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Semi-Precious Stones - 3. With darkness soon to fall 3. With darkness soon to fall Knight sat in the open-plan office on the third floor of the police station, high above the petty squabbles and alcohol-fuelled stupidity of the front desk and the holding cells. The sun was slipping in the sky and the shadows of those already heading home from work grew ever longer. Untouched in almost an hour, a chipped mug - half-filled with cold coffee - nestled amid the mayhem laid out before him. On his desk were spread the initial reports, crime scene photographs and preliminary findings that had begun to amass immediately after the discovery of Amber’s body eight hours earlier. The coroner had ruled death by strangulation. The pattern of bruising indicated Amber had been face to face with her killer as he squeezed the life from her, drinking in her fear as she fought to claim her final breaths, revelling in the terror in her eyes as she recognised her fate. There had been no DNA beneath her manicured fingernails so either she had failed to fight back or been restrained from doing so. Fresh marks around her wrists pointed to the latter, but there were far older marks there too and those on her body had been formed days, weeks, even months before she drew her final, painful breath. The coroner estimated her time of death around midnight the night before her body was discovered – give or take an hour or so. Lividity – the way in which the blood had begun to settle in her body once her heart had lost the ability to pump that vital fluid through her – indicated she had most likely been in sitting when she died. There was no doubt that her body had been moved in the hours after death. Knight’s mind flicked between the images of the naked woman lying dead in the baked dirt and the memory of her imprinted on his brain, and each time he did his mind wandered back to the woman who had been very much alive, watching from a distance. He wondered whether her body too bore the same marks; whether she too had been whipped and scarred, bound, handcuffed and controlled. He knew that she did. And he knew he wanted to see the marks on her flesh, run his fingertips over them, his tongue, his lips; wanted to stand over her with whip in hand and be the one to score her perfect porcelain skin. What Detective Inspector Jack Knight wanted, he got. For now, he wanted to catch a killer: a killer who stole the life of a beautiful young woman and dumped her on wasteland like trash, surrounded by abandoned buildings and untamed weeds. No matter what she did in life, she deserved more in death than to be tossed aside like garbage. He looked again at the photographs of the scene. Those empty shells troubled him. Why, he asked himself, would anyone dump a body on open ground where discovery was as inevitable as daybreak when there were a dozen disused and derelict buildings close at hand from where she might never be recovered. Knight took one more look at a picture of the dead girl then pulled on his jacket and headed for the stairs. He reminded himself to test the<b> batteries </font></b>in the torch he kept in the glove compartment of his car. Soon darkness would begin to fall. |
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KnightReturning, that is so sad. A Knight like you would do anything to save a lady. You are indeed a Knight.
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