Grave Situation by Alex MacLean Read Free Book Online Page A

patch on his black jacket
with the word security embroidered in silver. At that point, he realized the man
wore the same type of clothing as the victim.
    A witness or suspect?
    To him, everything appeared to be
in order. The integrity of the crime scene was being well
protected. Only the body, face down in its absolute stillness,
looked out of place here. Everyone avoided it. Doctor Coulter,
Allan saw, had yet to show up.
    Tired, he rubbed his eyes. It felt
like weeks since he had a peaceful night’s sleep. His face in the
rear-view mirror showed the strain of exhaustion.
    The job? Or everything
else?
    Over time, Allan had developed a
thick emotional hide that allowed him to distance himself from the
tragedies he encountered. It was something investigators needed to
do in order to survive. Lately, however, Allan felt that he lost
his ability to block it all out. Things he saw on the job seemed to
trouble him—the classic sign of burnout. He knew of other officers
who had gone through the same crisis, but seldom discussed it.
Machismo was the hallmark in this profession.
    In Allan’s situation, perhaps these
feelings of late could be blamed on a mix of factors: the wreckage
of his personal life, the separation from Melissa, his absence in
Brian’s childhood. Then there were the unacceptable injustices he
had to somehow move on from.
    Like Mary Driscow.
    Unbuckling his seatbelt, he
considered the case before him now, the evidence yet to be
gathered, suspects and witnesses yet to be questioned, connections
yet to be made. What would the victim profile reveal? Could a
motive be established from it?
    With most murder cases, he spent
little time mulling over the rationale behind them. It was best, he
knew, to stick with the essentials that would bring a conviction.
Victims were not around to explain what happened and suspects
rarely told the truth. Physical evidence and credible witnesses
helped convict the guilty. Motive, when discovered, only revealed
how truly senseless the crime had been.
    How will this case go?
    Allan shut the car door and felt
the harbor breeze on his face. Above him the sky was a rich blue.
Traces of clouds drifted along the horizon.
    He circled to the trunk, popped the
lid, and took out a 35mm camera. He proceeded to take several
pictures of the crime scene from multiple points of view, both
looking into and outward from the site.
    Around him came the murmurs of a
city waking up. Soon, it would be alive with urban
bustle.
    Across the street, a small crowd of
onlookers had gathered at the corner of South and Lower Water
Street. Mindful that a suspect could be among the group, Allan
surreptitiously snapped photos of them. As he looked around, he
realized that no cameras or reporters were present.
    He put the camera back in the
trunk. From a black case, he removed two pairs of latex gloves and
slipped them on his hands one over the other. He shut the trunk and
then walked toward Sergeant Malone. The sergeant was a veteran of
the Halifax Regional Police. He was tall and hawk-faced with alert
blue eyes.
    As Allan approached, Malone went to
him, holding out the clipboard. Attached to it was a crime scene
log in/out form. Below the last name in the column, Allan added his
signature, the date and time.
    “So what do we have?” he asked,
handing the clipboard back.
    The victim, Malone described, was
twenty-seven-year-old Brad Hawkins. He had worked as a private
guard for a contract security firm called Twin City Protection. A
co-worker, who went looking for him after he failed to answer his
radio, discovered the body.
    “Do we know who the next-of-kin
is?” Allan asked.
    “Taken care of.” Malone ripped a
page from his notepad and gave it to him. “Mister and Missus
Hawkins.”
    Briefly, Allan studied the address
on the paper.
    “I’m going to have the mobile
command post set up across the street,” Malone added. “Behind SIU’s
van.”
    Allan nodded, satisfied. “I think
we need to get barricades