She heard the watching woman chortle before she shouted to Maya, ‘Don’t know what you’re preening yourself for, love – you look a right state in that get-up.’
‘Bit rich coming from someone who should have got changed six hours ago. It’s called nightwear for a reason, love.’ Maya stalked towards the crime-scene tape with as much dignity as she could muster on shaking legs, dressed in a paper suit and matching overshoes which scuffed the floor.
The scene was an end terrace. Piles of detritus littered the semi-paved garden. What little greenery there was, had long since gone to seed and a few half-hearted wildflowers cast an optimistic kaleidoscope of colour amongst split bin bags. A myriad of takeaway cartons, vodka bottles and beer cans lay scorching in the heat. The yellow-and-black crime-scene tape was secured to the crumbling gatepost and was being maintained by a bored-looking police officer.
Maya introduced herself and wrote her details into the crime-scene log which the officer was holding. It diarised the attendance of anyone who entered the crime scene, recording who they were, their reasons for attending and confirmation that their fingerprints and DNA were held on file for elimination purposes. She then waited for Chris to finish his hushed phone call so she could receive further instructions.
‘Right, Maya, that was Kym again. She’s only just decided to tell me that this is your first body. Sorry, love, I didn’t know. I thought because you’d come to us from Alder Street you had experience.’
‘I was a volume crime-scene investigator there. I’ve worked on plenty of burglaries and vehicle crime and shadowed at a few cannabis farms, rapes and robberies, but never had a death.’
‘Did they not give you any experience at uni?’
‘I didn’t go. I studied photography and biology for the job. I worked at a car dealership before that, so completely different background.’
‘Sorry, I vaguely remember Kym telling me, now you mention it. Well, you never forget your first body. Feeling okay?’
Maya nodded eagerly, despite the trepidation she felt. Chris continued, ‘We think he’s been in there for a few days and is starting to smell, but to be fair, not as bad as the rest of the house. I’ll do as much of the hands-on stuff as I can, and you take over the photographs. You okay with that?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Let me know if you’re not. I don’t want you puking or fainting. I’ve put stepping plates down already, so stay on them and don’t move anything for now.’ Chris swiped at his forehead again.
‘Doctor Granger is our pathologist. He’s in the back making some notes and wanting everything done yesterday. He’s a cantankerous old bastard, but if you mind your Ps and Qs and act interested, he’ll tolerate you. Get yourself in. I just need to grab a body sheet and a body bag out of the van.’
The police officer gave Maya an encouraging wink as she adjusted her face mask before ducking under the police tape. As she approached the front door of the property, she understood what Chris meant about the smell. The stench from the heaps of rubbish wasting in the sun were nothing compared to the smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and general grubbiness that engulfed her as she nudged the front door open.
A tatty-looking high-visibility coat was slung over the banister. Years of cigarette smoke had turned the wallpaper into a curious caramel colour and burnished the thickened cobwebs which strung across the cornice. She eyed the dank-looking stairway; the thought of what she would see lying in the bedroom made her shiver, despite the sweltering summer heat. The first door to her right led to what appeared to be some sort of junk room. There was a clapped-out trail bike propped against the door frame, which looked like it was being stripped for parts. As a keen biker, it would normally pique her interest, but today Maya was too preoccupied for it to barely resonate.
Taking deep, calming breaths, she proceeded on trembling legs across the metal stepping plates. She stopped to peer through the second door on the right, which led to a sitting room. It was dimly lit with thick, heavyset curtains pulled across the bay window. Tendrils of sunlight stretched across the ceiling through gaps caused by missing curtain hooks. In the shafts of light dust motes shimmered like glitter. She could make out a maroon couch and a cluttered coffee table with house keys, mobile phone and a wallet nestled against an overflowing ashtray.
The only neat thing in the room was the pile of porn magazines which were proudly stacked on the arm of the couch. There was also an old, boxy-looking TV, which towered on a feeble-looking glass stand, a DVD player and a stash of adult films. Cardboard boxes propped the back wall up; spewing what appeared to be bits of tools and mechanical paraphernalia.
Not wanting to venture further into the room in case she disturbed anything, she continued cautiously up the hall. The door leading to the kitchen was closed. Through the nicotine-stained, mottled glass in the top panel, Maya could vaguely make out the shape of Doctor Granger sitting at the kitchen table. Reluctant to interrupt him, she announced herself with a subtle cough.
‘Hello, Doctor Granger, I’m SOCO Maya Barton.’ She paused long enough to invite a reply before continuing, ‘I’ve come to help Chris with the body recovery.’
Granger didn’t reply and Maya found herself dithering uncertainly at the doorway, wondering whether she was expected to just enter or wait. She was wary of getting on the wrong side of the pathologist after Chris’s warning. She certainly didn’t want to disturb him
