The Murder House. Michael Wood

poked her head into the living room but it was empty. This had been off-limits to party guests yesterday and it was, as it always was, spotlessly clean and tidy.

      Rose stopped in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs. It took her brain a few long seconds to realize what it was seeing. Jeremy Mercer was slumped against the wall. His eyes were closed and there was so much blood surrounding him.

      ‘Jeremy,’ she whispered. It didn’t seem real. This was a practical joke, surely. She leaned down, and, with shaking fingers, felt for a pulse on his wrist. He was freezing cold and there was no beat coming from the vein. ‘Oh my God.’

      She looked up the stairs and saw the trail of blood on the cream-coloured carpet. She stumbled back and almost tripped over the remains of the hall table. On the floor, the cordless phone was out of its cradle. She reached out for it and saw her hands were covered in blood. She silently screamed, picked up the phone and dialled 999.

      ‘999. What’s your emergency?’

      Rose was about to speak when she heard the sound of barking coming from upstairs.

      ‘Oh my God. Rachel.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’ the operator asked.

      ‘You need to come quickly. Someone’s been killed, and I think there may be more bodies.’

      She tried not to look at Jeremy as she stepped over his lifeless corpse. The carpet on the stairs was full of bloodstains in the shape of paw prints.

      ‘Where are you calling from?’

      ‘Rachel?’ Rose screamed, ignoring the 999 operator.

      Rose reached the top of the stairs, stepped onto the landing and saw more horror before her. She screamed and continued to scream until her voice was hoarse. The operator was asking questions, but she didn’t hear them. She fell back against the wall and slid down it. She clutched the phone firmly against her chest and couldn’t take her eyes off the nightmare inches away from her.

       Chapter Four

      ‘According to Rory, it’s the worst crime scene he’s ever seen.’

      ‘Bloody hell.’

      DS Sian Mills was driving; DCI Matilda Darke was in the front passenger seat. They had been informed of a triple murder in an affluent part of Sheffield. Uniformed officers were on the scene and forensics were en route.

      ‘Do we know who the victims are?’

      ‘We think so. Ranjeet is looking them up for me back at the station.’

      Sian’s mobile beeped an incoming text message. It was in a cradle attached to the dashboard. She opened it. ‘It’s from Rory. He says, “I hope you haven’t had your breakfast yet”.’

      ‘Jesus,’ Matilda muttered as she looked out of the window.

      It was another cold morning. Winter had started early in Sheffield with the first snowfall way back in mid-November, and despite there being no white Christmas (again), snow had returned in the new year. The days were cold and the nights were colder. As Sheffield passed by in a blur, Matilda looked at the bare trees. The branches were white with a thick layer of frost. Grass looked beautiful as each white blade sparkled in the glint of the cold sun. Pavements were tricky to walk on and pedestrians took their time over the patches of black ice. Despite the heating being on in the car, Matilda shivered just watching people as they braved the elements.

      ‘Are you all settled in to your new house, now?’ Sian asked, filling the silence with a safe topic of conversation so neither of them had to think about the horror that awaited them.

      ‘More or less,’ Matilda said with a smile. ‘Just one more room to sort out.’

      ‘I bet you’re glad. There’s nothing like your own home, is there?’

      ‘No,’ Matilda replied. She returned to looking out of the window. She had only officially moved in a week ago. It was a bit early to be calling it her home. When she thought of home, she thought of the house her husband built; the one they both agonized over the plans of: how big the kitchen should be, where the downstairs toilet should go, the colour of the tiles in the bathroom. James had put his blood, sweat, and tears into that house. That was her home – their home. This new house was … at the moment she didn’t know what it was; somewhere to lay her head.

      They pulled up as close as they could to the police cordon. From here, they couldn’t see the house but the faces on the uniformed officers who were milling around were grim. It was not a good sign.

      Matilda looked around at the nosy neighbours as they stood on the side of the road gossiping among themselves. ‘You know those cases that you always go back to, that you can’t shake off? I get the feeling this is going to be one of them.’

      ‘Haven’t we had enough of those, lately?’ Sian quipped, pulling her coat tight against the cold.

      Pathologist, Adele Kean, parked behind them. Her assistant, Lucy Dauman hesitantly got out of the front passenger seat, flicking back her blonde hair, a habit she was well known for.

      ‘Rory told me to imagine the worst crime scene I can, then times it by a hundred,’ Adele said, her face pale with worry. ‘Please tell me he was exaggerating.’

      ‘I haven’t been in yet,’ Matilda said. ‘I’ve been told it’s bad.’

      ‘Oh my God,’ Lucy muttered.

      ‘Lucy, get a couple of suits out of the back and we’ll probably need to double up. We’ll need extra gloves and overshoes too.’

      Lucy remained where she was. She was relatively new to this job and only in her mid-twenties. She was fine assisting in post mortems, but crime scenes always seemed to upset her. Adele, however, was a seasoned professional, yet even she looked green. This was going to be a nightmare for Lucy. She slowly walked to the boot of the car to get what they needed.

      All four women made their way down the driveway to the beautiful stone-built double-fronted house with its sash windows, side breast chimney, and a cast iron shoe scraper by the door. Neither of them spoke. A uniformed police officer was standing on the doorstep. He knew who they all were and began writing their names down on his clipboard. His hand was shaking.

      ‘I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name,’ he said to Lucy in a quivering voice. She told him and spelled her surname. He gave her a smile of thanks, but it wasn’t genuine. He looked too frightened to smile.

      An ambulance was parked close to the house, its back doors open, but nobody was inside.

      The front door was opened from the inside and Rory greeted them. He was wearing a white forensic suit which was covered in bloodstains. To the untrained eye, Rory looked like the murderer and had been caught in the act. Usually, DC Fleming was the life and soul of the team, always ready with a joke or a sarcastic comment to lighten even the most difficult of moods. However, he was looking down at the floor, his expression ashen.

      ‘Rory?’ Matilda asked.

      ‘Ma’am, nobody needs to see this if they don’t have to,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Oh God,’ Lucy said.

      ‘Where am I heading for, Rory?’ Adele asked.

      ‘Forensics are on the top floor in the attic bedroom. There’s a body on the stairs, be careful. And … prepare yourself for what you see on the first-floor landing.’

      ‘Thanks. Let’s suit up then, Lucy.’ Adele tried to sound professional, but there was a definite tinge of fear in her voice.

      Matilda angled her head to look past Rory into the kitchen. A uniformed officer was comforting a fellow officer who was bent over, in tears.

      ‘Who’s that?’