‘How many?’
‘Four. All deceased.’
‘Shit.’
‘Adult male, adult female, teenage boy, teenage girl.’
Jesus, a whole family wiped out by the looks of it.
‘Any idea what caused the fire?’ Kim asked, understanding her role in this tragedy. The manner of death needed to be agreed on by the pathologist and herself before the removal process could commence.
‘Don’t know,’ Keats answered as Mitch appeared in the doorway.
‘Where did it start?’ Kim asked, taking steps forward to enter.
‘Not sure yet.’
‘Keats, are you trying to be obtuse?’
He shook his head. ‘Waiting for Nigel Adams to arrive, but it’s not going to help us any. It wasn’t the fire that killed them. Gunshot wounds, every one of them. Looks like murder-suicide to me.’
Kim stopped walking. She had assumed a house fire had claimed the lives of the family.
‘You’re telling me that Dad got a gun and shot up his whole family.’
‘I’m telling you it looks something like that, except the person holding the gun was Mum.’
FIVE
Kim followed Keats into the house once attired in protective clothing. The pathologist had refused entry to more than two of them, and there had been no question that those two were herself and Bryant. Stacey and Penn had been dispatched to search the exterior of the property and check in with the constables on witness statements. Leanne had been instructed to remain outside. The woman had attempted to argue with Keats, and Kim had silently wished her luck. There were few things Keats guarded more fiercely than an active crime scene.
As she passed through the tents, she was still processing what he’d told her. Although she’d never attended a murder-suicide scene, she knew that in cases such as these it was normally the father that took the life of his family, often due to guarding a secret or financial ruin.
She immediately thought of a case in Shropshire in 2008. A fifty-year-old man had shot dead his wife and teenage daughter along with their horses and dogs before setting alight their million-pound home. The investigation had quickly determined that the man was heavily in debt, and had most likely killed his family in an effort to protect them from the certain poverty they were going to face.
Looking at the house, Kim immediately wondered if they were going to face a similar story here.
‘All family members are up there,’ Keats offered.
Kim mounted the stairs, realising that she was heading away from the fire damage, as the lingering smell of smoke grew weaker, and she saw no damage to the lower hallway or the winding stairs that deposited her at a spacious landing.
Attractive cupboards and drawer sets were placed against the wall spaces between the numerous doors. Each piece of furniture held either a decorative lamp, delicate ornament or framed photo. No surface was cluttered, just styled yet homely.
Although the carpet was good quality, a trodden path could be seen leading to all of the rooms, with only the outer edges retaining its former glory.
‘Where first?’ Keats asked.
‘Can we follow her likely path?’ Kim asked, finding the use of the female pronoun jarring in such a situation.
‘Impossible to know at this stage, but this first door here is the room belonging to Rosalind Daynes, seventeen-year-old daughter of Helen and William.’
Kim took a breath and entered the room, aware of Bryant’s presence behind her. Twenty-four hours ago this bedroom had been filled with life and was now prematurely still.
‘Jesus,’ Bryant whispered.
Like her, she suspected his gaze had gone straight to the bed.
A girl with black curly hair lay on her back with the quilt cover gathered at her waist, exposing her upper half. The thin-strapped, white vest top had a red circular stain with an epicentre right between her breasts. Trails of blood had crawled away from the circle and seeped down into the bed covers.