Pember coughed, the smell of blood and death already wafting down the stairs and into his nostrils. “That the person responsible had a key?”
Wallace nodded, then tapped something on the wall. “Or?”
Pember stepped forward, careful to avoid the debris. It was a key safe. “Or they knew how to access the spare key.”
Wallace nodded again. “Which might lead us to assume?—”
“This is a domestic homicide.”
Wallace shrugged. “Could be. Could well be. Remember, walk where I walk. I’ll direct you.”
As they made their way up the stairs, the smell of death clung more thickly to the air. Although not yet putrid, the cloying, musky stench of body odour and expelled bowels was unmistakable. Pember let out a long breath as he carried on taking photographs.
“In here,” Wallace said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “The body’s over there. We’ll photograph the gentleman first, then move on to the rest of the property. So far, so good?”
Pember gave a quick nod. “So far, so good.”
Stepping into the living room, what greeted them was a truly horrific sight. Lying in the centre of the grey shag-pile rug was a man—an alpha—his fangs protruding from his slack, bloodied lips. He was on his side, still in the recovery position, his shirtless chest flayed half-open.
“Oh my God,” Pember whispered, stepping back. He took a few shaky breaths, trying to keep a level head. Every fibre of his inner wolf was telling him to run away. That what was displayed in that room wasn’t right. Wasn’t natural. Seeing a cadaver ona surgical table was one thing. Witnessing a murder victim with their torso ripped apart was altogether abhorrent.
A clattering sound brought him back to his senses, and he saw Wallace laying out a series of short pedestals.
“Walk on these. To minimise disturbance.”
Pember nodded, took another breath and stepped back into the room. Without another word, he hopped up onto the nearest block and photographed the body from above. It was odd, seeing death through a lens, especially when he zoomed in on the deep wounds littering his chest and forearms. It didn’t look real. Like some kind of cheap horror show put on in a haunted house. But the stench made it real, and he was beginning to regret not wearing a respirator.
There were so many cuts and so much dried blood, it was difficult to make out the man’s skin tone, complexion or whether he had any distinguishing features. The splatter marks across his face and over the floor were beginning to turn dark around the edges, confirming that the blood had been out of the body for several hours.
“See up there?” Wallace said, pointing towards the ceiling.
Pember craned his head. There were several long flicks of blood covering the white Artex.
“It’s called cast-off. Where the blood was flung from a weapon during the attack. The attacker really went hell for leather.”
“Feels personal,” Pember muttered, taking more photographs.
Wallace nodded. “Indeed.”
“Do we know anything about him? Other than being an alpha and a settled Roma?”
Wallace shook his head. “That’s for the detectives to find out. But I’d say it must have taken someone of greater strength and stature to overpower him. He’s, what? Six two, six three?”
Pember nodded, but as his eyes drifted from the body to the floor, he noticed tiny specks of blood peppering the mat in the hallway.
“Wallace, look,” he said, letting the camera hang around his shoulder. “There’s more blood going into the bedroom.”
Wallace squinted and adjusted his mask. “Good spot.”
Following the trail into the bedroom, they found an unmade bed and clothes strewn across the floor. A strong smell of beer and aftershave permeated, even through the death stench in the living room.
Pember photographed everything before moving over to the bed. “Look,” he said, pointing to several tiny dots of blood staining the white undersheet.
Wallace moved closer, tugging up his mask. “Could be something. Perhaps he was in bed when the attack started. Take as many photos as you can and move on.”
Which Pember did, only stopping when Wallace drew his attention. “Here, Pem. What do you think?”
Pember breathed into his mask and shuffled over. They stared down at a set of drawers, a thick layer of dust coating the surface apart from a lunchbox-sized rectangle in the corner.
