“I didn't say that. But—have you met many Imperial ladies, ma’am?”
“I have not had the pleasure.”
“They aren’t the type to run for a weapon. With the looks of this place, someone would’ve only come to this shed last night looking for two things: a weapon or a place to avoid death. Only one set of prints, so no chase. The royal men like to think they’re heroic. I could see one coming here with a last stand in mind.”
“Well done, and I believe you’re correct.” Khlid wasn't so sure about the officer’s remarks on upper-class gender politics, but everything else added up. She came to a stop. “But what tool would I take?” Khlid scanned the whole room once again. With a place this organized, it should have been obvious if something were missing.
“Should I get one of the workers, ma’am? I’m sure a gardener would know the shed well enough to spot—”
“No,” Khlid cut in. “We don’t want to bring any possible suspects in here until we’ve swept it repeatedly.”
“Right, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” He paused, humor slipping into his voice. “It looks fairly well swept to me, ma’am.”
“Yes, this place is unsettlingly clean.” Khlid hardly even finished the sentence. Her mind was focused on the room now, and barely registered the officer.
Even the floor was clean. Who in the hell cleans their shed floor? The only signs of disturbance were the broken window and a smear of blood on the sill itself. Likely to have happened as the man climbed back out. Too much blood to be an immediate result of a gash. It had to have welled up over several seconds.
“Okay, Smits, here is what I know so far. A man came down to the shed after noticing something horribly wrong at the house. We know it was not one of the staff; none of them are hiding cuts. This man did not possess a key—probably one of the royal family; they don’t carry things like keys to sheds. So, he smashes the window. The door is locked from the outside, so he has to crawl back out the same way he came in, and leaves a blood smear on the windowsill on the way out. I suspect he did this well past midnight, after the rainstorm had peaked. Otherwise all that blood would have washed away.
“What we don’t know is what our mystery man snatched. We also don’t know if he had been in the house when things went to hell, or if he came home and witnessed it from the outside. Either way, he was trying to be a hero. Shame he’s probably dead.”
A voice different than Smits’ responded, “Well, that was enjoyable.”
That voice snapped the world back into focus. A grin spread across Khlid’s face. Heart beating just a bit faster, she stood and saw her husband, Samuel.
Samuel had been away three weeks. Sometimes inspectors were called to investigate matters in smaller towns to help maintain justice throughout the Empire. Samuel must have been handed a simple case: one could hardly do more in three weeks than travel to the provinces, turn around, and come back.
Khlid would have run to kiss Sam, but Smits still stood in the corner furiously writing in his notepad. She settled for walking over and giving Sam a hug. He placed his hand on her face before recomposing his professional demeanor, stepping away and looking around the shed.
“I got in this morning,” Samuel said. “I went to the station after I saw you weren’t home and was told you were out here on a homicide.” A grin pulled at his cheeks. It was something Khlid loved dearly about him. He would do whatever it took to be around her more throughout the day, even visit a murder scene, and would do so with a smile on his face.
“You couldn’t have been far behind us,” Khlid said. “We’ve barely been here half an hour.” After going over her observations, she asked, “Any clue what could have been taken?”
“Soil knife, I would guess,” Samuel said. “Nobles are all taught to defend themselves with knives, even if they carry a gun. I don’t see a soil knife in here, and if I was going into a house with one or more murderers, I would want something I was familiar with. I believe it was the patriarch, Lord Pruit, himself who came here. Any of the young dead men inside would have already had a knife on them. The older man probably stopped carrying one, even a decorative one, ages ago.”
Khlid smiled. Damn, her man was good.
“How many dead inside?” Samuel asked.
Smits looked up from his notes. “The whole family, plus what appear to be two guests. Six in total, but the family was killed… differently.”
“How were the guests killed?” Khlid asked.
“Both killed in their sleep with knife wounds to the heart. Two young noblemen. Very efficient kills.” Smits paused. “Have you been inside yet, ma’am?”
The image of the boy swinging in the breeze invaded her mind.
Khlid swallowed before saying, “No. I only got as far as the foyer before I had to handle the staff.”
“So, you saw the… the daughter?” Smits’ face contorted at the memory. The girl, in her late teens, had been splayed across the foyer floor, extra steps taken to brutalize the body after death.
“Yes,” she said. “Any word from the medical team?”
“No, ma’am. And the entire family was handled in a similar fashion.” Smits' voice cracked. “The killers took their time. Only the guests died peacefully.”
Samuel cleared his throat. “Someone with a clear vendetta, then. First, kill whoever is in your way so you can take your time with the family.”
Khlid shook her head. “Disagree.”
“What have I missed?”
“More than one killer. The guests in bed. Each killed by a direct stab wound to the heart, but no disturbance? And those are the least involved kills. One person could do what was done to the boy, but the daughter? That requires more.”
The image of the teenager’s splayed rib cage danced in her mind. “Plus—a house full of victims and no escapees.”
Samuel cocked an eyebrow. “So, why not a vendetta?”
“I’m fine with the vendetta theory.” Khlid raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just not so sure it was aimed entirely at the family.”
Smits and Samuel exchanged looks. “Does that not look like an extremely personal attack on the family to you?”
“Yes and no.”
Smits spoke up. “I’ll bite, why?”
“Because you don’t leave a display like that for people who are dead.”
“Oh…” Samuel’s eyes drifted. “This was left for us.”
“It must have been,” Khlid agreed.
A stillness hung over them, the thrill of the puzzle overtaken by Khlid’s revelation.
She touched her husband's arm. “What are you thinking?”
Samuel remained still. He always did when mulling things over. “I think this is a rebel attack. Like what we’ve seen in the city.”
Color drained from Smits’ face. “You think it’s related to the attack on the market last year?”
Khlid answered, “What happened here was clearly meant to send a message. This will spread. No matter how hard we try and stamp out the rumors, eventually the people will know the royal class has been hit. Hit in an extreme way.”