Total silence fell over the room.
Everyone stared in stunned shock at the pregnant woman lying on the operating table.
Her abdomen was a mess of dark purplish bruising, veins bulging grotesquely under the skin, with a shallow dent right in the center of her belly.
The blood pooled beneath her had already clotted into a dark mess. One glance was all it took to tell it had been sitting there for hours.
Marina held her hand under the woman's nose for a second, then pressed two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse. Her face drained of color instantly.
"She's dead."
As soon as those two words left her mouth, Irene, the department director, and I locked eyes. Disbelief was written all over both our faces.
Behind us, Ramil, who'd walked in a second later, gaped wide, his mouth hanging
