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Dorland.
    Waynton’s voice when leaning over a body barely rose above a whisper due to the fact his large paunch folded over multiple times while in a stooping position and prevented him from catching his breath. “Yes. I can only see one entry wound but it seems to have hit his heart. And it pumped the blood from his body. Have you found a knife or any other type of weapon?” He looked up at Theo, his eyes were extremely large and magnified by his large round glasses.
    Theo called Borders over. “Has SOCO found a weapon?”
    “I don’t think so, sir.”
    “Dorland, help me look for a weapon. I can’t imagine the killer got far with a bloody knife.” Theo stepped back from the gate and carefully examined where he was standing for any drops of blood. The bush, working its way between the wooden boards, made it difficult to see anything. He couldn’t see anything on the pavement. He knelt down to study the white fence more closely. “I didn’t notice any blood here before but look, here’s a drop on the fence.” He pointed left of the gate. Then he noticed another and another. “Search in the bushes on the other side of the fence. Will someone fetch me a torch?”
    Dorland got down on his hands and knees and searched under the bushes. “I don’t see anything, sir. Perhaps the killer took the weapon with him, hid it in a bag.”
    Theo walked around the other side of the fence and started looking. He sent other officers down the street and ordered them to check for a weapon in any of the neighbor’s gardens. An officer handed him a torch and he shone the light into the bushes. He was determined to cover the bushes down the length of the street inch by inch if he had to, but within a minute, a glint shone.
    “Found it,” yelled Theo.
    Pushed down into the bushes was a standard kitchen knife. After photographs, a crime scene officer cut the knife out of the bush, bagged it, and handed it to Theo.
    “Could this be the murder weapon?” Theo asked.
    The pathologist examined the murder weapon. “I can’t say for sure but it does look like it could cause the wound. That and the fact it was found in a nearby bush with blood on it. I will have more for you after the autopsy.”
    “Dorland,” said Theo, “now that we know this is murder and not just an accident, we have our work cut out for us. Who the hell kills an old man with one leg?”

Chapter Seven
    A s Theo headed toward the house, he asked Dorland to fetch the nurse and bring her. The front hall led straight into the kitchen. To his left was the drawing room with hardwood floors and a faux fireplace. There was no television, no radio, and no framed photos of family or friends on the mantle only a medal encased in glass. A comfortable leather recliner and a wooden side table with one lamp were the only pieces of furniture in the room. However, lining three of the white walls were rectangular framed sets of multi-colored tile.
    “That’s one way to tile a wall,” Theo remarked to himself. He went up to the art to take a closer look. “What is this? So this man, for relaxation, would not turn on a match on the telly or play chess or scrabble but would sit in this chair and stare at these? Did Mr. Tipring create them?”
    “He did. He called this room his gallery.”
    The nurse stood in the doorway with Dorland. Her pale face, white nurse’s uniform, and clean white shoes made her look like a ghost.
    “Thank you for coming in,” said Theo. “I know this day has been traumatic but I’m hoping you can answer some questions. But before that, could we possibly go through the flat and see if anything has been stolen. Ms . . . Mrs . . .” Theo fished for a name.
    “Perkins, Ms. Perkins. Megan is my first name. I’m Mr. Tipring’s nurse, I mean, I was. I work here every day, weekends included, from nine until five. I cleaned for him, cooked his meals, made sure he took his pills. Anything he needed.”
    “Wow, every day.” Theo