The front door was open. Delaney signalled to Ryan to stay one step behind him as they entered a hallway, leading off from which was a magnificent living room whose decor included custom millwork, coffered ceilings and Brazilian walnut floors. It was a superb soaring, arcing, two-storey beamed living room.
They slowly crept into the main room of the house.
It was empty. It looked and smelt as if it had been recently disinfected. Delaney stood perfectly still. Behind him Ryan did likewise. Somewhere a clock was ticking. There was no other sound. Delaney’s hearing was attuned to picking up the subtlest of sounds. He had been blessed with this gift.
Nothing.
The room was bare of anything personal, anything that bore the hallmark of its owner. Comfortable chairs and armchairs were spread around the living space alongside numerous pieces of furniture from a beautiful armoire to occasional tables and sideboards complete with elegant statuary. A large living room table dominated the center of the room. It was empty.
Drip!
Drip, drip!
Delaney saw it then. A pool of blood was forming a glutinous puddle on the highly polished floor just beyond the table. Delaney and Ryan raised their eyes together. Ryan choked and grabbed Delaney tightly. It took all her self-control to prevent her insides and her bowels from emptying themselves.
Delaney winced at the sight. He had seen some dead bodies in his time but this –
Herman Letski was naked. His body had been suspended from one of the giant wooden cross beams by a chain looped over it ending in a large iron hook. The chain could be raised and lowered by a small pulley. But it was where the hook was positioned that was so appalling. The point of the hook had entered the back of Letski’s head, under his skull, entering his brain. His entire body weight was hanging, supported by his skull. It was only a matter of time before it obeyed the laws of gravity.
At that exact moment, Letski’s head and skull would separate from his body.But this wasn’t the end to the horror.
A message had been carved into Letski’s chest with a sharp instrument such as a scalpel. Although rivulets of blood were descending along Letski’s body until they reached his toes and then formed the drops that formed the pool of blood on the floor, the message was clear. And it was personal. ‘The Monk is next’.
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