The darkened entrance to 7 James Street was about to give up a gruesome secret.
The police sergeant picked his way up the narrow, carpeted stairs to the first floor landing, outside the front door of flat one.
The door was locked. He shook the handle and it rattled where the lock had worked loose. Standing back he aimed a forceful kick.
The lights inside were not working; the pre-payment meter card had run out ages ago. The pitch-black hallway was strewn with litter. All three doors leading off it were shut.
Opening one, the officer walked into the kitchen and through to the bathroom; the light of his torch traced a number of spent matches and cigarette butts, stood up on their ends, strangely arranged in a line around the rim of the bath.
Another door led to a room empty save for two mattresses propped against the wall. He flicked his torch towards the third door. There was blood on it.
Inside, a bare divan was illuminated by the orange glow of a street light. On top of it an opened but unused condom. At the bottom of it, the body of a woman.
Lying on her back, she was fully clothed, her t-shirt and stone-washed jeans partially covered by a black leather coat. Even in murky light it was clear; she was dead.
As the officer radioed for back-up, a woman waiting on the landing outside the entrance to the flat started to cry.
Source : BBC
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