No Lovelier Death Read Free

state of the place?’
    ‘I gather it’s pretty much wrecked. Not just that. One of the bodies we recovered turns out to be the Aults’ daughter.’
    ‘Shit.’
    ‘Exactly. Total nightmare.’
    Faraday looked away, trying to imagine the welcome home awaiting this luckless pair. One moment, the bluest of oceans; the next, the worst news in the world.
    ‘These bodies were by the pool next door?’
    ‘Yeah. We think the other one’s a lad called Gareth Hughes. If we’re right, he’s the boyfriend.’
    ‘Injuries?’
    ‘According to one of the CSIs, we’re looking at bruising and abrasions on both of them, plus blood beside the pool, plus multiple stab injuries on the girl. Early days, though. Jenny’s still en route.’
    Faraday nodded. Jenny Cutler was the on-call forensic pathologist. She lived in a farmhouse in the wilds of Somerset. Hence her late arrival.
    Faraday was looking at the house again. Through the open front door he could see a couple of uniforms talking to a gaggle of kids.
    ‘What’s the plan here? Are we arresting them? Or do we treat them as witnesses? Either way, Jerry seems to think the resource implications are horrendous.’
    ‘Jerry’s right. We’re estimating one hundred-plus kids. Apparently the invite went out on Facebook and half the world turned up. The girl was planning for a cosy soirée. Instead she ended up with a riot.’
    ‘Girl?’
    ‘Rachel.’ Parsons glanced across at Faraday. ‘The one by the pool.’
    Faraday nodded. As the story unfolded, it wasn’t difficult to track the implications. Two bodies triggered a major homicide inquiry. Next door, more than a hundred partying kids were either suspects or witnesses. Either way, they’d need to be taken to a custody suite, medically examined, and housed overnight before being interviewed in the morning.
    ‘So are we arresting them?’
    ‘Not in the first place, no. We’re asking for their cooperation and their mobiles. If there’s any difficulty, we’ll go for arrest.’
    ‘Grounds?’
    ‘Hasn’t been necessary yet. A few kicked up when we seized their mobiles but you’d expect that. If push comes to shove Mr Willard’s suggesting breach of the peace or criminal damage. We’re not fussy. Either will do.’
    ‘What about transport? Jerry said he was pushing for full forensic cleaning.’
    ‘Jerry would. That’s his job. But given the situation, I’m afraid he’s got no chance. I talked to the cleaning contractors a couple of hours ago. We’d be here all weekend if we went down that road so we’re settling for low-mileage minibuses. That way they might be at least half-clean. I’m afraid it’s the best we can do.’
    Faraday nodded in agreement. With every passenger a potential suspect, the evidential textbooks called for each vehicle to be forensic-ally pre-cleaned to prevent cross-contamination. That would leave the Crown Prosecution Service flameproof against later defence challenges in court but Parsons was right: sorting out a fleet of minibuses to Jerry Proctor’s satisfaction would bring the entire operation to a halt.
    The DCI’s mobile began to ring again. While she was busy with the call, Faraday tried to tally the rest of the night’s implications. The booking-in process at the custody centres, especially at weekends, could itself take nearly half an hour per person. Every witness or suspect would need access to a lawyer. If they were sixteen or under, they’d require the presence of an appropriate adult. If they were foreign, they’d be calling for interpreters. They’d need to be swabbed, fingerprinted, and medically examined by a police surgeon. Their clothing would be seized, bagged, tagged and put aside for possible dispatch to the Forensic Science Service.
    Every step in this journey carried a price tag or resource implications. Would there be enough cell space county-wide? Would there be sufficient replacement clothing? And who would pick up the tab for the lab tests? Only last