In preparation. Sample Extract:

She lay, legs and arms twisted under the body, her feet almost back to front, as only a corpse could lie, with a round hole in her forehead ending mortality issues. Her eyes were wide open, shocked with a look of disbelief in her last seconds of life. She was dark haired, model-like thin with a gold Irish Celtic Cross around her neck, and a wedding ring on her left hand. Her skirt was rolled up to her waist but her frilly panties appeared undisturbed.

Carl took his eyes from the corpse and looked away, blind to the hotel room, hot tears formed in his eyes. A lone chair lay overturned in the centre of the room. Artificial lights buzzed overhead, giving a clinical coldness to the scene. Drawers had been opened and their contents strewn over the thick carpet. Carl looked at his watch. It was 7 am. The time had passed quickly yet there was no reason to doubt the craftsmen of the Rolex watch company.

'Kirsten, What the hell? Why were you here? What were you involved in and with whom?' The Hotel Eleyse aka the 'easy lay' was one of those discreet Parisian hotels whose main income derived from lovers' trysts and those who preferred ‘le cinq à sept' hours for quick sex. It was a mystery. Kirsten was happily married and the mother of two young girls. Kirsten and her husband often dined with Gerda and me and our friends. I was stunned to find her body. I had a surge of emotions, bewilderment, total disbelief; my senses ran fast. The scene now became real and vivid, and I realised just how fragile life was. This would take some time to forget.

Kirsten Holmes was an American doctor who worked with my wife, Gerda, in the Paris Clinique in the ‘urgences’ or emergency ward. I would have to decide how to break this difficult news to Gerda. Discovering Kirsten's corpse was a shock. 

The first police officer to arrive paused at the threshold. He was thickset with a jumble of silver-grey hair. His hooded eyes scouring the room, taking in every detail. He then came forward and knelt beside the victim. His expression was sombre, respecting the gravity of the situation. He introduced himself as Inspector Lagan. He was almost a caricature of the weary police officer with too many cases to solve. He looked tired and probably had not slept properly for some time, his suit hanging off him. How hard was it to go and buy a suit that fitted?

He stood up and spoke to me with a voice moulded by years of French tobacco and Ricard...