Nisha bent down to take a closer look. “Could the killer be a nut job with a Viking fetish?” she asked.
“Maybe. But if he was a genuine Viking enthusiast he’d know that real Viking helmets didn’t have horns,” said Santosh. “The bull horns are an artistic contrivance.”
“Okay. So …?” said Nisha. You could almost see the cogs of his encyclopedic mind turn, she thought.
“So—either our killer doesn’t know about the horns. Or he doesn’t care. Or the Viking bit isn’t significant but the horn bit is.”
“Right …” she said, uncertainly. “And what about the flower on her hand? A lotus. And the fork? Maybe she snatched it to defend herself?”
“No,” said Santosh, lost in thought. “They were tied to her hands to look as if she’s holding them.”
Crouched down close to the body, Nisha noticed a black hair on the otherwise spotless tile floor. “There’s a hair here I’d like to bag, when we can,” she said. Santosh nodded.
“When do you think she was killed?” asked Nisha.
He glanced at her. “Look at the body. Consider the bed. The nightdress. When do you think she was killed?”
“Last night?”
“Exactly. Mubeen can tell us for sure, but yes—this happened last night. Did you check for signs of forced entry?”
“The windows are hermetically sealed. There’s no sign the bedroom door was forced nor any indication of lock tampering,” replied Nisha, glancing at her notes.
Santosh nodded. He looked from the body to Nisha with eyes that had seen too much pain. “This isn’t the last, Nisha,” he said. “Of that you can be certain.”