Chapter Ten
Callan stood in Patricia’s bedroom with a scowl on his face and assessed the new crime scene. Everything lay in a mess, including the mattress.
The closed windows trapped the after-effects of death.
Sun beat through the glass, still high in the sky, making Callan’s skin prickle.
Who’d done this? And what was Fayola doing here?
Callan crouched to examine the dark blue carpet. The white canvas on the underside of the blue threads stuck out. Patricia had had it for a long time.
He bent lower, focusing on the bristles. Blobs of mud stuck to it. From a shoe?
Callan tugged at the scrubs he wore, the added layer unwelcome in this boiling room. The bloody things itched uncomfortably but were necessary – he’d never do anything to compromise a crime scene.
Feet covered in shoe co
