Who Killed Kyle Simmons? (Bastille)

Chapter Ten

Chapter ten

The first thing Layla did the next day, was go straight to Kyle's house.

She wasn't going to be deterred by that threat, which, had seemingly disappeared along with the cadaver, before anyone else could see it.

Once she'd opened the door, the smell of dried blood had disappeared from Janna's home.

All the mud, blood, and evidence had been cleared away. Someone obviously didn't want her to investigate or solve this case, unfortunately, this only intrigued her more.

Janna said she wouldn't go back to the house until it was time to pack up her stuff.

Layla doubted any of the swabs for fingerprint DNA would prove useful, of course they wouldn't, the killer wore gloves, she was certain it was them who'd stolen the samples and written the message in blood last night.

They wouldn't be that stupid to forget something like that which would instantly unravel the mystery.

There was one thing though.

No weapon had been found after the police searched the house. The wounds inflicted on Kyle were done with something more or less blunt, but most importantly; heavy.

There was no way the murderer would have taken it with them, someone may have seen them, and besides, where would they hide it after that?

Layla stood in the doorway to the living room.

They'd come in the front door, Kyle would have been able to escape if the murderer had used the kitchen as their entrance.

Her dark shiny heels clicked as she slowly made her way round the sofa.

Blood everywhere, splattered on my arms, face, matted in my hair.
Shit.
I glanced over to Kyle, who lay broken in the corner. It was his fault. All of this. It didn't have to be, but it was. His fault, not mine.
I turned my hands over assessing the dark red liquid that had already started to dry.
Looking over my shoulder at the front door, I made my way to the kitchen.
The tap water was warm and made a hissing noise as it disappeared down the sink with a mixture of soap and blood.
My gloves sat on the draining board, soaked through.
The flashing TV was the only light, I couldn't risk turning any others on, so I wasn't sure whether all the blood was gone.
This was ridiculous, I knew there was no blood, but I could see it everywhere.
Perhaps it was the guilt?
No! He chose it. It ae his own fault he was dead.
Tears, hot and salty ran down my cheeks.
What had I done? What the fuck had I done? He wouldn't have said anything.
Now I'm in this mess.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, the crowbar leaning against the cupboard.
Snapping back on my gloves, I picked up what had killed him in despair, before the tears came again, I unlocked the window by the sink, and slid the crowbar away, the plants below concealing it.
Scrubbing the taps, and window furiously, my eyes and throat sore, I slipped away, out of one of the side doors, into the darkness and silence.

Layla pushed her hair away from her face.

Where would be the first place someone who is careful about leaving any evidence would go?

The kitchen.

Opposite her, dead centre, was the sink. Easy.

She doubted there would be any evidence left behind there, but the window above it however...

The first, easiest way of disposing a heavy weapon; out of the open window only a metre or so away.

**********

Layla stood, in front of the window, this time, outside the house.

Was there something in the tangle of foliage at the foot of the house?

She crouched down, prying away the long grades and tangles of vines, until her fingers felt something cold.

Wrapping her hand around it, Layla tugged. It was solidly wedged in place. She gripped on with both hands this time.

Her own harsh tug on the object sent her tumbling back, the weapon clutched tightly to her chest.

She examined the heavy crowbar, blood encrusted at the point, used to murder Kyle.

With enough force, it could shatter bone, which is exactly what it did.

*************

A/N

I can't handle OPH3 😭🙌 it's amazing :)

Please vote, comment, share etc...