“Finally, we have access to the scene.” Richard Sibson raised his voice slightly to be heard by the whole team. Grace, and half a dozen other CSIs they’d dragged in from all areas. Not enough, Sibson thought, looking round at them. But it’ll have to do.
Sibson had worked with all of them. Steve Scott and Paul McKendrick up from Kendal; Ken Allcott and Tyson Frost from Workington; Chris Blenkinship and Tony Marsh down from Carlisle. CSIs brought in from across Cumbria in a mad rush, only to sit around and wait for hours for the chance to do their job. Frost and McKendrick might still be a bit green, but otherwise good experienced people. Even so, they’d never had to deal with anything quite like this.
“We have a large area to cover,” Sibson went on. “And this is only the first crime scene we have to process today. With any luck, they’ll find the position of our shooter. That will become our secondary scene.” He glanced across. “Grace, I’d like to keep you in reserve for that.”
“She’s no use,” Chris Blenkinship said bluntly. Sibson saw Grace’s head turn, but she merely raised an eyebrow. “No good looking at me like that, pet,” Blenkinship went on, shaking his head at her. “You know you’ve already had close contact with one of the witnesses here. Couldn’t wait to get his clothes off, could you?”
Of course—Max. Sibson suppressed a sigh. I should have realised. She wouldn’t have been human if she’d stayed away from her ex-husband after something like this.
Grace favoured her boss with a slightly wan smile. “Sorry,” she said, whether for the mistake or the fact that it was Blenkinship who pointed it out, he wasn’t sure. “Chris is quite right, of course. Anything I got from the second scene might be deemed contaminated.”
“If I can’t trust you to follow procedure, I’ve been wasting my time training you.”
“I’ll take the second scene, then, shall I?’ Blenkinship said. After Sibson himself, Blenkinship had the most time in with Cumbria police. A tall Geordie who attempted to disguise early baldness with a military-style buzz-cut, Blenkinship had tried out in his youth for Sunderland FC and still traded on his near-miss with fame.
He knew that Sibson had been toying with retirement and was positioning himself as natural successor. Sibson had little time for politics, mildly despising those who had the inclination and the talent to play that particular game. He respected Blenkinship’s abilities, but couldn’t bring himself to actually like the man.
“All right.” Sibson ladled out a cool stare. “In that case, McColl can handle photo and video. We’ll start with the victim.” He didn’t miss the little sideways look Blenkinship exchanged with Ken Allcott, caught the meaning well enough.
“McColl is by far my best photographer,” he said flatly. “Would you like to explain to the chief constable why we failed to allocate our best personnel to the tasks to which they’re most suited?” Blenkinship dropped the smirk.
“Right,” Sibson said. “Tape the arena into zones, as usual. Take a zone each, work an organised grid search pattern. We need to be fast and thorough. Anyone finds anything out of the ordinary, they mark it and call McColl. I trust nobody else has any objections?” He allowed a hint of sarcasm to creep in, business as usual.
“What about the wall?”
It wasn’t just the question that had Sibson swinging back, but the fact it was Grace who’d asked it.
“What?”
“The wall.” She ignored the covert amusement around her. “According to the witnesses, Mrs Inglis was passing in front of it when she was killed and it was knocked down in the process.”
“Yes, yes, we’ll clearly need to remove some of the fallen segments in order to retrieve all of the remains,” Sibson said impatiently. “Any damage will be documented in due course.”
“But we can’t ignore the possibility, given the victim’s position, that the round also passed through the wall itself. Don’t you think it’s important to find out?” She paused. “According to the information Major Frederickson provided, the sniper could have been more than a mile away. That’s an awful lot of ground to cover. Surely, anything we can do to narrow down the area for the search teams ought to be a priority, don’t you think?”
Sibson absorbed the implications, lips thinning.
Blenkinship, misreading his reaction, gave a snort. “We need to get this scene processed as quickly as possible,” he told her. “I can’t believe you want to waste time playing with building blocks.”
“And I can’t believe we didn’t think of that earlier.” Sibson nodded curtly to Grace, allowed his eyes to take up the smile his mouth ruthlessly suppressed. “Good thinking, McColl.”
Blenkinship flushed. “Sir, with all respect, we need everyone on the ground. We can’t just—”
“Your work won’t start until we find that second scene,” Sibson cut in. “Until then, I want you rebuilding that wall. If the bullet did indeed pass through, it may give us the elevation as well as an indicator of direction.” And just before Blenkinship threw a sulk, he added, “Important task, Chris. Needs someone of your seniority.”
Unimpressed, Blenkinship put his hands up, as if to ward off further flattery. “Fine. I’ll get on it.”
“Good,” Sibson said. “Anybody makes a find, McColl will photograph it before it’s bagged and tagged. Clear?” Everyone nodded. “Right, suit up and let’s get this crime scene sorted before the wretched crows make off with any more of our poor unfortunate victim, shall we?”