I went to bed last night, 'tired and emotional' having raided the scary pills reserved for back pain, munched a muffin, and washed the whole lot down with a stiff drink. I wasn't planning on going into work tomorrow and so had no plans to wake up until the little hand on the clock was way past 12.
It seems an unknown Good Samaritan had other ideas.
At 6am I was woken by the doorbell, followed by an urgent banging on the door. Bleary eyed, I staggered upstairs and peered outside.
"Good morning sir," said one of two officers of the law, "May we come inside?"
I glanced back at the kitchen. The muffins had been put away.
"Just checking you're alright sir," said the first officer, "We've had a call from a member of public."
The second officer glanced at my hand. Then at the kitchen. Then at my hand again. He muttered something to his colleague.
It was then that I realised what had happened. The kitchen window looks out onto a communal walkway. The window was spattered with blood. The sink was full of crimson water. Blood was caked liberally on the surfaces. My father and I (well, him mainly and me supervising) had planned to clean it this morning, but right now it looked like a murder scene. A neighbour had walked past earlier and thoughtfully called the police.
I look forward to appearing in Crimewatch.
