Palmer Ch. 05

The reason for the jammed door was obvious. How the hell had the attacker got the strength to pull that heavy desk over? And so quickly? It even took Palmer a good few seconds to pull it clear.

He retraced his way up the stairs, stopping at each floor, checking for something out of place, looking for clues. He knew the fruitlessness of his efforts even as he followed normal procedure.

Eventually, back on the fourth, he slowly returned to number forty-nine. His heart was almost pumping through his chest in fear and anticipation of what he would find. Wilson opened the door.

His eyes fell on the scorched pattern of tiny holes near the ceiling, splattered with blood. They flicked to the marble top coffee table on its side. That's when he saw the dead woman.

Her face was gone and part of her shoulder was blown away. Lying partly against the wall beside the door, blood continued to pump from her wounds. Like a rag doll, her hands and arms were bent at obscene angles, a splash of blood on the ball dripping down close to her body.

The bile rose in Palmer's throat. He tried to choke it back. With one hand against the wall, holding himself up, he stared at Wilson, then Goodwin. His silent scream filled his head.