Living Among Wasps, Page 2

husband’s. There were also no signs of a struggle, which is odd considering that the killer was right in front of her. There was no DNA behind her fingernails either, other than the husband’s.”

  “By what you have told me at this point, it seems that the husband himself is the killer. He is the only one who has evidence everywhere. Besides, the forensics could not deduce the precise time of death since it is a matter of minutes, and he could have called the ambulance in advance to create a deception.” I interrupted.

  “The police also looked into this possibility, but it does not seem right. The call to emergency came thirty-seven seconds after he returned home. He wouldn’t have had enough time to kill her. He also does not have a motive for doing it.”

  “Or you haven’t found the motive…” I added.

  “Or that, yes. Either way, he does not seem like a killer type and as we interviewed him his body, language and order of thoughts almost screamed ‘shock’ and ‘disbelief.’ I just can’t believe he’s guilty. Even if he is guilty, we have no evidence against him. His fingerprints and DNA have a very good reason for being in the house, on the murder weapon and the body of his wife. There’s no way we can persecute him.”

  “Obviously. The most likely killer is standing right in front of you, but there is nothing that could prove it. Frankly, if his guilt is that plain, there should be no trouble proving it. To me that indicates that it is very likely that he is not, in fact, the offender. However, it can’t be excluded no matter how unbelievable that seems. People cannot be underestimated or trusted, but you know that, right? You’re a copper.”

  She nodded.

  Apparently, Rebecca wasn’t in a chatty mood that day. After she handed me the folder with the case files, she dashed off without really saying anything more. We agreed that I would take a look at the evidence before she comes back tomorrow to hear what I’ve got to say about the case.

  Upon inspecting the materials, I noticed that Rebecca had indeed been thorough. Besides the forensics and autopsy reports, she had added the testimonies of all the neighbours living in the building, as well as their dossiers. She had also done a remarkably fine job in photographing the crime scene and the victim. There were around twenty shots of each room in the apartment and about as many of the victim. Not only had she shot the floor, the walls, the furniture and the celling, but she had crawled under the sink and the bed as well as carefully opened each and every drawer. It almost seemed as if she had taken these pictures with intent of showing them to someone who could not be present at the scene. Lastly, she had also included a flashdrive with the security camera footage and the contents of the victim’s phone. The prison promised to provide me with a laptop by the end of the day, but they will not grant me the Wi-Fi password so that I can’t contact anyone outside. Or wander off watching videos of kittens. That didn’t bother me at all since there was no one I would want to contact anyway. My parents have long since stopped talking to me, or even recognizing me as their child, and I don’t have anyone I could claim as a friend either. The only person I could contact was Rebecca, but what could I possibly say to her? Without giving much more thought to my private life, I got into my bed and started looking through the files.

  The victim, Amanda N., was a woman in her late thirties. A psychiatrist, according to the documents. For the last two and a half years she had been running her own private clinic with modest success. At one point roughly a year ago her business was close to bankruptcy. It survived because of an investment from an offshore company based in Monaco. There was nothing more on this transaction inside the files I had, but I would be genuinely surprised if it had actually slipped through the more secretive agencies of the Interior ministry. This woman, Amanda, certainly has something to hide and she is far from a petty, little citizen.

  Her husband, on the other hand, was and upstanding citizen, at least according to the papers. He worked as a chef in a restaurant called “Nightingale” – the place is not particularly posh, but it nevertheless remains as one of the more elegant places to dine in. He has worked there for the last six years. Apart for a couple of speeding tickets and a parking fine, he has not jumped in the eyes of the law.

