She did so.
‘It’s deep,’ she noted.
‘Too deep, but not conclusive on its own.’
She looked again.
‘No hesitation marks,’ she noted.
Keats nodded. ‘Never have I attended a suicide in this manner to find such a deep and decisive cut with no hesitation marks. One normally needs to build up to inflicting such a wound.’
‘Rare but not impossible?’ she asked.
‘One more thing, and I’ll forgive your tardiness if you get this one.’
She leaned down to take a closer look, careful not to touch anything. She took a look at his hand and then back at the wrist.
‘Is that a small bruise?’
He nodded. ‘Okay, you’re forgiven. Yes, there’s a chance that bruise came from having his wrist held in place, so for those three reasons I’m not prepared to classify the death as suicide, and I’m sure you agree with me.’
She nodded as a techie stood beside her and took a photo.
‘How long?’
‘Initial estimations are that he died in the early hours of the morning – around 1 a.m.’
Kim frowned. ‘Where was…?’
‘His wife returned from an overnight sales conference this morning and found him. She’s in the kitchen.’
‘And the child?’ Kim asked.
‘Is with his grandparents.’
Kim idly wondered why the child hadn’t been left with his father, but she thanked the Lord he hadn’t been in the house.
She headed back through the cramped boot room to a hallway with what she assumed were bedroom doors and a bathroom. Right at the other end was a barn-style kitchen complete with wooden cupboards and flagstones.
Liam’s wife sat at a small round table with a police officer sitting to her left.
Kim introduced herself and Bryant.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ the police officer said, taking the untouched cuppa from in front of the woman, who stared at the table.
‘Mrs Sachs, we are so sorry for your loss.’
The woman nodded without raising her head.
At this point family members were often in a state of denial and were looking to her to tell them there’d been some kind of mistake. This woman had entered her home and the proof had been right in front of her. It was an image she would never forget.
‘He was alone,’ she said, gulping back the tears. ‘He did this because he was alone. I wasn’t here.’
‘That’s not true, Mrs Sachs.’
‘Monica, please. I can’t stand hearing his name,’ she said, finally lifting her head. Her eyes were raw, and her skin looked bleached of colour.
‘Monica, I’m sorry to have to intrude but can you tell us what happened?’