Real CSI meets fictional in the new addition to the Local series. Such a gripping read following Alison through some truly page turning situations. Get a little look into the real CSI with nuggets of actual forensic processes enhancing the reality of the storytelling. From a real CSI reading it, it really adds to the authenticity of the story, although we don't usually get in as much trouble as Alison, honest!!
(Helen Berry, British CSI)
A ‘just one more chapter’ crime novel of the best kind! Prepare for a late night turning pages. This linked series just keeps getting better!
Alison, the CSI expert is an engaging character whose first-person viewpoint puts the reader smack in the action. She needs her personal rituals to get her through daily contact with other people, and I warmed to her courage, both in coping with everyday intrusions on her sensibility and in following up on a murder that her police colleagues have classified as solved. But Alison was a witness and the murder victim nearly became a friend so this is personal.
The forensic puzzles are brilliant, the red herrings are plausible and the resolutions to both the crime scene anomalies and the overall whodunnit and why, are all highly satisfying. Some heart-thumping action and danger scenes, and a special friendship, all add to a story which never feels forced. Trembling’s ability to turn ordinary people inside out and show the human failings which lead to murder is once again evident but this novel followed darker twists in the human psyche than in previous ‘Local’ books. This time the victim is of less interest than the murderer. Light-touch details of place and background make every scene come to life, from the court-house to the rough moorland, and I feel I know this shabby English town and the people in it, so completely has the author created its streets and buildings, the neighbours and officials.
As each ‘Local’ novel focuses on a different main character, this works as a standalone while giving extra entertainment to readers who recognise the other residents from previous books.
(Jean Gill, author of the ‘Troubadours’ Quartet).
Chapter 1
CSI Kit Checklist: Camera bag, Fingerprint Case, DNA Recovery Kit.
Out of the last ten minutes of her life, Ruth Darnley spent five of them talking to me.
Is that significant? Or just coincidental? It feels significant, but I can’t always trust feelings like that.
I’d just come out of Court, and was standing on the back steps methodically checking my keys, my phone, my radio and so on, when I heard her call my name from the corridor behind me.
“CSI Kepple?”
I turned round as she came out of the open doors. I was used to seeing her on the Bench and out of that context I didn’t recognise her at first. A short, dark woman with a surprisingly gentle smile.
“Yes?” I asked cautiously. Then recognition kicked in and I hastily added ‘Your Honour?”
She waved that away. “None of that, please. Ruth to my friends when I’m not in court. And you’re Alison, right?” She put out a hand to shake. “There, that’s the formalities over!”
I’d heard this about Ruth Darnley. In the courtroom, a stickler for protocol, very strong on upholding the dignity of the court. Outside it, friendly and approachable.
But still retaining a sense of authority and presence, I realised. I’m not a particularly tall woman and I was looking down on her head. Yet at the same time I felt very much the inferior. It was confusing. Not knowing what to say, I said nothing.
She, however, had no such problem. “I’m glad I caught you, Alison. I wanted to say how much I appreciated your evidence. Not just today. You’ve given evidence before me on several occasions, and it’s always excellent. Clear, factual, precise. So many people, even professionals, seem to feel the need to pad things out, but I’ve never had that from you.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I’m only there to say what I know. So that’s what I say.” Did that sound rude, I wondered? People think I’m rude, sometimes, though I don’t mean to be. “Not much point in saying anything else.” Oh, heck, that did sound rude! “I mean – I’m sorry – I...”
“No, no. You’re absolutely right and I wish more people would think like that. It would make my job a lot easier!” She gave me a shrewd look. “You find it easier talking in Court than outside of it, don’t you?”
Not many get that. “There are rules, in Court,” I explained. “I know what I’m there for. It’s defined. Outside, well – I...”
Ruth Darnley smiled. “Outside, the rules aren’t clear and they’re always changing.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Then stick to Court rules, Alison. Be clear, concise and accurate. People appreciate that more than you realise, and don’t waste time on those who don’t like it.”
She held my gaze for a moment, and nodded as if she approved of what she saw. “I hope we can talk again, Alison. With more time. But I have to be going. If I can find my car in this mess!”