  Judging from the picture of the crime scene, the victim wasn’t very tall and slightly out of shape. Her short, brown hair covered her lifeless face that carried a birthmark just under the left nostril. The victim had her right hand on the left collarbone, with the fist oddly clenched – that must have been the hand the husband was holding as the woman took her last breath. The other hand was still, lying by her side, soaked in the blood that covered the whole floor because the rest of her corpse had been ripped apart in the mad frenzy of the attacker. Her clothes were shredded by the stabs, but underneath the body was covered with hideous criss-crossed wounds that stretched from her collarbone to waistline. She wasn’t just stabbed, but sadistically mutilated and the ghastly state in which the attacker had left the victim would leave everyone close to throwing up. I could spot some footmarks on the floor, but they were obviously made by the worried husband and the medical team. The oddest thing about the attack was that there wasn’t any sign of struggle. The perpetrator had been right in front of her, but there were no bruises on her body which would indicate defence, nor was there, as Rebecca already noted, any other DNA besides her husband’s. Even if the spouse was the killer, Amanda would surely have tried to defend herself. The rest of the pictures indicated that there was nothing extraordinary about the place. Nothing seemed to be broken, taken or removed, apart from the kitchen knife which was used as the murder weapon. The drawers were in perfect order from the sock and shirt ones in the bedroom to the cutlery in the kitchen. Furthermore, there wasn’t a speck of dust, smudge or blemish in the rest of the flat. Their neatness and order was remarkable!

  There were seven people in the building at the time the police arrived at the scene. Because the housing complex was new (opened one year ago) there weren’t a lot of taken rooms – just nine. The rest of the residents had not been interviewed since they had not been home, nor had they responded to police’s plea to contact them. That did not strike me as particularly surprising. People here are ridiculously unresponsive to such things, unless they have been asked directly.

  TESTIMONY OF HUSBAND RICHARD N.

  Q: Please state your full name and your affiliation with the victim.

  R: Richard N. I am the husband of the deceased.

  Q: How long have you been married?

  R: A little over five years.

  Q: How was it? The marriage?

  R: Well… Yes, we have had some ups and downs throughout the years, but we haven’t been fighting for over a year now. We were happy together. I love her, and I know that she loves me. I can’t imagine anyone who would want to hurt her. See, she is a fantastic human being, kind and loving, and caring. People in the job like her, the neighbours like her, she had plenty of friends… I… I just don’t see how this could have happened… And in such a way. Who? Who would do something like that to her?!

  Q: It’s all right, Richard. We’ll get you some water. Now, tell us exactly what happened.

  R: You already know what happened, I’ve told you. Her sister called because she was bringing something… what was it? I can’t even remember anymore… So, I went downstairs, picked up the items and came back to find her in… in… you know. I wasn’t gone more than two minutes. And… and she even buzzed me back in! I think I even… Yes! I heard her say something in the microphone before she opened the door.

  Q: What did she say?

  R: “Come in.” or something. I didn’t really hear it, but I know she said something. She… she was alive then! If I had just been some seconds quicker! I would have been able to stop the attacker. He was right there, I know it!

  Q: So, to clarify. She had some sort of a conflict with one of her colleagues in her job?

  R: No. I didn’t say that. She had absolutely no problems with other people. That’s the thing!

  Q: Th
ank you, Richard. That will be all for now. Get some rest. We might contact you again if further questions arise, but for now you are free. Should we phone someone to get you?

  Maybe because of the shock, the husband did not provide information that would be of any particular value. It does seem that the officer decided to ask the husband for clarification on something he did not even say to test his reliability as a witness. Yet, the question did not turn out to be a good one. At least it did provide something that I immediately noticed as strange. And the report of the victim’s sister proved my theory correct.

  TESTIMONY OF SISTER NATALIA. P

  Q: Please state your full name and your affiliation with the victim.

  N: My name is Natalia P. and I am Amanda’s older sister.

  Q: Were you close?

  N: Yes. We were not only sisters, but best friends. We told each other everything. From the clothes we’ve bought to troubles in our families. I knew all about her tosspot husband. How he used to disappear for days and then return like nothing happened. He ignored all the questions my sister would ask and never explained himself. Only that it was none of her business. That is why they never had children. The drunk didn’t want them… He always changed the subject