Helen stood in the doorway, sickened by the sight in front of her. Having failed in her pursuit, she’d retraced her steps to the cell which the fugitive had bolted from. To her horror, the cell door lay ajar and inside a prone form lay on the bed, covered from head to foot with a tatty blanket.
Trying to quell the roaring emotions inside her, Helen moved forward but as she reached out to grasp the blanket, she saw that her hand was shaking violently. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly in and out, trying desperately to regain her composure. But her heart was breaking and there was no way to quell her distress so taking the final steps, she gently tugged the blanket from the bed.
As it slipped to the floor, Helen reached out to steady herself against the wall. Jordi lay on the bed in front of her. Her eyes were sewn shut and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, where the stitching pulled upwards. Instinctively Helen wanted to run from this terrible scene, to hide from the gut-wrenching sight of the dead mum of two. But she now found herself kneeling down by the body. Pulling her sleeve up to cover her hand, she stroked Jordi’s cheek, uttering a silent prayer for her. Helen wasn’t religious in the slightest, but Jordi was and Helen felt it was important that she should leave this world bathed in love and tenderness, rather than tainted by a killer’s cruel touch.
Tears filled Helen’s eyes now, but she wiped them roughly away. Jordi’s body was still warm but Helen could see that rigor mortis was starting to set in. This spurred her on – as broken as she was by the sight of her brutalized friend, Jordi’s body would become increasingly hard to manipulate. She had to examine her now.
As she’d expected, Jordi’s ears were full of a thick, clear jelly. Helen didn’t dare touch the body, so instead leant in close to smell the substance. It had a strong odour of petroleum so was presumably Vaseline. Moving her gaze further down, she was distressed to see that Jordi’s vagina had been sewn shut. She thought about rolling Jordi over to check her rear, but every second counted now, so she would take it as read that her killer had been thorough in their work.
She moved upwards to examine Jordi’s face and neck. No scratches, no bruising. Likewise, her hands exhibited no defensive wounds and her long, glamorous nails were all intact. Was it possible the killer drugged her? Creeping up on her while she slept and applying chloroform or similar? Helen leant down until her nose was nearly touching Jordi’s – she couldn’t smell anything, but that didn’t prove a thing. There were odourless equivalents.
A sudden noise made Helen look up and she glanced nervously at the door, but it was just another inmate crying out in her sleep. Helen returned her attention to the body, running her eyes over the surface of her skin, looking for the puncture marks of a taser’s pins. There were plenty of tattoos, old scabs and scars, even the legacy of childhood burns, applied by her sadistic mother. But no sign of the skin on her face, neck or arms having been broken in the last few hours. In fact, her skin looked largely unblemished, her upper torso as toned and alluring as always, her silver crucifix resting gently on her generous bosom.
Pulling her hand deeper into her sleeve, Helen now moved Jordi’s left arm up so she could examine that side of her torso. Nothing suspicious – so Helen did the same with her right arm and, this time, as she bent closer to examine the skin underneath she noticed something. In Jordi’s right armpit was a small pink mark. It would have been easy to miss, buried as it was in the dark stubble of her intermittently shaved armpit, but it stood out to Helen like a sore thumb. It was a needle mark, raw and fresh. Jordi had been making great efforts to wean herself off heroin, so what did this signify? Was it self-administered in a moment of weakness? Or had someone injected her?
Helen continued her examination, but her mind was now turning on the needle mark and seconds later she stood bolt upright, cursing herself for her stupidity. Now she didn’t hesitate, turning on her heel and heading for the door. As she did so, she rammed the suicide alarm with her elbow.
A second later, the shrieking alarm rang out, but Helen was already gone.