To Dwell in Darkness by Deborah Crombie Read Free Book Online Page A

looked in that direction . . . Maybe the cameras picked him up.”
    â€œI’ve already got someone running through the station’s feed,” said Callery, and Kincaid shot him a look.
    Melody wondered just exactly who was in charge here.
    The techs marked a perimeter and began taking photos. The flashes made Melody feel a bit dizzy. “I don’t know how much we’ll get here, considering there have been thousands of feet tromping through the space since it was cleaned last night,” said the talkative tech to Rashid, who had taken out his own camera. “But let us have a pass at it before you get up close and personal.” The tech turned to Melody. “Did you touch him?”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head. “No. He was still burning in places. And he was—it was obvious it was too late to help him . . .”
    â€œHow close did you get?”
    She tried to think, but it was such a blur. Five feet? Ten? Where had they been standing, she and her helper, when they’d broken through the throng and seen the body? “About there, I think.” She pointed to a spot.
    â€œDid anyone else go close to him?”
    Melody shook her head again, suddenly reluctant to describe her companion. Had he been real? She wanted to see the CCTV footage for herself before she said anything. Nick Callery had stepped away and was speaking urgently into a radio.
    â€œWe’d better take some trace samples from you, just for elimination,” said the tech. He had a round face, the shape emphasized by the suit’s hood and his stylishly shaved red-blond stubble. “I’m Scott, by the way.” He gave her a friendly grin and she smiled back, a little shakily.
    â€œDS Talbot.”
    â€œSit tight, DS Talbot, and I’ll get back to you,” Scott told her, with another quick smile.
    Melody wondered where he thought she should sit and almost laughed. She really was feeling odd.
    â€œTell me more about these protesters,” said Kincaid as Scott and his colleague continued to mark and photograph, while Rashid prowled the perimeter with his own camera.
    â€œThey were facing the band, so their backs were to me. I got the impression that they were all Caucasian, except for one girl, who might have been Asian.” Melody paused, trying to re-create the scene. “They were all wearing winter gear, hats and jackets. One bloke was tall—he stood out above the others. I remember thinking that their placards looked homemade, and that they were hoping to get the attention of any media cameras here for the band.”
    â€œWe’ll need any media footage,” Kincaid said to Nick Callery. “And we’ll hope we got bystanders out before they uploaded the entire scene to Twitter or Instagram. Were any of the press held with the evacuees?”
    â€œI’ll check.” Callery got on his radio again.
    To Melody, Kincaid said, “Did you see any of them after you saw the victim burning?”
    â€œNo. No, I never looked back that way. It was chaos, and then the smoke . . .” The memory seemed to trigger her cough.
    â€œDr. Kaleem,” called Scott. “You can have a go now.”
    They all moved in a little closer as Rashid approached the corpse. “DS Talbot,” said Scott, “can you tell us how far the phosphorus splattered? The radius will help us determine exactly what was used.”
    â€œFar enough to burn the people sitting outside the café, obviously. But everyone else was moving. Rolling or running away. I’m sorry not to be more helpful.”
    Scott nodded. “The range of a white phosphorus grenade is about twenty-five feet. We’re going to need a bigger team,” he added, glancing at Callery and Kincaid. “There’s no way we can process this scene without more manpower.”
    â€œOn it.” Kincaid turned to Jasmine Sidana and murmured instructions.
    Rashid was