Woman Inside by Weatherley Anna-Lou

Author:Weatherley, Anna-Lou [Weatherley, Anna-Lou]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800193567
Publisher: Bookouture

Twenty-Three

The traffic is thick through the West End, forcing me to put the siren on and curse a lot as I will people to pull over and give me a clear path.

I’m hyperventilating by the time I pull up sharply outside Shortland’s Parade some thirty minutes later. I’m also dismayed by the amount of press that has already congregated outside, like a swarm of locusts spilling out onto the pavement and scuttling around, directionless, searching for scraps. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with the press – Fiona excluded, of course – on occasion they can be an extremely useful tool in your arsenal; a vital source of information, helping to raise public awareness, giving victims and their families a much-needed platform, a way to reach people quickly and effectively. On the other they can be a hindrance, a nuisance and sometimes even downright obstructive.

‘Get this lot out of here,’ I bark at a random uniform. ‘Tell them to get back. Everybody get back. Seal the whole place off. This is a crime scene not a bloody circus.’ I hear the sounds of cameras snapping and popping like fireworks around me as they scramble to get access.

‘Has he struck again, Detective? Is this the work of the Rose Petal Ripper?’ a voice cuts through the commotion.

‘Why haven’t you caught him yet, Detective?’ says another. ‘Do you think he’s working alone or does he have an accomplice?’

‘What have you got to say to the public, Detective? Women are terrified to leave their homes…’

I ignore them as I try to navigate my way towards the door and am relieved to see Davis’s familiar form jostling through the clock of bodies towards me. She nods at me and I pat her shoulder in solidarity as uniform push back the hacks. Davis leads me up the narrow stairs of the apartment block, muffling the din as she closes the door behind us. While we both suspected this moment was coming, it still does nothing to dampen the sense of shock, of horror. Neither of us speaks as we dress in PPE – our silence does all the talking.

I’m hit by the – sadly familiar – scent of death as we get closer to the front door of Leilani Stewart’s flat, a scent that is somehow different every time I’ve encountered it, yet also instantly identifiable. A scent that lingers longer in your psyche than some love affairs do, a unique smell you never forget. Both Davis and I look at each other in a silent exchange and brace ourselves for what we know is behind that door. I’m guessing, by the pungency of the smell, that Leilani has been dead for more than a few hours.

A warm, putrid wave smacks me like an uppercut as we enter the bedroom and both Davis and I instinctively recoil. Thankfully I haven’t eaten breakfast this morning otherwise I suspect it might make an abrupt reappearance. I can’t speak for Davis. I can’t speak at all.

‘Who found her?’ I eventually ask the uniform standing guard in the doorway, my voice muffled by my protective mask.

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