Cross saw Dr Michael Swift’s SUV pull up and join the numerous other vehicles outside the cottage. He knew he’d be livid about the vehicles already parked outside, thus making any examination of the tracks leading up to the building pointless. He got out of the car, looked at them and shook his head, before making a point to Dr Clare Hawkins as she got out of the passenger side. They would now claim the scene and insist that everyone either left or donned white forensic suits. Cross would have normally been wearing one immediately upon his arrival, together with DS Ottey. But they were in the boot of her car and Carson, unsurprisingly, didn’t have any in his. Cross thought the low-ceilinged location would pose a personally logistical challenge for the six-foot-eight Swift. He went out to greet them. It was a grey, wet day in the third week of September. An early morning downpour had filled the potholes in the lane. They reflected the clouds moving above like a hopscotch of animated mirrors.
‘Hello, matey,’ said Swift. Cross looked at him in horrified astonishment that he should address him in such a wholly unprofessional way, and at a crime scene no less. ‘No need to look like that. I was talking to your friend,’ Swift explained. Cross turned to see Moreton’s dog standing behind him. Hawkins and Swift laughed.
‘I see,’ replied Cross, failing to see any humour in it.
Swift handed him a white forensic suit which he put on, as he and Hawkins both donned theirs. They performed this ritual in silence. This was because Swift and Hawkins knew Cross was averse to small talk, as well as being completely inept at it. Indeed, there were times when he was not entirely sure it was even taking place. They had also learned from experience that any attempts on their part to fill in the silence had two inevitable consequences. The first was that it made them appear stupid. The second that it annoyed the detective in a way that he found difficult to get back from. So the best tactic was silence. Carson, who hadn’t learned this lesson despite having far more interaction with Cross than them, now appeared at the door.
‘DCI Carson, this is an honour,’ proclaimed Swift cheerfully.
‘What do you mean?’ Carson asked.
‘Seeing you at a crime scene,’ Swift replied.
Carson didn’t know whether this was an implied slight, but the constant insecurity about his status meant he took it as such.
‘I don’t know what you mean by that. I frequently attend crime scenes. Otherwise, how would I be able to perform my job properly? Wouldn’t you agree, DS Cross?’ he asked.
‘About the frequency of your presence at crime scenes or your ability to perform your job properly?’ asked Cross.
Swift stepped in to save the situation from getting any worse. ‘No disrespect was intended,’ he said and offered Carson a paper suit as a peace offering.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ came the reply. ‘I’m returning to the office.’ He looked at Cross who was now in his suit. ‘Are you not coming, George?’
‘I am not. I would’ve thought my attire would have suggested as much.’
‘Very well, any questions before I leave?’
‘You were my transport back to the unit—’ Cross began.
‘Constable, do you have a car?’ Carson addressed PC Bain.
‘Yes, sir,’ he answered.
‘Then please drive DS Cross back to the MCU when he’s finished,’ Carson instructed him.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And another thing, call animal control and get them to pick up the dog,’ Carson continued.
‘No, don’t do that,’ countermanded Cross.
‘Why not?’ asked Carson.
‘I believe the dog may be evidence,’ continued Cross.
‘What?’
‘I believe the dog may be evidence,’ Cross repeated.
‘Of course,’ replied Carson, as if he knew very well this to be the case. ‘Call animal control anyway. It’ll need picking up at some point.’
He got into his car and drove off.
The constable got his mobile phone out.
‘Don’t make the call, Constable,’ said Cross.
‘But the DCI—’
‘Won’t know anything about it. If you call animal control, there will only be one outcome. The dog will be destroyed,’ said Cross.
‘But if he bit the victim?’ Bain protested.
‘Don’t make the same mistake as the DCI and jump to conclusions, Constable,’ replied Cross. He turned to Swift. ‘Dr Swift, we’ll need a swab of the dog’s teeth and mouth.’
‘Really?’ said Swift obviously apprehensive at the idea.
‘Yes, there are traces of blood.’
This didn’t make the prospect of swabbing the dog any more alluring. But Swift’s fear was overtaken by his constant need to ingratiate himself with Cross. He was still, after a couple of years at the Avon and Somerset force, desperate to learn from someone he considered to be uniquely gifted when it came to solving crime. He put his large aluminium equipment case down and got out a swab kit. He walked over and knelt by the dog who immediately retreated.
‘His name’s Ricky,’ said Cross.
‘Ricky?’
‘Short for Richard,’ said Cross.
‘Is that right?’ answered Swift.
‘As in Richard Wagner, according to Tom Holmes, the pub landlord who discovered the body. Ricky, sit.’ The dog did so and Cross took hold of his collar gently.
‘Perhaps I should speak to him in German,’ Swift joked.
‘I didn’t know you spoke German,’ replied Cross, impressed.
‘I don’t,’ answered Swift, immediately regretting his lame joke.
‘Then I’m not sure why you suggested it,’ said Cross.
Swift decided the best policy was just to move on. ‘Right, so now I’m just going to take a swab from your teeth, is that okay, Ricky?’ he asked nervously as if explaining this to a small child. The dog was completely compliant.
‘Could you also take a sample of his coat hairs?’ asked Cross.
‘Of course.’
Cross walked back into the house and saw Hawkins going about her work. Over the years of working with her he’d noticed how she was almost protective of the dead bodies she worked with, which he thought was generally indicative of her fastidious approach. It was as if she had a reverential respect for death. She worked away quietly, saying nothing to him as he came into view. She never felt the need to volunteer an immediate opinion at a scene, as many of her colleagues did, to prove to everyone that she knew what she was doing. She had also discovered that the quieter she was at a crime scene, the fewer questions she’d be asked. Questions she invariably wouldn’t have the answers to as yet. She wouldn’t have them until she’d got her client, as she referred to the bodies she worked with, back to the sanctuary of her mortuary table. There they would patiently reveal their secrets to her. Cross was unlike any other detectives she knew, as he generally never asked her a question at a crime scene. In the mortuary when her investigations were complete it was another matter. He was persistent, obdurate and detailed. As infuriating as he could be, he was still her favourite detective.
Cross stayed for a while because he liked to watch this team at work. He was intrigued by the way Dr Hawkins went about examining a body initially. Her process and routine were both considered and very systematic. He’d learnt a lot from just observing her. It had informed and reconfigured his initial approach to bodies at crime scenes. He was also fascinated by the way Swift walked into a room where a crime had been committed and just stood at the entrance for a good few minutes, taking it all in before he started processing it. He had noted how and where Swift started his search for the minuscule forensic clues that, so often unseen, ended up solving a case. He’d told Cross once that every location had its own language. You simply had to work out what that was before being able to interpret it.