Eventually, I sit up and angle in the night cabinet for my diary. Writing down my thoughts, makes the wait bearable.
"What have we got, Miller?" Thomson asked.
"The woman was sitting on the sofa, asleep, when she was shot. We found these pills beside her on the carpet." He handed his superior the plastic tube.
The DCI frowned. "A prescribed sedative? Dispatch a man to question this doctor."
"Done it already, Chief Inspector. We found the husband in the kitchen. You ought to have a look."
In the small, tidy kitchen a dark splatter on the wall was glaring at them. The sunken-in heap of the male victim was sitting on a chair. A pistol lay on the floor; sleek black on olive lino.
"Apparently, he sedated his wife, killed her, then blew his brains out."
DCI Thomson shot Miller a stern look. But he understood. Everybody had his own way of dealing with the horror.
"Extended suicide, then?"
"Probably. But what do you make of that?" Miller opened a cupboard.
(To be continued)
Usually, I simply translate my stories into English or German. For this one, I thouhgt I'd try a slightly different version in each language. I'm looking forward to hearing your opinion on this approach.