Cherry Grove Cottage, Number 13

Cherry Grove was a small neighborhood located outside of the Big Metro City. Away from all the neon advertisement, the angry cars roaring down the streets, or even any ambience from the 24/7 city life. Each unit were lined up, sitting side by side. They had enough space in between to be creative with their yard, guarded by tall hedges that acted as natural fences. They all looked similar in shape: two story building with a tattered front porch, rugged chimney, paint well worn by time, and rooftops cluttered with mounds of moss. Despite the aesthetic, peace and comfort was the core of the neighborhood’s atmosphere.

Unfortunately, there was already a cluster of police cruisers forming a blockade around one cottage, filling up the road and driveway. Police cordons were made around the perimeter to keep curious neighbours out and nosy reporters away. Only investigation personnel, forensic, and coroner vans were allowed entry.

Sergeant Leo carefully drove his car through the horde of news casts and officers, going under the tape line. After parking his vehicle to the side, he, Constable McLamb, and Constable Jackson jumped out.

“Number 13,” Jackson pointed at a certain cottage surrounded by police officers. “Inside. The Inspector and Jenny are looking at her right now.”

“Alright.” Leo rubbed his mouth, feeling his heart race just by looking at the cozy cottage guarded by police officers. “Jackson, go ask around. I don’t care how early it is, wake them up. Someone must have seen something. McLamb, with me.”

“You got it boss.” Jackson gave an OK with his hand before walking off to knock on doors.

Leo and McLamb moved to cottage number 14. The yard was gutted, fresh earth turned up. They could see the sprinkler systems exposed to the open air like bones of a skeleton. Just stepping across the stone walkway to the front porch made them feel they were running across a stone bridge over an empty moat.

Compared to the other cottages, the one they approached had a fresh coat of paint. It looked like a piece of the young sky came down to sit amongst the oldies. The rooftop was clean of any moss, replaced with brand new tiles. Even the plastic wrappers with spare material could be seen balanced on the rooftop.

The front door was wide open. Sergeant Leo was about to dive in, but looked inside. Immediately, he put a hand on his partner’s chest to stop him. “McLamb, you should go and help Jackson with--”

“Sir. I can handle it.”

“...You sure?”

McLamb returned a firm nod and patted the sergeant’s hand. “I am a detective. I can do this.”

Leo gave the constable a long stare... Then he slapped him on the shoulder, offering a strong thumbs up. The sergeant dipped into the cottage first. McLamb took two seconds to let his gut shudder, and took one last breath of fresh air before following into the crime scene.

The interior of the cottage was small and homey. There was a living room with a classic fireplace, closed up and waiting for the winter to wake up again. Several furniture had sooty cloths covering them up, stained with saw dust and paint. The other side was a small dining nook with a table big enough for two people to have meals on. In the back was a short flight of stairs that led to the upstairs, the steps covered in newspapers with paint drips covering some articles. There were two smells: the aroma of paint and plaster; and red iron.

Right in the middle of the hallway was a corpse lying in a pool of blood. Face down, hands sprawled out, feet pointing to those who entered the house. Trails of bloodied fingers clawed across tiles, splatter seeping into the corners of the floor. The corpse’s wool sweater was torn up across the back, only held together by several thin threads that survived the violent carnage.

Constable Jenny appeared, passing several gloves and foot covers for Leo and McLamb. After putting them on they approached Inspector May who was crouched with the coroner and coroner. McLamb stood behind Leo. Although he braved himself to eye the corpse, he would glance to the side to give his mental stamina and stomach a breather. Still, he wasn’t going to go back on his word, not entirely.

“The victim is roughly 30 – 34 years old.” The coroner spoke to the inspector as he checked a forensic thermometer. “Female, Caucasian. By my calculations she died roughly in the early hours of 2:00 AM to 3:00 AM. She has a deep gash across her forehead.”

Leo looked around for a moment. He looked at the broken vase at the floor away from the body, but shook his head. He checked the corner of the dinner table, clean. Most of the chaos seemed to be isolated in the hallway and there wasn’t much signs of blood across the wall or other bludgeoning objects.

McLamb waved a hand over to the sergeant and pointed to the front of the door. They both could see a large and dark foot print smeared on the front. There was a slight dent, wood breaking. Even the door hinge tore into the side of the door frame, exposing fresh timber.

One last examination, and Leo could see some blood on the corner of the door, facing inside the house, with some strand of hair snagged in the splinter. “The killer used the door to knock her down.”

The coroner took a moment to glance over at the door, squinting through his glasses. After looking between the corpse and door he nodded. “Most likely. The blow to the head was more of a stun, causing her to be disorientated. She has vomit in her mouth along with blood suggesting a major concussion. The true cause of death is here.” The coroner then gestured a gloved hand to the body.

Multiple stab runs run up and down the body’s back, from shoulder to hips. The muscles, flesh, and organs were so torn up, the blood kept flowing without any signs of drying or congealing.

“Victim was stabbed at least 18 times. There may be some overlap, so I will provide you a precise number when I conduct a full autopsy back at the morgue.”

“Eighteen...” McLamb gripped his stomach at reciting the number and seeing the blood. In the end he forcefully swallowed the nausea back down his throat. Even Leo shook his head. After a pause, he glanced at his inspector. “Is it her?”

Inspector May gave a sigh and helped the coroner to turn the body over on its side. Doing so revealed the corpse’s face bathed in blood, eyes closed and head bobbing around as if passed out asleep. Constable Jenny came over, showing Leo and McLamb a photo on her tablet from their police files. To make extra sure they got the right person, Jenny also pointed to the corpse’s hand – heavily bandaged around the palm, a thumb missing.

“Geez.” Leo gripped at his chin to compose himself. “It really is Sarah Tucker.”

“Wh...what happened here?” McLamb rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck.

Inspector May rose to her feet with a mumble. “I believe the real question is: who killed Sarah Tucker, again?”