Wednesday, 25 April 2012

A Dose of Cyanide

I met up with West and the teams. 

It is a horrible smell, that of bitter almonds.
It was not pungent, but you could detect it.
Her face was cherry red, contorted like she was in pain.

A bottle of scotch was resting on the old oak desk,
a glass smashed on the floor by her black heels.
She was at her computer, face against the keyboard.
Spittle along her cheek.

It does not take a genius to know she was poisoned.

We were careful to only remove evidence pertaining to us.
I cannot say exactly what.
Blame Tau.

After all, the police have a job to do.

Her assistant. That nice girl we met last time.
She saw her choking, spasming upon the desk.
She rang us first.

The concentration was high...
She died within minutes.

She was a banker.
She must have had enemies...
But since the whole Moriarty thing happened...
We are being extra careful.

And again,
mixed in with her perfume.
Death and Almonds.

Smells make me think about something.
Like I know that my brain is working upon it.
But my mind cannot understand what it is.
Like formulae in the eyes of a madman.

My mind has been slowed recently like that.

I did not know you well Mrs. Strauss.
But I suppose I must tell you to rest in peace.

1 comment:

  1. Death and almonds.

    The smell of someone passing and the smell of young life. Poetic.