Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

either side giving way to traditional stone cottages, a line of new houses and then to open fields. Another patrol car was blocking the road further ahead, just beyond the entrance to a farmyard, which contained two more patrol cars, two Scientific Services vans and Roger Poland’s Volvo.
    ‘Looks like we go the rest of the way on foot,’ said Janice, turning into the yard.
    They walked along the lane, sheltering under Janice’s umbrella, although it needed both of them to hold onto to it in the wind. Waterside Cottage was at the far end, just where the road finished at a steel barrier, forming a T junction with the gravel track that followed the River Parrett. The cottage was facing the lane on the left and sideways on to the river. It was painted white, with what looked like terracotta roof tiles, and a timber framed entrance porch, which was just visible behind the tent that Scientific Services had set up to cover the garden path. Another tent had been set up in the lane outside.
    Jane peered into the tent covering the lane.
    ‘Wait there!’
    Janice put her umbrella back up and stepped back into rain.
    ‘Best do as we’re told, I suppose.’
    ‘Right, you can come in now.’
    Once inside the tent they were greeted by Donald Watson, the senior scientific services officer. He was holding two sets of white overalls and blue disposable overshoes.
    ‘Put these on,’ he said, handing one set of each to Jane and Janice. ‘You’ve got your own gloves?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Janice finished first. ‘What’ve we got then?’ she asked.
    ‘Two cigarette butts over there,’ replied Watson, pointing to an area on the far side of the tent cordoned off with tape. Two small red flags had been stuck in the mud on the edge of the grass verge. ‘They look fresh so we’ll check them out.’
    Janice nodded.
    ‘Follow me,’ continued Watson. ‘And stick to the approach path.’
    They followed him along the line of metal plates that had been placed on the ground like stepping stones, through the garden gate and into the adjacent tent. The front door and porch of the cottage were glazed with stained glass windows and a wisteria was now visible growing along the front of the cottage. It was the sort of place that you might take a photograph of in different circumstances.
    ‘There was a small pile of vomit there,’ said Watson, gesturing to a small area on the lawn off to the right of the path. ‘We’ll see what we can get from it, but it’s been raining since threeish. The same applies to the fag butts in the road.’
    The sickly sweet smell of congealed blood overpowered them as soon as they stepped into the porch. Janice turned away. Her hand was over her mouth, with her nose clamped between her index finger and thumb.
    ‘Are you . . . ?’
    ‘I’m all right, I’m all right.’
    ‘Do you want a mask?’ asked Watson.
    ‘No, really.’
    Jane looked into the hallway. There was a large bloodstain on the carpet and a red line down the white painted wood panelling above it, where the blood had trickled down from the landing at the top of the stairs. She looked up and recognised Roger Poland kneeling next to the body. He was peering at Mrs Perry’s upper arms and mumbling into a Dictaphone.
    ‘Came in through the kitchen,’ said Watson, following the steel plates along the hall, ‘We’ve got a broken pane of glass but no fingerprints, sadly.’
    ‘Any footprints?’ asked Janice.
    ‘Two sets in the back garden but nothing after that.’
    ‘Tyre tracks?’
    ‘We’ve got some in a field gateway about seventy yards down the lane, but that’s it.’
    Watson stopped just inside the kitchen door. Jane was standing in the doorway, peering over Janice’s shoulder. They watched a scientific services officer crouching down by the back door picking up bits of glass and placing them in evidence bags.
    ‘Seen enough?’
    Janice nodded.
    ‘Up the stairs then,’ said Watson.
    They retraced their steps back along the hall.