Grace, pulling on her Tyvek suit, glanced across the arena to where Chris Blenkinship was now discussing the exact dimensions of the showjumping wall with Major Frederickson. It made sense to consult him, since he’d been in charge of building it in the first place, but Grace was uneasy about the army man’s involvement. He was too close, too…connected.
“You should be careful of him, my dear.”
She turned, to find Richard Sibson at her shoulder. “Careful of whom?”
Sibson sighed. “Chris Blenkinship. He’s after my job and I should imagine it won’t be too very long before he gets it.” He gave her a severe look over his glasses as he stretched his fingers inside the nitrile gloves. “You’d be wise not to make an enemy out of him.”
“Well, Christopher is not someone I particularly want for a friend,” Grace said easily, tucking her hair beneath the hood of her suit. “And I don’t see you being wheeled round the park in your bath chair just yet, do you?”
“Nevertheless, my dear, just remember that you were my choice,” Sibson warned. “Almost certainly, you won’t be his.”
His words lingered as the CSIs walked out over the arena. Grace had never tried to get close to the people she worked with. She didn’t go for after-hours drinks, outings, shopping trips. After years of a social diary booked up months in advance, the freedom of being able to do her own thing on her own time was still a luxury she savoured.
“Make sure you get close-ups of the separation of the remains will you, Grace?” Sibson said, putting markers down in the grass by pieces of bloody cloth that might once have been pale green silk. “This spread pattern may well help identify the weapon.”
He rocked back on his heels slightly while she laid down a scale and leaned over the area to take her shots, bracketing the exposure.
Grace straightened. “I thought Major Frederickson said it was—what was it? A Barrett Light Fifty?”
“And I thought I’d taught you never to try and make the evidence fit someone else’s theories,” Sibson returned sharply. “Besides, the major’s working on nothing more than supposition. He believes this man Tawney may be after him but, as you’d be the first to testify, whatever did this is nothing like what killed the dog.”
Grace frowned. “You told me never to trust in coincidence, either.”
He sighed. “Do you have to remember everything I said, McColl?”
“Now Richard,” she murmured, “you know I hang on your every word.”
Sibson’s only reply was a grunt. He bent to examine another piece of what had so recently been human, waving away the flies. “Whatever else, it was quick. She wouldn’t have felt a thing, poor woman.”
Grace wondered if Max would ever forget what he’d seen. She’d been horrified at her first sight of him huddled in the back of the ambulance, streaked with blood and bone. In all the years of their marriage, she’d never seen him so bewildered, so vulnerable.
He would never know how hard it had been for her, to treat him with the detachment required of her job, to bag and label his clothing, sticking strictly to procedure, keeping the chain of evidence intact, when all she’d wanted to do was offer the comfort he so badly needed.
Because of the strong sunlight, she attached a flashgun to the Canon to eliminate the contrast of shadows and snapped more pictures, then stood to quarter the scene from their position.
As she did so, a faint flash of colour caught her eye. She raised the camera to her eye, operated the zoom lens, just to be sure, and completely missed her boss’s next comment. At her lack of response, he glanced up.
“What it is?” he asked quickly, irritation fading.
“Hm? Oh, I thought I saw something. A vehicle, perhaps,” she said, pointing.
He followed her direction with narrowed eyes. “Well spotted.”
Grace pressed the shutter and checked the image. “I’ll fetch a tripod from the van.” She put down her bag. “The less shake, the bigger I can go with the enlargements.”
“And get someone onto it,” Sibson added over his shoulder as she walked away. “If it’s some farmer out doing whatever it is farmers do with their livestock, we may have another potential witness to add to the hordes.”
Grace nodded, glanced around and spotted Danny Robertshaw near one of the incident vans.
“Daniel!” she called, loud enough to attract his attention.
He turned, started towards her. Grace passed through the crowd barriers that marked the edge of the arena and stepped into the sunshine. As she did so, she pushed back the hood of her suit, letting her hair fall loosely about her shoulders.