force as I could on the knocker and, on my third knock, the door moved slightly inwards. I pushed gently on the frame of the door, and it swung open. Clearly, the lock had been left on the latch so that the door was unsecured. My sense of unease increased.
I put my head around the door and called inside,
“Jennifer! It’s Jack. Are you alright?”
The house remained completely silent in reply. I debated what to do next, and then stepped into the hall. I called her name again, but again got no response. The hallway was dark, with all the doors off it being closed tightly. I opened the first of them to look into Jennifer’s kitchen. It was a large room, with fitted units and electrical appliances all around the walls, and a large pine table in the middle of the room. On the table were what looked like the remains of the previous night’s meal – a wine glass with a drop of red wine still in it, and a dinner plate stained with what appeared to be an unfinished lasagne. There was no sign of Jennifer.
The next three rooms off the hall – a bathroom, living room, and very ornate dining room – were all similarly empty. All three rooms were exceptionally tidy, the only thing out of place was in the living room where a TV listings magazine opened on the page for Friday evening lay in the middle of the floor.
The story of the Marie Celeste came to mind as I headed for the last of the downstairs doors – the one that opened onto Jennifer’s consulting room. I turned the handle and pushed the door open. As I looked into the room I breathed a sigh of great relief.
The room itself was not as tidy as usual, with quite a number of brown files spread across the floor. In the armchair facing away from the door, the back of Jennifer’s head was clearly visible. Her head was lolling back in the chair, supported by the leather wing at the side. She had obviously fallen into a deep sleep, which explained why she hadn’t answered the door or my calls.
I moved into the room, stepping carefully around the files which littered my way to get to the front of the chair, and registering the unusual sweet, sickly odour in the room. When I got to the front of the chair, I stopped abruptly, bile rising into my mouth.
It was going to be way beyond my powers, or anyone else’s, to wake Jennifer up. The reason her head was back at such an angle was explained not by deep sleep, but by the enormous gash that ran all the way along the middle of her neck. The wound looked so deep, it was hard to see what was keeping the head still attached. The front of her blouse and skirt, along with most of the fabric of what had been a dark green chair, were soaked through with crimson. Worst of all, though, was the expression upon Jennifer’s face. At first glance, it looked as though she had died with an enormous grin on her face. A second glance soon revealed that the reality was far more horrific. Both her lips had been sliced off from her nose to her jaw, leaving her blood-red teeth exposed in a macabre smile. Her eyes, however, wore a fixed expression of pure terror.
I just about managed to swallow down the urge to vomit, and made it out of the room and into the living room. I telephoned the emergency services and, shaking uncontrollably, sat down and waited for them to arrive.
I wasn’t really aware of the time passing, but the sound of the doorbell roused me from my trance. I opened the door to a slightly familiar looking tall man, and a dark haired woman. They introduced themselves as Detective Inspectors Michael Palmer and Laura Smith.
“Perhaps you’d like to start by showing us the body,” DI Palmer suggested.
I led them both down the hallway, and motioned them into the consulting room ahead of me. There was a muted gasp from DI Smith, and Michael Palmer turned back to me, his expression now extremely grim.
“Perhaps you’d like to explain how you came to be here this morning,” he said with a slight challenge in his voice.
I
I put my head around the door and called inside,
“Jennifer! It’s Jack. Are you alright?”
The house remained completely silent in reply. I debated what to do next, and then stepped into the hall. I called her name again, but again got no response. The hallway was dark, with all the doors off it being closed tightly. I opened the first of them to look into Jennifer’s kitchen. It was a large room, with fitted units and electrical appliances all around the walls, and a large pine table in the middle of the room. On the table were what looked like the remains of the previous night’s meal – a wine glass with a drop of red wine still in it, and a dinner plate stained with what appeared to be an unfinished lasagne. There was no sign of Jennifer.
The next three rooms off the hall – a bathroom, living room, and very ornate dining room – were all similarly empty. All three rooms were exceptionally tidy, the only thing out of place was in the living room where a TV listings magazine opened on the page for Friday evening lay in the middle of the floor.
The story of the Marie Celeste came to mind as I headed for the last of the downstairs doors – the one that opened onto Jennifer’s consulting room. I turned the handle and pushed the door open. As I looked into the room I breathed a sigh of great relief.
The room itself was not as tidy as usual, with quite a number of brown files spread across the floor. In the armchair facing away from the door, the back of Jennifer’s head was clearly visible. Her head was lolling back in the chair, supported by the leather wing at the side. She had obviously fallen into a deep sleep, which explained why she hadn’t answered the door or my calls.
I moved into the room, stepping carefully around the files which littered my way to get to the front of the chair, and registering the unusual sweet, sickly odour in the room. When I got to the front of the chair, I stopped abruptly, bile rising into my mouth.
It was going to be way beyond my powers, or anyone else’s, to wake Jennifer up. The reason her head was back at such an angle was explained not by deep sleep, but by the enormous gash that ran all the way along the middle of her neck. The wound looked so deep, it was hard to see what was keeping the head still attached. The front of her blouse and skirt, along with most of the fabric of what had been a dark green chair, were soaked through with crimson. Worst of all, though, was the expression upon Jennifer’s face. At first glance, it looked as though she had died with an enormous grin on her face. A second glance soon revealed that the reality was far more horrific. Both her lips had been sliced off from her nose to her jaw, leaving her blood-red teeth exposed in a macabre smile. Her eyes, however, wore a fixed expression of pure terror.
I just about managed to swallow down the urge to vomit, and made it out of the room and into the living room. I telephoned the emergency services and, shaking uncontrollably, sat down and waited for them to arrive.
I wasn’t really aware of the time passing, but the sound of the doorbell roused me from my trance. I opened the door to a slightly familiar looking tall man, and a dark haired woman. They introduced themselves as Detective Inspectors Michael Palmer and Laura Smith.
“Perhaps you’d like to start by showing us the body,” DI Palmer suggested.
I led them both down the hallway, and motioned them into the consulting room ahead of me. There was a muted gasp from DI Smith, and Michael Palmer turned back to me, his expression now extremely grim.
“Perhaps you’d like to explain how you came to be here this morning,” he said with a slight challenge in his voice.
I
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