Spent, her emotions were in overdrive.
Asking for help was a last resort, but her only option.
From waking up in the morning, to twisting and turning every night, something had to change. She couldn’t carry on like this – her days pouring over old evidence. A revolving door, with nothing but empty space in the bed when she went to sleep.
The excuse of the story, but she couldn’t go into work. Being there without Graham, would push her over the edge. Her nerves were holding on by a thin thread as it was. Being at home, surrounded his things.
A leather jacket, hanging at the door, and even their dog, Merlin, wouldn’t move from the front door. Hoping his master woalk back through the door, ruffling his fur, and passing over his favourite treat.
Drinking her third cup of coffee that morning, she stared at the screen.
His last investigation, in black and white, but he never found out who killed those women, perhaps nobody would, but at least she had to try.