Mistletoe in the Mortuary (Inspector Rames)

Chapter 8

The man had been shot in the head.

"Probably by someone on the other side of the road," Cassia said. "You can tell because it's a round wound with an abrasion ring."

The man's name, according to Sebastian's ilenz, was Phillip Barnes. Fifty-five. Married to Karisa Barnes. Manager at the high-end shoe shop he was lying outside. Dressed in a charcoal suit fitted to his overweight frame. His hair was already grey, but he had a kind face.

With a bullet hole in it.

A cold wind was blowing down the road, and the street lamps were hardly piercing the darkness. Cassia was shivering on the floor, examining the wound with a pocket torch. She was zipped up in a white forensic suit, her hair scraped away from her face. It didn't make her any less beautiful in Sebastian's eyes. She was just a different Cassia: professional, focused, interested. And interesting.

"Tell me more," he said. "How do you know the shooter wasn't closer?"

She thought for a moment. Then she held her nitrile fingers over the bullet hole so that they were almost touching the skin. "You see how the margins of the wound are sharp and clear? If it was a contact wound, there would be burns and maybe a muzzle imprint. If it had been a little further away, unburned gunpowder would be embedded in the skin around the wound. There isn't any, so it was further still. But close enough to leave an abrasion ring."

"Is there an exit wound?" he asked. She'd begun her examination a few minutes before he'd been able to join her. There were PRBs and police officers to be organised, and a witness to be spoken to. Otto was with them now.

"Yes, but it gives me no clues. And I don't know if the PRBs have found the cartridge." She looked up at him, blue eyes sharp. "I've taken the body temperature, but in these conditions it's not accurate at all. I suppose your witness has a better idea of the timings."

"I've been told they heard the gunshot at ten." And so should have dozens of other people, but they'd clearly all decided to get out of there. It didn't surprise him. Some would come forward at a later date. Some just wouldn't bother.

Cassia made to stand up, and he offered her his hand. She took a beat too long to accept it. He'd thrown her today, firstly by turning up on her doorstep, then by taking control of her accommodation. He'd thrown himself, too. The plan had been to make up with her, not ask her to move in.

"Thanks," she said when she was standing. "When we've moved the body, I'll be done here. I thought I'd go back to my flat and get those overnight things --"

"No." He tightened his grip on her. "I don't want you going there alone. Find an open coffee shop and wait for me in the warmth. We'll go back tomorrow."

***

Cassia slept in the spare room Sebastian had promised was hers that night. It was an anti-climax, but they were both too exhausted to do anything but rest.

She woke up in the dark when her tabphone alarm sang, deliciously warm and comfortable. The flat was still quiet, so she snagged the bathroom to shower and put a bit of make-up on. The mirror had a posh overhead light, which made things much easier, and she left fifteen minutes later with damp hair falling over her shoulders. The only problem was her clothes -- she was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Hopefully, no one at work would notice.

She entered the open-plan kitchen and living space in search of breakfast. Standing centre stage was an electric fireplace, with an enormous glass TV hanging over it and a leather sofa on either side. A rumpled throw had been tossed over the back of one, and two old mugs were on the coffee table. At the far end of the room was a floor-to-ceiling window framing a muddle of shadowed skyscrapers. Cassia drifted over to it and stared, the floorboards warm beneath her feet.