Satisfied, I heaved her up onto the bench. Trudi had somehow gained weight. It took everything I had. My hairline was damp with sweat and my heart was thumping out of my chest.
Satisfied indeed.
Pass me the..
All the tools I needed were here. I was surrounded by cupboards and boxes full of equipment. Scalpels, tweezers, forceps. Metres of plastic tubing were connected to a pump with a visible bellows. However, I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. Sure, I had seen that German anatomist unraveling the mysteries of death on Youtube channels that shared the show in the hopes of boosting their viewership. It never worked. And seldom was Gunther perplexed as to why his specimen had died. Fucking arteries filled with a thick, white, pus-like substance called plaque blocking blood flow, or a huge tumor the size of a golf ball renting space in someone's cranium. They seemed to do the trick.
I didn't need to peel away Trudi's skin to know why her body failed her.
She had two puncture wounds in her chest. One through her left breast, the other, between them. Place your hand in the middle of your chest. Feel that hard plate? That was the reason, my mystery man needed a second go. By the looks of it, that was his first. He hadn't used enough force and all he did was sheath the knife under the skin as it ricocheted off and up against the breast bone, dragging a flap of skin up with it.
The second one did it. Right force. Even had the blade at the right angle to fit between the ribs. Lucky stab. For him, not her. Obviously.
I dragged myself up the stairs and into bed, smelling of bleach and citrus lemon.
"Hey Jed."
"Morning, Tess. You know a guy called in last night to report his wife hadn't returned from a grocery shop last night?"
"When was that?"
"Guy says she left late, around 10 or so. He fell asleep, woke at around midnight and she still wasn't home. Called us in a panic. Shoulda heard him. Damn hysterical."
"So..? Seven hours? Not much we can do. You know the drill. Forty eight hours before someone becomes officially missing. I'll pay him a visit. Try to get a handle on all this."
"..woman missing from Willow Avenue on Friday. Police say they are interviewing the community as they try to determine her whereabouts.."
It's actually really interesting. The fucking cops in this town are idiots. They think she's missing and not only do I know where she is, I'm halfway to finding Douchey McKnife-Fail.
I took some measurements to find out how far the knife went in and how wide the wound was. Simple calculations aren't helpful if you don't know how to use them. I figured he must have used a spear-point paring knife. Short, sharp, accurate jabs with just enough length to reach the heart. And easy to carry. I haven't put that much thought into knives before. To be honest, they're too clean. Not a great deal of satisfaction. Whatever. He chose a knife and that's my first main clue. Actually, the murder weapon is down the list somewhat.
He (remember the pissed snow arrow?) knows me. Knows what I'm like. He's trying to prove something. I've seen this guy around.
"Surprise me."
I sat down running my fingers through my hair. It was greasy as hell and the odd loose hair would catch in my fingers. I kept waving my hand coaxing them off my fingers and onto the floor. I noticed the judgemental stare of an older woman sitting with her frail looking husband.
"Problem?" I asked, looking up through my hair at her.
"That's disgusting."
"Yeah. This is disgusting." I rolled my eyes and gave her a chance to get back to breathing my air.
I looked up in time to see a yellow, foam-topped mug with some cocoa dusted chocolates on the saucer placed on the table.
"What's this?"
"Turmeric latte? You said surprise me. You surprised?"
"Um yeah. I'm a coffee drinker."
"Why not order a coffee?"
"I'm a thrill seeker."
"You're evidently not thrilled with your turmeric latte. It's healthier, you know?"
"Do I look like I'm interested in my health?"
"Nah. You look like crap. Maybe it's time to. Late nights?
"You've got no idea."
Nick.
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