The Detective looked at the scrawl on the wall. It had dripped, but the blood had started to congeal and dry before the person had finished what they had written. Whomever had done it had gone, the source of the blood gone, too.
He looked at the chain and manacles. He had experience with such, but he backed out of the scene and pulled his gloves off before calling his expert.
“Madame Mo... Detective Metcalf? Is that you?”
He nodded knowing she couldn’t see him. “Ash, do you know the playspace that Desmond was advertising?”
He heard a hesitation. “Is this business or pleasure, Dick?”
The detective grimaced, feeling his greying stubble pull where he had missed it that morning. “I’m not sure what happened over here, Ash. But it looks like we will need you on this one.”
There was a sigh before he heard, “How much time can I take? I had a client coming in less than twenty minutes.”
“The blood is fresh.” »Read More