My jaw drops when I get to the meat of the report. “Wait. Suspicious death inquiry. You’re telling me this was ahomicideinvestigation?”
A cocktail of panic and outrage seizes my heart, shoving it into my throat. “Did theyseriouslyconsider Lila a suspect in a murder? For fuck’s sake, she was a child.”
Andrews takes a sip of coffee, remaining perfectly still. “So was the victim.”
That socks me in the gut.
A child dying is horrific on its own. Murdered? Far worse. But why the fuck did they think Lila was responsible?
Face buried in the report, I strain to decipher the script of someone with questionable motor function in their dominant hand. “Okay, so the victim is Zara Kent, age seven. Obviously related to Lila.”
I glance at him, then back to the report, not expecting an answer. Most likely, all the information he has is in my hands.
The next page of the report is a narrative from the first officer on scene, or Constable, as they call it. Although the format is different from what we use in the States, it’s easy enough to follow. Shitty handwriting aside.
After skipping past the formal protocol bullshit at the top, my eyes speed through the details.
As the report unfolds, my chest progressively tightens until my lungs may collapse under the strain.
At approximately 1122 hours,I attended the location of Bishop Middleham Quarry following reports of a female having fallen from a cliff. Upon arrival, I proceeded to the base of the north-east ridge, where I observed a female lying supine and unresponsive.
I conducted an initial assessment and found no signs of life; breathing and pulse were absent. I noted a significant deformity to the neck, appearing inconsistent with life and suggesting a fatal injury sustained from a fall. In my opinion, life was extinct, and as such, resuscitation was not commenced.
I immediately preserved the scene, establishing a cordon using police tape to ensure the integrity of the area and to prevent any contamination of evidence. Within the immediate vicinity of the deceased, I located a shattered Nikon camera. This was recovered and bagged as an exhibit (Reference: KP/01).
Paramedics from the North East Ambulance Service attended shortly thereafter and formally confirmed death at 1141 hours.
Prior to the arrival of Detective Sergeant (DS) Mark JEFFRIES, I obtained a brief initial account from the only adult present at the scene. Of note, with her was Lila KENT, twin sister to the deceased.
My eyelids slamshut of their own volition as if the damn things know I don’t want to read another word.
The last line blaring repeats in my mind at a deafening volume.
Lila Kent, twin sister to the deceased.
An ache in the center of my torso resonates to the point of nausea.
Lila’s sister.
Hertwinsister.
Died in front of her.
When she was seven.
Hell, I was four when I was adopted. That agony has never left me. Lila was three years older when her sister died. Her wounds must be tenfold.
This poor, sweet, beautiful woman has been carrying this unimaginable burden. For years. All alone.
Yet smiling through it all, refusing to allow her loss to make her as bitter as I let mine make me.
How could this have happened?
Although I’m unsure if I want to read on, I have to know. I expel the sorrow from my lungs and continue reading.
My summaryof the facts as reported is as follows.
Moira KENT, an American national, stated that she had escorted the two children to the quarry for the purpose of birdwatching, whilst their parents were playing golf at a nearby course. KENT disclosed that she suffers from chronic mobility issues (affecting both knees), which significantly restricted her pace. She reported that the three of them were hiking towards the viewpoint when the two girls ran ahead. KENT stated she attempted to maintain pace but was physically unable to do so, losing sight of the children as they ascended toward the summit.
