A flowery aroma burst through the ajar front door as James pulled the key he had received from Mrs Whitehall out of the lock. The police must have dismissed her as a nosy old woman with nothing new to share. James wrinkled his nose and held his breath as the piquant fragrance intensified. The door swung open to reveal Pippa’s pristine white studio apartment, now dusted in fingerprint powder. Neat was an understatement. It didn’t do the sight justice. Her tiny, minimalist apartment was picturesque, like it belonged in those home living magazines that Valentine obsessed over.
The ivory two-seater sofa with rounded arms, lined with small grey cushions, was positioned in the centre along the left wall. To its far left was a white four-door wardrobe followed by a small white bedside table, and a double bed pushed up against the radiator mounted on the right wall. It was definitely a place for one.
James closed the door behind him and took a few steps. He found himself in the centre of the room. And that’s when he saw it. A lone white candle sat in the centre of the radiator’s cover, next to a 100ml glass bottle of Miss Dior. Squinting, James leaned forward to get a closer look at the bottle.
That’s the eau de parfum. How can she afford that?
James walked over to the radiator, picked up the small silver lid and placed it on top of the Jo Malone orange blossom candle. As his eyes wandered over to the perfume bottle, a deep sense of curiosity developed within him. The floorboards creaked underneath his shoes as he strolled towards the wardrobe. Inside was a rack packed to the brim with high street clothes, not a single designer item in sight. He closed the door and turned around.
Interesting.
The walnut-stained dining table turned desk was pushed up against the wall where the flatscreen TV hung. And to the right was a tall walnut-stained coatrack bearing a men’s plaid jacket. It was the only hint of the presence of a man in the entire flat. James walked over to the coatrack and lifted the jacket off the hook. He brushed his hand along the plaid material—it felt expensive. He turned the jacket around to inspect the tag.
It’s bespoke.
James held the plaid jacket in the air by its shoulders. It’s got to be a 3XL. Was it left before or after the crime scene team did a sweep?
A deep furrow appeared on his brow as James carefully lifted the jacket back onto its hook. He ambled over to the kitchen door and peered through the small window. Out of the corner of his eye, James spotted a MagSafe cord protruding between the table and the wall.
Great, Anwar has her laptop.
Reaching out, James pulled a chair out from the table as a purple and white spotted pen rolled onto the floor and under the double bed.
Merde.
Crouching on the floor, James peeped under the bed. A large piece of shimmering metal plated in gold lay undisturbed—forgotten. Or was it planted after the police visited Pippa’s flat?
James crawled closer and reached out towards the mysterious gold object. As his hand struck the cool metal, James realised it was a laptop. Ignoring the pen, James pulled the computer closer to him and stood up. Upon opening the laptop, a chime followed by a click broke the silence of the apartment. She didn’t have a password. The screen opened to reveal an open email in the computer’s default mail system. Possibly the last email she had ever read. It was from Elizabeth, telling Pippa not to do any more podcast interviews without her consent. At that moment, James knew he couldn’t keep this to himself any longer.