Looking down, the Investigator studies the spot where her blood has pooled and soaked into the carpet. It is still wet and he is tempted to reach down and touch it. Imagines his fingers coming away red and sticky. But what would he do then? Wipe them of course but where? On the edge of the sofa perhaps or one of the walls? Or would he simply leave them and let the blood dry? Pick at it later at the tiny scabs of DNA.
Stepping back and looking around, the Investigator is unnerved by the room, by its lack of character. He wonders what he can learn from it, what this room can tell him about the victim. Surely there must be something here, hidden in plain sight. Something perhaps that doesn’t belong.