, and this is Frank, the pathologist,’ the woman said. ‘Please keep to the step plates. We can’t have footprints or blood spatter evidence being contaminated. The body’s in here.’
She led the way through the wooden-walled L-shaped room, across square metal stepping plates to a back bedroom. Yellow markers were placed next to potential pieces of evidence – a bloodied tea towel, a mobile phone and a paperback novel. ‘Close the door behind you,’ Yvonne called over her shoulder as Cheryl followed them in. ‘We don’t want debris blowing in from outside.’
Paton braced himself to face the corpse. Despite having many years of service behind him, he’d seen few dead bodies in his career, one of the bonuses of working in such a rural area. He could never admit it, but they made him feel lightheaded and sick, like the time he’d found a dead fox in the woods when he was eight. He’d rolled it over with a stick and its glassy eyes had stared at him as maggots crawled from the gaping red hole in its stomach. Horrified, he’d thrown up, much to the amusement of his sister. Unfortunately, he’d never grown out of feeling sick or faint at the sight of death and blood.
He trod carefully across the step plates to what must be the bedroom, and forced himself to look. This one tested his self-control and he swallowed excess saliva, briefly wondering how Cheryl was coping.
A man lay on his back on the floor, wide eyes suggesting surprise at what had happened. His left hand gripped a fistful of blue bedspread hanging off the bed, but his right hand clutched at a knife protruding from his chest as though trying to remove it. It was the blood, though, that made Paton’s stomach lurch ominously. There was so much of it. The man’s clothing was saturated and the floor to either side of him was covered in dark pools of thick liquid. It had dried around the edges but the middle had a shine to it. It was still wet and the smell was overpowering to Paton’s sensitive nose.
The Crime Scene Investigator was speaking but Paton struggled to hear her over the rushing in his ears. Something about unexplained blood spatters and drips from a height. She pointed at small, perfectly round drops of blood on the floor and was saying they were about to take samples to see if they were from a different source when Paton felt his stomach heave and the room sway. He needed fresh air.
He turned for the exit abruptly, and in his haste barged into Cheryl who stumbled off her step plate, her foot landing squarely on the blood drips the CSI officer had just pointed out. Paton heard a gasp and a profanity but didn’t wait to see what trouble he’d caused. He ran along the step plates and across the porch before putting his hands on his knees. He bent his head as low as he could and gulped down lungfuls of the cold afternoon air.
What a fool he’d made of himself. How could he face the team after this? They’d tease him mercilessly and make him buy the cakes for weeks as his punishment. He’d never live it down.

Chapter 3


The Following June | Jenna
I could happily spend all day in here. It gives me the same feeling of delight I got when we visited the sweetshop as kids and saw all the brightly coloured jars lined up on the shelves. There are no jars here but travel brochures instead. Row after row of them. I stand in the middle of the travel agents and turn slowly to take them all in. Shafts of bright sunshine from the plate-glass shop window illuminate the room and my heart sings with joy.
I can’t wait to see more of the world. It’s full of so many exciting places. I gaze with longing at colourful pictures depicting panoramic views of rivers, old palaces, bustling cities, smiling people in exotic costumes and elephants. I love elephants and they’re one of the reasons I’m in here.
‘Hi, Jenna.’ Nisha appears from the back of the shop, neat in her work outfit, her dark hair in a long, shiny plait. She takes in my colourful dress and layers of beads.
‘The feathers are a nice touch.’ she says.
‘You know me. Never one for convention.’ Grinning, I pull a handful of dreadlocks