The flimsy wood of the door frame shattered with ease, these cheap council flats weren’t built to last and the builders had obviously been cutting costs to keep their profits high.
It was obvious that no-one was home. Who could stand that stench of rotting flesh or the multitude of insects that were already buzzing around my face.
I told Stevie to keep his hands in his pockets so that no evidence was disturbed. Better than putting gloves on, touching things like door handles and taking away any valuable prints, besides the SOCO guys moaned if anything was disturbed. Although I didn’t think that would be a problem in this case.
At first glance, the apartment was a shambles, pizza boxes, dirty clothing and drug paraphernalia lying all over the place, a typical junkie hovel, nothing particularly memorable apart from the obvious.
The smell was so overwhelming that at first it wasn’t clear where the body was tucked away. No-one had seen the occupant in 6-8 weeks and like the best steaks, he’d had time to tenderise and mature on the bone.
On second glance into the bedroom, the full-height cupboard door was slightly ajar and the odd blue-bottle was taking its turn to escape for a breath of fresher air.
Should I open the cupboard or give Stevie the honours?
It was his first time at a death scene, so the pleasure was all his.
I told him to put on his gloves and open the door with his pencil from the bottom so as to minimise interfering with any evidence.
Stevie slowly opened the door and there hanging from the rail of the wardrobe was the very late Kevin McLeod.
I’d seen him looking better. Continue reading “Wolf – Remains?”