Sam looked shocked for a few minutes, deathly pale. Then he laughed.
"Yeah, sure there is. What did you do, fake blood?" He asked, grinning irritatingly.
"Sam, I'm serious. There's blood-handprints on the wallpaper!" I practically shrieked at him, holding up the strip, showing him the red-brown handprints that were partly obscuring the roses on the wallpaper, that had possibly once been bright pink, but had discoloured to what was little more than a pale, slightly flesh-coloured orange shade.
He looked at it.
"Paint?" He suggested, trying to find some logic.
"No. Not it's not."
We stood in an uncomfortable silence, fraught with tension and edged with fear. What was going on? I pointed towards the wicker basket with a trembling finger.
"There's a dead kid in that basket."