A police car nosed its way cautiously through the throng of press photographers and interested bystanders that ringed the house. Within the perimeter, the garden of the house seemed strangely quiet. A sole officer stood outside the front door, nursing a cigarette under his hands, sheltering it from the cool breeze. He looked up at the new arrivals, a pair of plain clothes. The leading man wore a long black coat, his dark eyes peering from narrow slits in his face.

“Superintendent Chalmers.” The tall thin man introduced himself to the officer, who extended his hand. “Chief Inspector Harris,” the officer replied.

The foyer of the house was strangely quiet, but already the pair could hear the bustle of a full scale investigation in progress from beyond the kitchen door. The muffled discussions of a number of officers were reaching them through the cheap pine door. Chalmers looked around, noting the pictures hung neatly on the wall beside him. A young couple, with a boy held protectively between the two of them. Harris nodded at the photograph. “Makes you wonder sir, to see the love there, why anyone would do it.” Chalmers merely nodded in response, and ran his finger along the top of the picture. Noting an absence of dust, he glanced swiftly around the room.

“A tidy house Harris, a rarity nowadays. She must have taken a lot of pride in this place.” He tapped the ornaments. “Note the diminishing male presence in this room. Surprising so soon after her husbands death.”

“Perhaps she wanted to forget?” Harris suggested with a shrug.

“Perhaps.” Chalmers acknowledged cryptically.

“Shall we investigate the scene sir?” Harris requested, eager to finish the hellish task.

“I was under the impression we already were.” Chalmers replied. He looked slowly, his gaze scrutinising every aspect of the room. “I first wish to see the child’s room.”

“Upstairs sir, first door on the left.” The pair strode upstairs, all the time taking in the scene, noting the family portraits continuing up the staircase. The door opened smoothly, presenting Chalmers with the untouched panorama of Andrew’s room. Toys were neatly placed on shelves, but naturally some had found their way onto the floor. Superintendent Chalmers bent down, and lifted a small Matchbox car in his fingertips. “A new toy, no scratches, bought in the past week perhaps?” Harris nodded. “Yesterday sir. We found a receipt in her shopping, it seems they stopped on the way home and bought it…I mean, purchased the item in question,” he corrected himself sheepishly.

Chalmers nodded, and fingered the wheels of the vehicle. He produced a fine layer of mud.

“He must have played with it upon arriving home.”

“Perhaps they both did sir? It would explain the unpacked shopping.”

“Perhaps, have forensics investigate the lawn and the patio.”

Further investigation of the child’s room provided little supplementary evidence. Harris suggested they visit the kitchen and view the scene. Minutes later, after examining the other rooms of the house, the pair paused outside the kitchen. Harris turned to his superior.

“You may wish to cover your face sir, the smell is quite overpowering.” Chalmers shook his head and opened the door.

The blood was unavoidable, pooled beneath the bodies of the mother and child, and trickling in the narrow channels between the tiles. They stepped onto the plastic sheet that covered a third of the room and examined the scene. The child lay slung carelessly over the sink, his skull having been smashed open against the rim of the counter. The contents of his head were deposited across the sink, a sickening mess of blood, bone and brain. Chalmers looked carefully at the remains of Andrew’s head with professional interest.

“Repeated blows to the head, carefully positioned to kill. She didn’t have the strength to kill him in one strike, so struck him against the counter approximately four times.”

Harris nodded, slowly turning a pale shade of green. He turned to look elsewhere, and found himself looking into the dead eyes of Samantha Green. She looked back, accusingly. Her blonde hair was thickly matted with clotted blood, her face scratched and torn. Chalmers looked round, finished with the child.

“What are you thinking Harris?” He asked, regarding the corpse with curiosity.

Harris looked from the mother to the child. “In a murderous fit of passion, perhaps wanting to be a family again, she smashed her son’s head to a bloody pulp against the counter, before taking her own life.”

Chalmers nodded. “It would suggest so, but some things puzzle me. Note the scratches on her face, she’s torn her skin to shreds. Yet there are no tears anywhere else on her body. The arms and hands are suspiciously free of cuts. Samantha had no history of self harm?”

Harris shook his head. “no sir.”

“I thought not, the majority of self harm cases are inflicted on the limbs.” He indicated the large carving knife projecting from the side of her head. “Look at that. Possibly the most extraordinary method of suicide I have ever seen, since the Alex Hanson case last month.” he recalled the bloody image of the young child, who skinned himself alive, and shook his head lightly.

“That wasn’t suicide sir, the babysitters…”

“..Oh yes, I recall. Just something about this scene reminds me of that day.” He peered closely at the woman’s head, noting her bloody face. His eyes flicked across to the open skull of the child, and his eyes narrowed.

“Head wounds Harris.”

Harris looked momentarily puzzled, before understanding what Chalmers was getting at. “Yes sir, but we don’t know what to make of it. Could just be a coincidence sir?” Chalmers nodded, yet couldn’t shake himself of the point.

“Why head wounds? Why didn’t she just cut her own wrists? Why did she smash his head open? We need a psychologist down here.”

“Why sir? It’s an closed case. Murder and suicide. No-one’s on trial here.”

Chalmers paused. “Very well. Get me a copy of all the photographs your team makes, and a list of evidence. I am heading back to my office to make a report.” He turned and walked out of the door, his mind severely troubled.