So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) Read Online Free PDF

sound of other people in the house. Birdsong outside.
    ‘Ma’am.’
    She stifled a gasp as she spun on her heel to see DS Murray in the doorway, a plastic bag full of medicines and pills hanging from his hand, Sergeant Carson behind him.
    ‘Shit,’ she said, catching her breath.
    ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Murray said. ‘Is there anything more you need us to do? We’re all kind of twiddling our thumbs here.’
    Flanagan walked to the doorway. ‘Close the scene, Sergeant Carson.’
    Carson scribbled on the scene log as she bit her lower lip in concentration, then handed the clipboard to Flanagan. With her signature, Flanagan authorised the closure.
    ‘You did good work today,’ she said to Carson.
    A faint bloom flushed on Carson’s cheeks. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
    As the sergeant walked away, Flanagan spoke to Murray. ‘I’ll lock up here. Send the uniforms on their way, and you head back to Lisburn. Make a start on the paperwork. The FMO’s going to report suicide, to be confirmed by the coroner. You know what to do.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Murray said. ‘Keys are on the hall table. Two sets, so I’m not sure Mrs Garrick took hers with her.’
    ‘All right, I’ll see to it. Get going.’
    Flanagan listened to their muted voices and the scuffing of their boots as they left, the front door closing, two engines igniting, tyres on driveway. Then silence, even the birds outside seeming to have hushed.
    This rarely happened, that she was left alone at the scene. Normally, she would come and go from the site of a murder, the body lying in situ for as long as it took to explore every inchof its surroundings. But not today. This is simply a house of the bereaved, Flanagan thought, as if Henry Garrick had died of some illness on a hospital ward.
    What, then, do we do for the dead?
    It had been years since she or Alistair had lost a family member. Before the children, in fact, when Alistair’s father had died. She remembered his going around their home, closing blinds, shutting out the light. She had wanted to open them again, saying no one would see their isolated house. But Alistair had insisted. It’s what you do, he’d said. A mark of respect.
    So now Flanagan went back to the patio doors and pulled across the curtain that Dr Barr had opened. Then she walked from room to room, doing the same, the darkness deepening as each window was blotted out. She noted the objects, the artwork, the furniture, the ornaments, the electronics. Wealth she would never know in her lifetime. If the Garricks weren’t millionaires, they must have been close.
    Flanagan walked through the kitchen, again pulling down blinds, so the granite worktops changed from glistening sheets of black to dark pools. Through to the utility room, top of the range washing machine and tumble dryer amid more cupboards and a sink. A door leading to the rear of the property; she checked it was locked. Another door, open, a small bathroom. A third door, a key in the lock. She tried the handle, then turned the key, snick-click.
    The door opened outward. A step down into a large dim garage. Flanagan felt around the door frame for a light switch, found it, and fluorescent tubes flickered into life.
    Glistening metal from one side of the garage to the other. Space for five cars, but only four were lined up here. For a moment Flanagan wondered where the fifth could be. She hadn’t seen anything other than the modest cars of the visitors when she pulled up, but then she remembered: the car Mr Garrick had been driving when he crashed.
    She looked at the rest, marvelling at the money invested in these machines. She recognised a Porsche 911 by its profile, and a vintage MG, and a Mercedes convertible, the long boxy kind she remembered seeing on television as a child. Closest of all, a Mini Cooper, no more than a year or two old. The far wall was lined with racks of alloy wheels and tyres, and a large red tool chest. All of it appeared too clean to have seen much use.