It was of a woman, lying lifeless on the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath her. The woman’s face was barely recognizable—twisted in pain, her eyes wide open in a final, silent plea for help. I felt a chill run down my spine as I stared at the screen.
The photo was so vivid, so haunting, it almost felt like I could hear her silent scream echoing through my mind. Who was this woman? And why did Detective Hayes have this photo? What was the connection?
I swiped left, desperate to make sense of what I was looking at, and another photo appeared. This time, it was the same woman, her body riddled with bullet holes, her once-beautiful face now a grotesque mask of death. My stomach churned violently, a nauseating wave of disbelief crashing over me as I tried to process the gruesome image
