Jen and Nicky arrived at the house first, having travelled together in Nicky’s Mondeo. Rob had wanted to make some calls and hung back in the office to finish up. Speak to the new pathologist en route. Nicky had taken a call from a contact who knew she was heading to the scene and had prepped her with an outline of what to expect, which had allowed her and Jen to grab their own sterile coveralls from the station before leaving. Always a better option than borrowing on site if possible. Somehow the white paper of the station stock prevented the stench from settling too deeply into their clothes. They’d suit up on arrival and wouldn’t have to wait, or borrow a set from forensics where the quality and sizes were variable.
Uniform had arrived quickly following the call, and had immediately escalated the incident, which in turn had filtered to Rob’s team. The obligatory police barrier was already hanging between lampposts and blowing well. The wind was stronger now and the blue and white plastic tape was rippling loudly in the air. It was dark, and the night had deteriorated considerably. The interior lights and blues on the patrol cars lit up the end of the road like a nightclub, strobing their way into the night sky.
A number of officers were busying themselves in the street, having set up the initial site cordon, with some looking visibly relieved that Nicky and Jen had arrived. Another couple of uniforms in bright hi-vis jackets stood by the side entrance of the house, guarding it. Jen recognised one as PC Emma Sharpe as she walked up the pathway towards the door. They’d done some courses and spent some time together a couple of years back. Health and Safety or First Aid. Advanced Driving maybe.
Inaudible noise was coming from the radios attached to the jackets of the officers wearing them, velcroed to their upper chests. Pale looks were being exchanged between some younger officers who had already stepped inside the house. There were few words. Nicky and Jen exchanged a look. No words. They walked the last few yards up to the house and flashed warrant cards, introducing themselves as the ranking officers; a formality, as most of those already at the scene knew who they both were.
An officer gestured the two in via the side door of the house, stepping aside to invite them through. Jen and Emma exchanged glances and mouthed “Hi” – as an oblivious Nicky carried on her path, through the open back door and into the lean-to of the bungalow.
Uniformed officers continued to section off parts of the garden, knowing that the forensic work would be painstaking and every detail must be upheld now, and fully preserved. The golden hour. The forensic team had already started to arrive in the background. Lamps and equipment that would be needed well into the night, and through into tomorrow were being unloaded from a medium sized white Volkswagen van.
Forensics had parked another two of their vans adjacent to a patrol car and a ‘68 plate VW Tiguan, no doubt belonging to one of the retired residents, who were either tucked up tight and oblivious to what was happening, or curtain twitching right now. Not one of them had left their house and made it to the police line. The night was too cold for venturing outside. This was the wrong demographic for being nosy at this time of night, and there’d be no Facebook live coverage of this scene.
Some conversations were happening quietly as the officers on site continued to take care of the scene, with several of the early forensics crew starting to make their way in to the house.
Rob had arrived and parked away from the rest of the cars. Nicky and Jen had signed the site register, which had been hastily set up, and were already fully adorned in their white paper suits and blue slip-on shoe covers. Even with her own preferred suit and extra thick face mask, Jen hated it. Felt scuzzy and unclean, even before going in.
It felt even scuzzier afterwards.
The face masks were futile; the stench of death was thick in the air. Hanging. Like something you could never explain, just something you got used to. Knew.
Blood. Faeces. Death.
Vile unmistakable smells, often mixed and totally overwhelming in the atmosphere of any crime scene. The smell of death’s ability to corrupt the airwaves is unparalleled, but it still has a spectrum, and Jen and Nicky knew they were walking into a bloodbath.