I’ve been working on this for some time, only setting it aside while I completed my second book. Maybe I will go back to it shorlty.
Jake Serfontein felt a wave of nausea in the back of his throat, and it had nothing to do with the gluttonous pie he’d just finished. Blood he could cope with, but the coagulating pool he’d sidestepped in the kitchen was pushing his comfort level to the extreme.
His brow was beading,he needed air. A cursory scan of the room garnered no air-con unit, which kind of surprised him, seeing as the victim’s house was slap bang in the middle of shit-load-of-money bracket. If the security guards enclosed in their luxury hut at the entrance to the estate hadn’t given it away, then surely the multiple attached garages – larger than the average South African home – would have sufficed. Jake snorted. It was a good job the deceased hadn’t been dead for hours; the house would have stank to high hell in this heat.
“So, Ms Doyle,” Jake said, sweat rolling down his back, settling at his belt. Not showering wasn’t helping either, he could smell himself, and it wasn’t pretty.
“Can I call you Maisie?” He didn’t wait for a response; Jake didn’t give a shit if she had any objections to familiarity. “Let me be clear about this then. You found the front door open. Thinking nothing of it you came into the house,” he paused, glancing between the door and Maisie. “You called out a greeting.” He cupped his ear. “You listened for a response.” He shrugged, the corners of his mouth dropping. “Not hearing a reply you strolled into the kitchen, and what did you find, Ray and Marietjie Theron, dead.”