Dr Jack Hutchinson stood in the doorway to the bedroom and peered about. It was difficult to see anything in the gloom; only a small trickle of faded light bled around the edges of the closed blackout curtains. But one thing was clear - the body was no longer here.

 

Of course, it was days since the murder so the body of the man (one Robert Stephenson, aged 27) had long been packed up and carted off for forensic examination and autopsy. The rest of the room was generally untouched though. Jack had felt the need to come and look at the scene but, now he was here, he wasn't sure what he could achieve.

 

"What’re you up to?" he whispered to himself, as he scanned around the room.

 

Yesterday, Jack's drinking buddy - Detective Chief Inspector Don Swanson - had told him about the incident over a few pints. It was perhaps a somewhat gruesome and morbid subject matter for an evening's light conversation but it was a common interest for both Jack and Don.

 

According to the detective, the Bristol police had found the body of a young man lying in a bedroom. That in itself was not unusual; now, like always, people died or were murdered every day throughout the UK. It was the details that made this particular death stand out. The body had not appeared to be harmed in any way - there were no obvious cuts, bruises or broken bones - and yet the body had been almost completely drained of its blood. Also of note, a single black feather had been found on the bed next to the exsanguinous body.

 

This was the first time a bloodless body had been found with a raven's feather. A black feather had apparently been found at a different incident in Llanelli, near Swansea, three months ago. Of course, it was the dark raven's feather that had piqued Jack's interest and the reason why he had caught a train to Bristol the next day to be at the scene of the crime.

 

The body drained of blood was new to him though. Mind you, he wasn’t surprised. He closed his eyes and remembered the woman’s amber eyes that seemed filled with pure malevolence. Those eyes were capable of many atrocities, that Jack knew for certain.

 

‘Because I’m like her’ thought a shuddering Jack, trying to drown foul memories with rivers of guilt.

 

He had served his time, suffered almost endlessly, yet he still knew it was not enough. Those amber eyes – and the eyes of the other six women – had told him that. As they still told him every time he slept and suffered the same hideous nightmare.

 

He reopened his eyes. Nothing was going to help him here and the woman was long gone. There were no clues as to why the body had been drained of blood. Still, Jack slowly ambled into the room and stood next to the bed.

 

‘Who was the man? Had he been seduced to his death or was he guilty of abduction and attempted rape?’

 

These thoughts are more tumbled through Jack’s head as he gently pulled off the worn leather glove around his right hand and bent over the bed. Running his hand across the smooth sheets, it seemed as if he could almost feel the impression of their bodies there on the bed. And as his hand moved, he also felt something else – some small feathery object brushed against his palm.

 

Picking it up, he walked over to the window, parted the curtains slightly with his left hand and examined at what he found. It was a small clump of black fibres – barbs of a raven feather.

 

Jack gazed at them for a long time, turning them over in his hand. Eventually he pocketed them and looked out of the gap in the curtains and into the evening sky.

 

"Where the ‘ell are you?" he muttered. “And where’ve you been all these years”.

 

There were far too many questions and Jack had none of the answers.

 

Closing the curtains and hoping that the single uniformed policeman stationed near the front door hadn’t been looking up at the window, he quietly made his way back over to the bedroom doorway and stopped. She’d been here with that damned necklace of hers, of that he was certain. But he was far too late to stop her.

 

Jack Hutchinson cast one last glance around the room, fishing for some sort of salvation, before giving up and heading out.