I observed the street while the ambulance drove off. The slow pace of the vehicle and the almost lazy way the driver turned the car reminded me of a defeated animal.
They had been too late, but going by what I saw, there wouldn't have been a single chance anyway. Not even a miracle could have saved the man.
His wife, his widow, was sitting in the police car behind me. She hadn't shed a single tear yet and neither did she speak a single word. I couldn't blame her for it.
"Do you need anything, Ma'am?" I looked at her but she just shook her head. I knew it wouldn't take long now until it would have sunken in.

"Donovan!" Lestrade's vibrant baritone resounded from the house wall opposite. A wonder no one else saw anything but Mills wasn't done with the door-to-door by now and there was still some hoping. "Coming!" I informed him and turned around to the unlucky Mrs. Knell. "If you need anything or if anything springs to your mind, don't hesitate to talk to my colleagues. I'll be right back with you, okay?" She just stared ahead and I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Mrs. Knell nodded and I could feel her eyes following me to what had been her home. The home of her happy little family and now it was transformed to the scene that could have come straight out of a horror film.

"Sir?" I announced my appearance but Lestrade had already seen me and was now stepping into the hallway, minding the blotches of tea and blood. "Give me." he ordered and I provided him with the facts, following the path he took to have a look at the rest of the house.
"Door-to-door is ongoing but doesn't seem to bring any further results. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. Next door neighbour claimed to have overheard a brief conversation. She stated to be almost sure she heard two men talking. She was also the one who called 999 when she heard the gunshot. From a first glance the calibre is 22. Preferred by sports marksmen and poachers due to the relative "silence" of the shot. Everything else has yet to be confirmed by forensics. Mrs. Knell still hasn't spoken and none of the other witnesses is able to give a describtion of the suspect. The area has been spaciously closed off but chances are low to get our hands on the absconder."

He nodded. I knew that it was frustratingly little. "How?" he moved through the kitchen, his hands crossed behind his back and taking in what details he could observe. The mobile phone on the kitchen counter, the tea cup, the plates neatly arranged… "It is daylight and the neighbourhood isn't that busy. How is it possible no one saw anything?" He looked at me and I tilted my head slightly. He sounded more desperate than usual. "Sir, people are usually not that attentive." He huffed a laugh.

"Forensics are done down here?" He asked and moved his hands to put a pair of rubber gloves on he had carried in the pocket of his coat. "Yes, Sir. They are upstairs now."
Lestrade picked the mobile phone up, carefully examining it and finally browsing through the messages.
"Make a note, Skip, there are no messages on his mobile phone." I wrote it done and frowned. "I'd prefer it if you wouldn't call me that." He knew it and grinned at me. "Sarge?" I made a noise of faked indignation. "Why is that striking you, Sir, the lack of messages?"
Lestrade made a vague gesture around. "Family man, wife, two children. They would have constantly exchanged messages. Bring this or that from the shopping. I'm on my way home… et cetera. Together with him running that business? Something's off, if you ask me. He was either paranoid about his privacy, has a second phone somewhere or…" he looked at me "something scared him."

I had however been wrong about Mrs. Knell. Her silence still lasted till we had driven her to the hospital. I stayed by her side but didn't talk too much. What is there to say to someone who just lost the floor under their feet and found themselves in a state of a permanent falling?
Her parents would take care of her, would call in case she would start to speak about what happened. It made me feel nervous. The more time passed, the less reliable her memory would be. Together with the shock it was not very likely she would provide us with a lead.
Two hours after Mr. Knell had been confirmed dead from a fatal wound to the head caused by a .22 gun, Lestrade had me convene the team that would be in charge of the investigation.

I had to hurry to get everything ready in time, as little as it still was.
Lestrade usually let me lead through those meetings. At first I felt annoyed. I had the work and had to keep everything together and fix papers and reports in time and he just sat back and couldn't even been bothered to beacon them through the first steps. Later I realised that he was silently teaching me how to do this. We spoke beforehand and he put it in my hands to let me learn by doing it.
He put trust and confidence in me and my skills and hopefully I haven't ever disppointed him.

"This is Mr. Alistair Knell. He got shot earlier this day on the threshold to his own home situated at 124 Weston St, London. He leaves a wife and two children behind."
I showed them a picture of Mr. Knell, - a larger copy of a passport picture from about a year ago - letting it sink in why we were doing this, why they had to rush through their lunch breaks and gather in the cramped conference room. I stuck the picture at the wall. From there I was going to lead them through the case by using pictures of witnesses and from the crime scene.
I pointed the lack of messages out, spoke about the CCTV footages from the junction near the house. We already had been thorough but it didn't feel like we'd been thorough enough.