Amaya sat at her desk, her computer whirred on her desk, the bright screen showing a map of London and the surrounding area. Beside her arm was a pile of pictures, the topmost one was of an arm with a line scratched into the skin with a knife. Amaya tapped her pencil thoughtfully on the desk.
"Why did this person murder her?" She asked with a slight Japanese accent crossed with a British.
"I don't know, and why did they cut that mark into her skin?" Asked her work partner, Evan.
"Are we assuming that the murderer made those marks?"
"Well, I think we have to assume that he or she did, I mean why would the victim mark them? A dying message? A clue?"
"I thought of that, so I looked into that, but I found nothing. Jane Hartley had no connection to any of the threads I looked at. I can't seem to make any progress."
"Well lets look at what we know." Evan put in helpfully, Amaya grunted in reply, "we know that it's an organised crime, so the murderer, lets call him or her X for now, is probably moving around."
"Have you put the data in yet?"
"Yes, the information is still being progressed."
"Then there's not much else we can do until we get that information back, it should arrive around tomorrow."
"Cool."
"Well, shall we call that a day then, we've been working overtime anyway."
"Don't remind me."
They walked down the stairs bouncing back ideas about the murder. When they got out of the Scotland Yard building they said their goodbyes, before entering the London sidewalk traffic.
On the underground back to her apartment Amaya's thoughts were turning over the murder she was investigating. What was his motive? She asked herself, I'm guessing X is a serial killer, so what type is he? Jane Hartley didn't have any people holding grudges against her to my knowledge...
"Royal Green Station" announced the intercom.
Amaya stood up and pushed through the never ending crowd if the London Underground and up onto ground level. She pushed her way through the people, the smell of smokers hanging in the air like a heavy perfume.
Sniffing her nose Amaya reached into her bag and retrieved her keys, her hand bumping against the soft, smooth cover of her book. She pushed her keys into the lock and turned the key, feeling the resistance against her hand.
Stumbling inside she set her bag down on the cluttered bench, brushing off the bread crumbs first. She took off her grey shoes and, grabbing the book out of her bag, clumped upstairs, and collapsed on the bed, opening the book as she did.
It was the set in ancient Japan and revolved around the story of two lovers in the lower class. It was good, but slightly cliche at the same time.
