Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,4

the front doorway of Rose Cottage and watched the dog handler lead her spaniel through the rubble. The dog wore tiny red canvas boots, Velcroed in place around the ankles and with thick rubber soles that protected her paws from smouldering embers and sharp debris, allowing her to work safely and comfortably. The single repeated command of ‘Show me, Amber’ was all that could be heard inside Rose Cottage.

Amber’s handler kept her off the sofa, as the charred body was still there. The dog worked hard, sniffing and moving around the remnants of furniture. Her tail wagged, her tongue lolled, she jumped and rummaged, but she didn’t make one single indication that an accelerant was present.

‘Maybe the fire burnt intensely enough to destroy any accelerant?’ Sally speculated. ‘Or maybe a less common one was used. The dog only knows the most common ones, such as petrol or household flammables. Your forensics people might still find accelerant on the items you collect.’

‘I’ll make sure I’ve got a tennis ball in me pocket if they do.’

Sally giggled at the unstoppable image that popped into her head, of an entire forensics team being trained to seek out evidence with the promise of a ball as a reward.

‘I think the ball only works with Amber.’

Prescott signalled for his blue-suited SOCOs to descend on the scene. He pointed at the sofa.

‘There’s a body in there, fellas, but it’s goin’ nowhere, so don’t rush and don’t compromise evidence just to get it out.’

A sea of nodding blue paper heads dispersed around the room and set about collecting anything and everything that might be useful – wood, brass hinges, plaster, bed springs. All items were individually double-wrapped into nylon bags to preserve any traces of accelerant.

Now that Prescott was inside his crime scene, he had the patience of a saint. He could see the wheels of the machinery turning, see his officers working and progress being made. He followed his SOCOs deeper into the mess, allowing them to clear and preserve the way in front of him, and Sally followed after. This was his scene now, and she totally respected the shift in authority.

Eventually, and in relative silence, Prescott and Sally made it as far as the sofa. The iron bed frame, which had now been removed, had missed the body when it fell. Even so, the body was massively damaged. The face was not only burnt down to the skeleton, but the cheekbones and lower jawbone were smashed and many of the teeth were missing.

‘Could that damage to the skull be from falling debris?’ Prescott asked.

Sally leant in to get a better look. ‘The ceiling was largely gone by the time we arrived, so God knows what might have fallen through and landed on the sofa. The cleaner-looking skull fractures around the temple area could be heat stress. The skull can sometimes just pop, depending on the intensity of heat.’

‘Damn shame this fella’s teeth are so damaged,’ Prescott commented, almost to himself. Then louder, ‘Look at the bloody mess your lot have made of this place!’

Sally was just about to tear a strip off him when she looked at his partially hidden face. His eyes were crinkled at the edges and she knew he was smiling.

‘Bloody fires,’ Prescott continued, avoiding her gaze. ‘If the flames don’t destroy the evidence, the water does.’ He scratched his head through his blue paper hood and his eyes flicked about again as he thought through everything he was seeing. ‘If this is murder, we might be looking for someone who’s savvy about forensics, you know. I mean, you can’t print burnt wood and you can’t find shoe prints under water.’

He was suddenly distracted by the contents of the hearth. The water from the fire-hose on the floor in this area of the room looked like thin black paint – a result you might expect to get after paper is burnt, creating a fine, soluble ash. Further back in the hearth, untouched by the water altogether, were the remnants of what looked like stacks of dry, charred paper. The paper was now nothing more than tiny fragments of its original form, but the volume was confusing.

Prescott picked up the longest of four fire pokers, and gently nudged the top layer of paper away in the hope of getting to some less burnt samples underneath. He tried not to damage any of the delicate paper. Eventually he spotted a single intact piece, no more than one centimetre in length, showing the instantly