“Which is probably why I sprung for sharp, quality knives but didn’t spend a penny on a cheap television set.”
“Uh-huh.”
I picked up one of the picturesand pointed to the knife sticking out of Kirk’s chest. “And this is not the sort of thing the daughter of a decent butcher would do.”
He crossed his arms, eyeballing the photos. “Explain.”
“Based on the positioning, I can only assume Kirk’s attacker was trying to stab him in the heart. But the cut is too far off to the side, like they didn’t really know where the heart was. Your heart’s moreto the center. About here.” I patted my chest. “I keep my blades sharp, but getting through the bone with the butcher knife would have taken work. It would have hurt. A lot. Even if the killer surprised him, there would have been a struggle, a chance he could have survived, and it would have taken too long. I have a really thin fillet knife that would have slipped right between the fourth and fifthribs and pierced his heart, easier than bobbing for an apple.”
Asher sucked in a breath, and I realized I’d lunged over the psychopath line.
“It would have been quick and easy and he wouldn’t have suffered long. I’m not cruel, Ash.”
His eyes widened. “Perhaps this isn’t the best approach to take with the jury.”
