the others. She replayed the scene in her mind.
‘Sergeant Nasreen Cudmore, this is Dr Jim Fisher.’ DCI Moast, his blue puffa jacket and jeans covered by his protective full body suit, signalled at the pathologist. ‘Nasreen is new to the team. Fresh blood.’
She nodded as Dr Fisher stood back to let them enter the room. At just over six foot, he was taller than Nasreen and the DCI, with smiling crinkly eyes behind thin wire glasses, and thick grey hair she could glimpse under his hood.
‘Glad to see you’ve finally got someone who knows what correct practice is, Ed.’ The doctor pointed at the disposable face mask Nasreen was wearing. She blushed. She didn’t want to get the DCI in trouble.
‘I’ve got my shoes and my bonce covered, Jim, what more do you want?’ The DCI’s grizzled jaw broke into a white grin. With his hood up over his cropped hair, he resembled a cotton bud. ‘You bods are finished anyway,’ he continued. ‘I just want to see the body in situ.’ They stepped into the small bedroom at the front of the house. ‘My, my, this is a mess isn’t it? You going to be all right with this, Sergeant Cudmore?’
Nasreen steeled herself to assess the scene. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve worked homicides before.’
‘Righto.’ DCI Moast pulled his notebook from his pocket. ‘The victim is Alun Mardling, aged forty-eight, a local bank manager at Canary Wharf.’
With her own suit hood up, Nasreen had to turn her head to take in the small room. The blue seventies-style curtains were drawn. The orange glow of the street lamp outside could be seen through them. A dusty lampshade with faded red and yellow cars on it hung from above. There was a desk, a chair and a computer, at which the body was slumped. The victim’s blood was splattered up and over the wall. Nasreen felt her gut contract and tears threaten at the back of her eyes. She reminded herself to stay clinical. Break it down into small manageable sections. The best thing she could do for the victim and his mother was help find who did this.
Blood was everywhere. Doused. Splashed. Flung. The room contained a slim pine wardrobe, with what she presumed was Mardling’s work suit hung on the outside. There was a matching compact pine bedside table, with Top Gear magazines and a box of tissues piled on it, and barely enough room for them to stand in here. Everything was covered in sprays of livid red. ‘Single bed, almost like this was a child’s room, sir?’ She looked at the faded blue checked duvet that was crumpled across the mattress. ‘No photos or pictures.’ She looked at the drab walls.
‘Apparently Mrs Mardling’s son, Alun here, moved back in with his mum after his marriage fell apart,’ DCI Moast said. ‘He was based in Manchester before that.’
‘Recently?’ asked Nasreen. This was a sad bachelor room.
‘About four years ago,’ said Moast.
‘Doesn’t look like he’s moved on much, does it?’ Dr Fisher said from the doorway.
The victim was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, his head and body slumped forward over his computer. His blood looked as if it had been dashed against the desk and the walls, indicating it had come out in high-velocity gushes. It was concentrated on the computer, desk and wall Mardling had been facing. ‘Was he attacked from behind?’ Nasreen asked.
‘Correct,’ said Dr Fisher. ‘His neck was cut with a sharp implement, probably a knife. I’ll know more when we’re back at the lab.’
‘So far we’ve found no murder weapon,’ said DCI Moast. ‘I’ve got the lads outside searching.’
Nasreen had seen something similar once after a gang hit. ‘The blood spatter is fairly aggressive,’ she said. ‘Like spurts. Did the perp cut the carotid artery, doctor?’
‘Very good, Sergeant.’ Dr Fisher pointed at the sliced neck. ‘He would have lost consciousness pretty instantly and bled out in minutes.’
What a horrible, violent end to a life. ‘Well, at least it was quick,’ said Nasreen. ‘Do you think the perp knew what he was doing?’
‘It looks like a precision cut,’ said the doctor. ‘So either he knew his anatomy, or he got lucky.’
DCI Moast nodded and wrote something in his notebook.
‘And presumably the perp’s clothes would be covered too?’ said Nasreen.
‘I’ve told the lads to look for discarded clothing as well,’ said the DCI.
‘She’s a sharp one this one: I’d keep hold of her if I were you, Ed.’ Dr Fisher winked at Nasreen.
‘She’s too young for you, Jim,’ Moast said. Nasreen felt herself blush again. And then she’d been sent to fetch the DCI’s tea.
Had she spoken out of turn? Did the DCI think she couldn’t cope with the rigours of a ghoulish crime scene? No, she was sure DCI Moast made all his sergeants run round after him. Perhaps he drank sweet tea to help combat shock, keep his mind clear? They all did what they had to to cope with a crime scene like this. She understood sacrifices needed to be made. She’d better text Claire and cancel their planned cinema trip tomorrow. Claire had ditched her plenty of times to work late in her bid to make partner at her law firm. That’s why their friendship worked so well: they both knew the job came first.
Members of the public were gathering outside the crime scene tape, peering up at the terraced house. What was PC Thomas doing on the door? Where was PC Folland? This wasn’t protocol.
‘Mind your step, ma’am.’ Spindly Jamie’s usually pale face looked positively drained.
The toe of her boot nudged a puddle of sick on the floor. ‘Oh, Jamie. And inside the cordon.’
‘I couldn’t help it. It just…Do you think there’ll be a disciplinary, ma’am?’ He looked stricken.
She still wasn’t used to being called ma’am. It made her feel old. She’d paused too long now. ‘I bet Dr Fisher loves you!’
Jamie’s mouth turned down.
Drat, she’d meant that to be light-hearted. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. ‘I best go find the guv.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jamie held the door for her.
Inside she gathered her thoughts. She needed to speak to the victim’s mother – she was with the relationship officers now. The SOCOs were out back looking for evidence of how the perpetrator gained access. DCI Moast favoured the alley that ran along the back of the houses. It wouldn’t be hard to vault the fence and enter through the garden. A robbery gone wrong? Perhaps. The perpetrator could have assumed everyone was asleep, come across Alun Mardling and, in the panic, killed him. There were no immediate signs of anything missing. Little sign of struggle. No evidence of forced entry. But she felt there was something disturbing about the way the man’s throat had been cut: too…sacrificial. The flask felt warm in her pocket – DCI Moast could wait a minute while she took another quick look at the body.
Nasreen took the stairs two at a time. She could hear people moving around, one of the forensics team must still be here. She reached the bedroom door and froze. But she wasn’t staring at the blood, she was staring at the person in front of it.
Was she a scene of crime officer? No. Ridiculous. She was just at Espress-oh’s.
