It wasn't a pretty sight. Not a pretty sight at all.
Until last night, her name was Emma Sigfried. At 23, she was already set for life because of her family's wealth. Unlike her father and, by extent, her mother, she actually felt guilt over being so insanely rich without ever having to work. This is why, instead of spending her life travelling like her parents did before dying in a plane accident when she was 17, she decided to become a teacher and dedicate her life to educating children in poor sectors of her beloved Liverpool. Until last night.
Death caught her when she was vacationing in Berlin for the holidays. She didn't like spending her time like that, but the holidays were an exception. Her deceased parents being her only family, she felt nostalgic during this time of the year. The Berlin penthouse was on top of a building with such expensive rates that it was mostly empty. Emma's closest neighbor lived fourteen stories under her. But the penthouse was also her parents' favorite property when they were alive, and where they spent most of their festivities. It was the only one of her father's luxurious places that Emma didn't sell or donate after she legally gained control of her family's estate.
Now her brains and shattered skull, along with a pool of her own dark blood, stained a great portion of the living room's ceramic floor, that, in addition to being completely ruined by this mess, also suffered from lenghty cracks. Said cracks in the ceramic originated under the remains of Emma's head (right next to a wall where several family photos hanged) and ended several feet away.
Emma's body, on the other hand, seemed unharmed and fully clothed. On the floor near her lay a thick leather wallet, closed by a small button. A long stain of blood started on the floor, continued over the upper face of the wallet, and ended back on the floor. Splashes of blood like this one were common in the surroundings of Emma's body.
But, by far, the oddest part of the scene was the wall next to Emma's corpse. Not because of the small splashes of blood that stained some of the pictures hanging from it. Not because of the small percentage of the brain that now decorated the lower part of it. No, what was so unusual was the writing on the wall: the words "BANG BANG", written with bright red blood in thin large letters.
An hour from now, a childhood friend of Emma would show up at her door and use the key she's owned for years to walk in and surprise her. After crying and screaming for nearly half and hour, instead of calling the police she would call her dad, a powerful german industrial who knew and befriended both Emma and her father, who after hearing what his little girl had found would vow to her that he make sure the killer was found, even if that meant pulling some strings and not going by the legal channels...
