From the doorway, Lexie watched ballistics and forensic officers go about their work, taking photographs, videoing the scene, tagging and bagging evidence, filling specimen bags and bottles with items at the end of forceps. They were searching for traces of physical evidence that seemed invisible from where she was standing.
A robust senior ballistics officer was on all fours working his grid with gloved hands. Another was taking measurements, analysing blood splatter patterns and examining bullet holes. A female officer was dusting for fingerprints around the window sill. The teams worked methodically, side by side, covering every inch of the room, discussing and debating what they’d found with each other and throwing Lexie the occasional question.
‘Do you know how many shots actually connected with the victim?’ a junior ballistics officer asked as he expertly plucked a bullet from the wall cavity with something that resembled a long pair of tweezers. He was young, and the blue overalls he wore swum on his skinny frame. ‘That’s the third one so far.’
‘I’m not sure.’
She was certainly no medical expert.
‘All I saw was a big hole and lots of blood.’
‘Will he live?’
She shrugged, not really wanting to think about it.
‘I don’t know. He didn’t look real good.’
The senior ballistics officer struggled to haul his tubby body up from the floor. He stretched his back and let out a groan.
‘I’m going outside to have a look on and around the porch. The light out there’s crap. Where’s the torch?’ he asked his partner, carefully manoeuvring his huge boots around the caked pools of red on the floorboards.
His partner pointed to a pile of equipment in the corner.
‘It’s over there, Porky.’
It wasn’t hard to guess how he’d got his nickname.
‘I might just get some air,’ Lexie said to no one in particular.
The stench of drying blood and the constant recollection of what she’d witnessed in this room were starting to make her stomach churn.
‘I’ll be just outside if you need me.’
‘No worries,’ someone answered as she turned and made her way out of the house.
She found Josh in the shadows by the side of the house shovelling what appeared to be the last remnants of a chocolate bar into his mouth.
‘How can you eat?’ she asked him in disgusted amazement.
Could he really be that desensitised?
‘There’s a bloodbath inside those doors and you’re out the front chomping on chocolate.’
Josh laughed. ‘A man needs sustenance, you know. We didn’t get to eat dinner. Aren’t you hungry?’
Lexie stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads.
‘Are you crazy? I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again.’
She looked down at herself and grimaced.
Bloodstains marked her blue jeans and were splattered across her tank top. Even her shoes were completely soiled. How could she possibly consider food when she was covered in a dying man’s blood?
‘Tell me again what he said to you?’ Josh asked.
They had already been through this, but she did as she was instructed.
‘Like I said before, he was hard to understand at first. I don’t know what it meant, he didn’t say. He just repeated the word, “Grub”. I asked him if he knew who shot him and he said it again, just before the paramedics ran in. It was the last thing he said: “Grub shot me”.’ Lexie ran a hand through her tangled hair. ‘I heard it clearly the last time.’
Josh rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘It’s obviously a nickname for someone; maybe another bikie. Looks like you got yourself a dying declaration. Well done.’
Lexie felt she’d done nothing to deserve the praise.
‘He’s not dead yet.’
‘No, but I’d say that’s only a matter of time. Either way, even if he survives, he believed he was about to die so it’s still a dying dec. Get your notebook out and write down exactly what he said as you remember it.’
Lexie nodded. Diligently pulling her notebook out of her pocket she started writing.
‘Look what I found.’
Porky appeared holding up a plastic evidence bag.
‘Six spent cartridges under and around the verandah.’
He directed the torch onto the bag so they could see.
‘Like the bullets inside the house, these are from a Glock 23 pistol,’ he told them.
Josh and Lexie exchanged a curious glance. Glock 22 firearms were standard issue to all New South Wales police with the significantly smaller version, the 23, being commonly carried by detectives, including herself. This was due to the fact that it was more compact and practical to conceal when wearing plain clothes.
The ballistics officer continued, ‘I also got one cigarette butt, which probably doesn’t belong to the shooter – but you never know. Crooks can be pretty stupid a lot of the time. There’s also a smudged shoe print in the dirt over there.’
He pointed to a row of bushes at the side of the house.
‘I’ll get crime scene to get a mould of it.’
He gave Josh a wide smile, clearly pleased with himself.
‘It seems to me the shooter was pretty smart. He didn’t enter the house, did the shooting from the outside so Locard doesn’t really help us in this instance.’
Locard’s theory or principle, Lexie remembered from her detective’s course, was based on the idea that no matter how careful an offender might be, there is always an exchange of debris that takes place between the killer and the victim. He was bound to leave something, it was inevitable – fibres from his shirt, mud from his shoes, hairs from his head, flakes of skin. However, in this scenario the killer had not had any direct contact with the victim, having shot him through a glass window from outside the premises. That made any hope of finding physical trace evidence that much more difficult.
Josh called Casey to give her an update before they moved back into the lounge room, where the ballistics and crime scene officers gave them a running commentary on their findings.
Porky spoke first. ‘It would appear six rounds were fired through the front lounge room window. Since three bullets lodged in the gyprock wall behind where the victim was shot and we have six spent cartridges, I’d presume three bullets connected. You’ll find that out at the autopsy anyway, to be sure.’
‘He’s not dead,’ Lexie stated, a little too brusquely.
Porky shrugged, then continued. ‘We’ll send those bullets for profiling.’
He went on to explain the process of rifling, where a bullet can be matched, if it’s in reasonable condition, to a particular firearm.
‘It appears the impact of the bullets has propelled the victim backwards, where he’s hit the wall, grabbed on to it for support before slowly sliding down to the floor.’
He indicated, with his finger, the bloody hand mark and the blood splatter patterns on the wall.
‘Somehow he’s wiggled or dragged himself into the middle of the room where you found him,’ he finished, looking at them expectantly.
‘I’d guess that the victim was sitting here on the lounge. He may have heard a noise, put his beer on the table next to him.’
Lexie glanced at the half empty bottle of Toohey’s New still sitting there.
‘He stood up, peered out the window and that’s when he was shot. That scenario seems to fit with the crime scene evidence.’
Lexie shook her head, amazed at how accurate these guys could be just by examining a scene and analysing blood splatter patterns, the positioning of bullet holes and the like.
Josh made notes and then thanked everyone in the room.
‘We’ll head back to the office now and leave you to finish up here. We’ve got some uniformed officers outside guarding the scene if you need anything. I really appreciate everyone’s help. I’ll be in touch.’
The crime scene technicians stopped what they were doing and bid them farewell. Lexie followed Josh outside. Standing at the outer perimeter were two uniformed officers who had turned up to guard the crime scene, one of whom Lexie recognised from the pub the other night. Tim or Jim? He shot her a shy smile.
‘You guys know what you have to do? Don’t enter the inner perimeter. Record everyone who accesses the scene. Got the crime scene log?’ Josh shot off questions at them.
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ they said in unison.
‘Very good. There’s nothing I hate more than a contaminated crime scene. If there are any problems give me a call.’
He looked straight at Lexie as he held up a section of blue and white crime scene tape she’d helped him erect earlier, for her to crawl under.
Josh returned her smile, the night’s events seeming to have broken any remaining formality between them.
‘Let’s get back to the station. Our night has only just begun.’