Читать книгу Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 30

Erin Malone had been on Lindsay’s mind since the post-mortem. She would be now until the case was successfully closed, the murderer safely locked up. Even then she’d remain a permanent echo, her face one of a number that would be lodged within her long-term memory. Having studied the photographs her mother had provided, Lindsay could see that Erin had been pretty in life. But now, in death, the mask of fear had transformed her features, the array of post-mortem photos depicting a different Erin. Lindsay was drawn repeatedly to the girl’s bloodshot eyes. They held the image of her killer, the last thing she’d seen in this life.

Lindsay skipped breakfast, always did, she needed only coffee to kickstart her day – a large cafetiere of the stuff. She drained the last of it from her mug and slouched back, sinking into her oversized comfy armchair. The one item of her dad’s she’d managed to save from that woman he’d married during his last year of life. The cow had taken every other thing he owned: possessions, money, his house. The lot. Money-grabbing old bag.

She leant forward, re-spreading the photos on the coffee table. There really wasn’t much to go on. The post-mortem confirmed the cause of death as asphyxiation: the bloodshot eyes; the split skin at the corners of the mouth where an item, as yet unknown, had been forced inside; the purplish colour to her skin. Because of the weather conditions and the crime scene itself – Erin’s body stripped naked and left in the marshy land – the discovery of latent prints or DNA had been doubtful. To make matters worse, the pathologist had found traces of bleach. The killer had been careful, organised. Despite Lindsay being glad there was no sign of a sexual attack, this too meant there was no DNA evidence.

The only silver lining had been the fibres taken from under Erin’s fingernails. There was an outside chance they could be from material she was wrapped in to transport her body from the murder scene to the dumping ground, or from the boot of a car or the killer’s clothes. All three would be a bonus, give them something helpful to go on. Lindsay prayed the fibres weren’t merely from Erin’s own clothes, which hadn’t been recovered. There had been no skin – it seemed she hadn’t put up a fight against her abductor. Maybe she’d been drugged, or rendered unconscious. The toxicology report might give them a fuller picture when it came back.

Lindsay was due to make a public appeal later. She had confidence someone would come forward with information. Plus, there was the group of teenagers that were out with Erin on Saturday night. They must know something of significance, either from the night itself, or in relation to Erin’s background – they needed to be reinterviewed.

Currently, these two avenues were their best hope. And with the killer still at large, she needed to act quickly.