Death in Paradise

 The white, clean door creaked open as Richard knocked gently. Mrs Lane must have been a clean person, always cleaning up after her husband.  He knew the door was already open, but felt the need to be polite in case Mr Lane was in. He didn’t fancy getting attacked by a mad alcoholic.

He knocked again, this time slightly harder, but there was still no answer.

Richard sighed and decided to scrap being respectful, allowing himself in. If the husband was there, he’d just have to try to be as kind and gentle as he could.

Get what they deserve, Richard thought to himself as he slowly walked around the living room, I don’t have time to wait for someone to let me in.

Everything seeming pretty normal for an alcoholic's home; the walls were faded, covered with dirt marks. Cobwebs were hanging from the corners, some with a spider or two. The room was a dump, how could anyone be living here? Surely he couldn’t have made this mess in the little time that Sandra’s been gone? Richard asked himself. The smell of alcohol was strong, filling the room.

Richard continued to slowly step around. There was a photo on the wall of three people together. One was Sandra, one was her little daughter, and Richard guessed that the other was Tony, the alcoholic husband.

Continuing to trail around even more, Richard noticed a red stain on the carpet. He bent down, looking closely for a moment, and then frowned to himself. It was a blood stain. But who’s blood?

Suddenly, breaking his thoughts, there was a faint sound of movement upstairs. Richard froze, listening carefully. Someone was upstairs, for sure.

He stood up straight; turning around a few times to make sure no one was going to pop up behind him before slowly walking to the stairs. He walked up the stairs silently, watching every step and stepping carefully. The stairs were mud covered, brown and black. He made his way to the room where the noise was coming from and stopped outside, standing on a white rug, with plenty of different stains on it. Wine stains, beer stains, and piss stains. Probably more.

The moving noise had stopped. Richard placed a hand on the door handle and took a deep breath. He pushed the door open, swinging inside with it as he did so, shouting, "I'm armed!" although he wasn’t at all.

Before Richard could see anything, he found himself being tackled to the ground. He pulled the figure down with him roughly, opening his eyes.

Richard gazed at the blurry woman for a while. Seconds later, his vision focused and gulped, seeing that his attacker was his much-loved colleague Camille. "Camille?" He gaped in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Camille's jaw dropped dramatically, almost slightly sarcastic. “Oh my gosh. Richard, I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was you.” She replied, sighing in relief. She was probably glad that it wasn’t anyone else. She sat up on his chest. “Are you okay?” She asked as she ran her fingers through his hair, checking his head.

Richard frowned, and then raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure I’ll survive, no thanks to you.” He grunted.

She shook her head, leaning in closer. "Oh look you're bleeding."

"Really? Where?" Richard asked, slightly uncomfortably, and rubbed the back of his head, accidently meeting his hand with Camille’s. He gazed back up at her, but was interrupted by a tall man, wearing dark clothes and a hood, standing at the door. The man stood and looked at them, not saying a word, with a very confused facial expression.

Richard swiftly moved his hand away, looking at Camille, and then at the man, “Sorry, can I help you?” He asked.

The man shook his head, “No. Can I help you? I’m the Lane’s neighbour. Who the hell are you? And what are you doing on the floor?” The man asked bluntly.

Camille placed a finger on Richard's mouth, “Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, and this is detective inspector Richard Poole.” Camille replied, continuing to rub Richard's head and hair. “We’re investigating the death of your neighbour, Sandra Lane?”

Richard decided to stay silent.

“Ah.” The man sighed. Looking down, and pulling his hood down, he said, “Very sad, but her husband was a maniac, it was bound to happen. He even -"

“Are you suggesting Mr Lane murdered Mrs Lane?” Richard interrupted, nudging Camille in a get up now and act normal way. The man had short blonde hair and fairly tanned skin.