I don't know what I'd prepared for, reading all those stupid novels and watching those programs. But it wasn't this. It wasn't this real, and yet so utterly mundane. I think I'd expected a cold, damp warehouse; cash only and no questions asked. Had I forgotten who I was dealing with? Christian Grey, control freak extraordinaire! The man with a plan. The man who can.

His body was being kept in a small funeral home in one of the suburbs just outside the city. Of course he owned the company. It was thriving, ironically. People worked there; good, friendly people. The receptionist beckoned me in with a polite smile and an offer of coffee, but upon seeing Taylor smiled at him and became completely distracted. As they chatted, I felt Christian's hand press against my back, leading me into the back room and down some stairs.

It wasn't damp, it wasn't mouldy. It just looked and smelt like a hospital. Ammonia and lemons filled my nose, reminding me of the time I had broken my wrist as a kid and had to go to the emergency room. Under the fluorescent light, I could see Christian again. He'd set his face into a hard expression, obviously in pain. I held my gloved hand out for him to hold. He'd insisted on rubber gloves. I couldn't touch anything; none of this could tie back to me or him physically. He saw my hand, took it and squeezed it gently. He led me further back into the building. We came to what looked like a vault, with a large metal door and a touchpad for an alarm code.

Christian stood and waited for a moment. Taylor quickly joined us, put his hand against the keypad, a green light flashed underneath and the large vault door shunted open. A gust of air rushed past my legs, pulling me into the vault.

"It's a vacuum," Taylor explained. "More efficient than freezing."

"I'm a sardine," Christian continued bitterly. "And this is my tin."

Air conditioning machines spluttered into life, pumping new colder air around us.

"Twenty minutes," Taylor said, before walking away.

"Twenty minutes?"

"Before the doors shut again," Christian explained a little softer now.

I took a wobbly step into the vault. Like a gory Snow White, Christian lay on his alter, a single light above him. He looked like he was sleeping, only… No. He didn't. You don't sleep with your mouth hung open in shock. With half your skull caved in and your eye missing and blood caking your hair.

His skin was blue from lack of oxygen, his lips dry and his clothes sat skew-if. It wasn't him. It wasn't my beautiful, charming and sensitive Christian. It was just a corpse with his face. My eyes drew back to his lips. I thought about the times I'd wanted to kiss him and couldn't; and now, even with his face so close I still couldn't. He was dead. The idea made me feel sick. I looked up and caught Christian staring at me, his expression utterly blank.

"Can we go?" I whispered. Christian nodded. We returned upstairs, Christian fading into the natural sunlight and I faded into the crowd of grieving relatives.

Again, I expected tears. But by the time we got back to the house, I was livid. I grabbed my notecards, pens, pins, blue tack and labels. I'd even bought some coloured string because I'd seen it on a crime drama. Armed with my stationary, I ploughed into my room and removed everything from my largest wall.

I wrote Christian's name on a label, and placed it in the centre of the wall. Then, I wrote Leila's name on a second label, and put a red piece of string between the two with blue tack.

"What are you doing?" Christian asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice even though I couldn't see him.

"I'm creating a timeline. Who else were you dating ten months ago?" I asked, labels at the ready.

"Are you seriously asking me this?"

"Yes I am. In fact, if you'd like to speed up the process, I'll also need the names of people who've always hated you, and people you were having disagreements with at the time; previous relationships and anyone who was acting a bit iffy."

"Iffy?"

"Iffy. Come on, who else were you sleeping with?"

"Why do you assume I was sleeping with more than one person?" Christian asked. His voice felt close. He was probably no more than a metre away from me, but I had to focus.

"You said your previous relationships were physical."

"And you think I needed to be physical with more than one person?" He laughed.

"Were you?"

"No," he said through a chuckle. "It was just Leila at the time. She wanted something more permanent. I didn't. She started dating someone else. He died, and I attempted to give her some kind of comfort. Platonically. Unfortunately, that's when she started…"

"Stalking you?"

"That's definitely how Mia put it."

"Well currently she's my only suspect," I said, pouting at my two measly labels.

"She doesn't drive."

"You said. Okay, forget suspects for the moment. Evidence wise, do you have the bullet that… you know…"

"Passed through the back of my skull and left eye, carrying on through the window and into a shrub outside? Yes."

"Ouch, okay. Didn't have to be quite so brutal about that."

I wrote 'Bullet' on a label.

"What size was it?"

"A 9mm."

I wrote that on the bullet label.

"Does it fit a particular make?"

"Just your standard hand gun. The kind you find up and down America in various sport shops, super malls and Target stores."

"Excellent."

I wrote 'Common hand gun', and put the label on the wall slightly to the right of the others.

"What about the car? The one you remember from the night you were killed."

"I just remember a black Volvo hatchback."

I wrote that on a label, and placed it directly under the bullet one.

"At what time did Taylor find you?"

"Evening. About half seven."

"And why was he coming around?"

"I don't know. I was probably going to some charity event."

"What about your diary?"

"My diary?"

"Yeah. Surely you've got some way of keeping track of all the meetings you had. Wouldn't that have the charity event or whatever it was that Taylor was picking you up for in it?"

Christian didn't reply. I turned around and found an empty room. I huffed, wrote 'Diary?' on a label and placed it on the wall below the other pieces of evidence.

"Here it is," came Christian's voice from behind me, making me jump. Sat next to me on the counter was Christian's phone.

"Your phone?"

"You expected a Filofax? A 365 day paper planner with post it notes? Or something covered in glitter because I'm actually a twelve year old girl?" he laughed.

"Ha Ha." I said. He'd left the date he was murdered open for me. In it was the usual 9 to five stuff for GHE, and then at quarter to seven was a personal occasion known only as 'LW SKP'.

"LW? Leila Williams?"

"It can't be," Christian replied. "I'd not spoken to her directly for months. Taylor was pretty spot on at keeping her at bay. The most recent time we spoke at all was in New York."

"But how did she know you were there?"

"I don't know," Christian mused.

"Well, it's intriguing enough to get its own label," I said, writing the initials down and putting them under the other evidence. "Well… it's certainly building up to something…"

"I'll get Taylor to run those three 'pieces of evidence' tomorrow. Maybe I know someone with the initials SKP, who drives a Volvo and carries a gun?"

"Maybe. But what did you do to piss them off?"

"When we find them, I'll be sure to ask."