covered this person up after they’d died. He shuddered. Dimly, he remembered from some TV program, that he shouldn’t touch evidence with his bare hand, but how else was he to take it from the dog?
Shaking from head to toe, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, grabbed Jeffrey’s collar and, wrapping the material around his hand, wrenched the – thing – from his dog’s mouth and dropped it on the grass. He had fastened the leash to Jeffrey’s collar and wrapped the end around his wrist, when he remembered: ‘Oh no, the other shoe this morning!’ His heart sank when he recalled grabbing the mate off his dog and casually chucking it in the bin at the back of his house. Fortunately, the garbage collection wasn’t due for a few days. He became aware that the night air was bitter, buttoned up his coat and pulled the hood over his head. Shivering, he took out his mobile phone.
Jeffrey, deprived of his prize, flopped onto his well-padded, furry bum to commence an intimate and vigorous cleaning regime.
CHAPTER 10
Call Out
Susan
Saturday, 9.45PM
My mobile cut the conversation in mid-sentence. What else would it be but work on a chilly autumn night when I was well fed, sitting in front of the fire in the company of my sister and good friend, talking about our men and our children?
‘Susan?’ The voice of the Incident Commander from Comco spoiled the ambience of the moment well and truly.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The body of a young woman has turned up in West End, down by the river near the old boatshed. Forensics’re on the way.’ He filled me in on the exact location, gave me command and hung up. Cursing silently, I turned to my sister, Melanie and our friend, Briony. ‘Sorry, ladies. A body’s been found in West End.’
Guilt assailed me. Someone’s daughter, sister or perhaps girlfriend was lost forever, and I was cranky about leaving my friends? I gave myself a mental scolding and tried to switch to professional mode.
Briony looked hopeful. ‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No, not tonight, but you’ll probably end up there tomorrow.’
Briony Feldman was shaping up to be a very fine officer. We had met two years previously when she’d been contracted to write the autobiography of the eccentric, lustful Sir Arthur Robinson, at the country town of Emsberg. A historian, she had been disenchanted by the job, but fascinated with the murder investigations swirling around us. Having bonded over coffee, cakes and a funeral, my suggestion that she join the police force was enthusiastically embraced. Now stationed at West End, she is a uniformed constable.
Dressed in heavy polar fleece pants, boots, a T-shirt and warm coat, I grabbed my shoulder bag and keys and raced out the door. Melanie and Briony would let the dogs out for their nightly constitutional, lock up and troop off to bed when they were ready.
The roads were all but deserted as I sped to town and joined the mainstream traffic into the CBD. The lights from the concert hall shimmered coldly on the river as I crossed the bridge, wishing I could have been part of the audience.
Uniform had set up the crime scene and Forensics arrived as I pulled up. The generator for the portable lighting chugged, a background to the voices of the forensic team. The chilly night air of the river hit me as I stepped out of my car. Zipping my coat, I pulled the hood over my head, hoisted my shoulder bag off the passenger seat and walked to the tape. Jacketless and shivering, the young constable keeping the crime scene log moved to meet me, but I told him to wait and trudged back to my car to get an old gardening jacket of David’s. He smiled his gratitude and scrambled into the grubby garment, before inspecting my ID, logging me onto the crime scene and lifting the tape for me to duck under.
A familiar face greeted me. ‘What’s the “go” here, Al?’
‘Ma’am. The call was logged at 21.10 by Triple 0. The body is that of a female
Shaking from head to toe, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, grabbed Jeffrey’s collar and, wrapping the material around his hand, wrenched the – thing – from his dog’s mouth and dropped it on the grass. He had fastened the leash to Jeffrey’s collar and wrapped the end around his wrist, when he remembered: ‘Oh no, the other shoe this morning!’ His heart sank when he recalled grabbing the mate off his dog and casually chucking it in the bin at the back of his house. Fortunately, the garbage collection wasn’t due for a few days. He became aware that the night air was bitter, buttoned up his coat and pulled the hood over his head. Shivering, he took out his mobile phone.
Jeffrey, deprived of his prize, flopped onto his well-padded, furry bum to commence an intimate and vigorous cleaning regime.
CHAPTER 10
Call Out
Susan
Saturday, 9.45PM
My mobile cut the conversation in mid-sentence. What else would it be but work on a chilly autumn night when I was well fed, sitting in front of the fire in the company of my sister and good friend, talking about our men and our children?
‘Susan?’ The voice of the Incident Commander from Comco spoiled the ambience of the moment well and truly.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The body of a young woman has turned up in West End, down by the river near the old boatshed. Forensics’re on the way.’ He filled me in on the exact location, gave me command and hung up. Cursing silently, I turned to my sister, Melanie and our friend, Briony. ‘Sorry, ladies. A body’s been found in West End.’
Guilt assailed me. Someone’s daughter, sister or perhaps girlfriend was lost forever, and I was cranky about leaving my friends? I gave myself a mental scolding and tried to switch to professional mode.
Briony looked hopeful. ‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No, not tonight, but you’ll probably end up there tomorrow.’
Briony Feldman was shaping up to be a very fine officer. We had met two years previously when she’d been contracted to write the autobiography of the eccentric, lustful Sir Arthur Robinson, at the country town of Emsberg. A historian, she had been disenchanted by the job, but fascinated with the murder investigations swirling around us. Having bonded over coffee, cakes and a funeral, my suggestion that she join the police force was enthusiastically embraced. Now stationed at West End, she is a uniformed constable.
Dressed in heavy polar fleece pants, boots, a T-shirt and warm coat, I grabbed my shoulder bag and keys and raced out the door. Melanie and Briony would let the dogs out for their nightly constitutional, lock up and troop off to bed when they were ready.
The roads were all but deserted as I sped to town and joined the mainstream traffic into the CBD. The lights from the concert hall shimmered coldly on the river as I crossed the bridge, wishing I could have been part of the audience.
Uniform had set up the crime scene and Forensics arrived as I pulled up. The generator for the portable lighting chugged, a background to the voices of the forensic team. The chilly night air of the river hit me as I stepped out of my car. Zipping my coat, I pulled the hood over my head, hoisted my shoulder bag off the passenger seat and walked to the tape. Jacketless and shivering, the young constable keeping the crime scene log moved to meet me, but I told him to wait and trudged back to my car to get an old gardening jacket of David’s. He smiled his gratitude and scrambled into the grubby garment, before inspecting my ID, logging me onto the crime scene and lifting the tape for me to duck under.
A familiar face greeted me. ‘What’s the “go” here, Al?’
‘Ma’am. The call was logged at 21.10 by Triple 0. The body is that of a female
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