Broken

Broken, that one word summed the sight before him. Prone and lying in a sea of her own coagulated blood, there was no chance that life still flowed through her veins. Her head had been smashed in. Grey matter mixed with the blood. Arterial spray coated the walls, must have been from the gash across her throat. It was all he could do to look down at the body. He searched for any mark, any mark at all, that would aid him in identifying who she was before being left for the hotel maid to find. Now she was just a corpse. Now her name was immaterial. Justice cried out for him to avenge this woman’s violent end.

Her breasts on display for all, rather large and supple he noted. No minute scars to suggest any work had been done to enhance her features. As his eyes trailed down the naked form, a glimpse of a vibrant and colorful tattoo caught his eye. Most of it was covered by the blood, but he could make out a three-pronged trident being thrust into something. The cops wouldn’t know for sure until they had removed her and cleaned her up for autopsy. He knew the tattoo. His mind raced and raced. How was this possible? It was his design right down to the filigree in the handle. Right down to the lettering on the prongs. He hadn’t shown anyone that drawing in fifteen years, how had anyone gotten ahold of it, let alone been tattooed by it.