The main car park was being resurfaced. A yard at the rear of the Courthouse, once intended for service access to the old boiler-house, had been pressed into temporary car park duty, but even though it was supposedly restricted to Court officials and Police Officers on Court duty, it was totally inadequate. All the marked out spaces had long since been filled, but vehicles had continued to drive in and park up wherever they could.
The situation was made worse by the lack of security. There were no actual human guards available to cover the gates – budget cuts had seen them replaced with CCTV and automatic barriers a year ago. And of course, the yard had neither. Just a set of gates which, with the volume of traffic going in and out, had to be left open.
Which meant that anybody could drive in and take up space. And apparently had. The Judge let out a word which I would have expected her to know but never to use.
“Looks like someone’s blocked me in! That’s my car, behind that rusty old Transit. I’m sure that shouldn’t be here.”
My CSI van was parked a short distance from Darnley’s Mercedes – thankfully it seemed to be clear of obstructions. We walked in that direction together, whilst I considered her words, and my reaction. It seemed like she was offering a friendship, which I suppose should have made me feel flattered, or even happy. Instead, it started my stomach churning with worry.
“It looks like they’ve left a note on my windscreen,” the Judge observed as we drew closer. “Good, I might be able to get out of here after all.”
Something was bothering me, quite apart from the conversation. I glanced over towards the entrance. There had been someone standing there, watching us, when we came out. They weren’t there now. But why should that bother me? There were people passing by all the time, often glancing in as they did so. I didn’t understand why I felt uneasy about it, and not understanding made me feel worse.
We reached my van. “I have to go,” I said.
“Yes, of course.” Her attention was on her own car and the vehicle blocking it in. “Thank you again, Alison.”
I opened the van, put my folder with all the court paperwork on the passenger seat. Ruth Darnley had reached her car, and was reading a sheet of paper that had been placed under the wipers. She took out a mobile.
I went round to the side door and slid it open. I had a job to go to, burglary on the north side of town. I’d checked all my kit was there before I left the station, but I checked again anyway. I always do.
Fingerprint kit, camera bag, DNA recovery kit, all lined up in size order, just inside the door, just as I’d left them. I opened the camera bag, checked camera, spare battery…
There was a thunderclap, the loudest I’d ever heard, and the van jerked sideways and flame poured round it, over it, even under it, licking up past my boots. The door sill hit my legs and I thought for a moment that the whole vehicle was going to fall over on top over me, but then it righted itself, rocking back on its suspension.
The flame was gone, but there was an acrid smell in the air, strong enough to have me coughing. And light, a colour of light that didn’t belong.
I stepped out from behind the van, and saw flames climbing furiously into the air for twenty feet or more before turning into thick black smoke.
They were coming from Judge Darnley’s Mercedes, or what was left of it. The car parked next to it was on fire as well. There was nothing visible of the van that had been blocking her in, though some of the burning wreckage could have been tires.
In the midst of the flames, apparently embedded in the Merc’s windscreen, was a roughly human shaped figure. It wasn’t moving. It was never going to move again.
Behind me there was shouting, panicked screams. My radio had been turned off while I was in court; I clicked it on.
“9818 to Control.”
“Control, go ahead.”
“Explosion in the temporary car park at the courthouse. Several vehicles now on fire. At least one casualty, believed to be Judge Ruth Darnley. Fire Service required ASAP.”
There was a short pause. But Control Room staff are used to dealing with emergencies.
“9818, can you confirm the cause of the explosion?” A different voice, probably the Control Room Manager cutting in. The 999 calls were probably already starting.
“It appears to have been a vehicle that had been parked in front of Judge Darnley’s car. A white Ford Transit, VRN unknown.”
“Confirm your own status, 9818?”
“I’m unharmed.” I thought I was.
“Good. Do not approach the scene. Stay clear and keep other people clear. Is Judge Darnley visible to you? Does she appear injured?”
What did he think casualty meant? “She appears dead.”
Long pause. “Stand by, 9818, Fire and Ambulance are on their way.”
I replaced my radio on its clip. Then went back into the van for my camera. I’m a CSI. We photograph things.
I started with wide shots of the general area, moved around for different angles, then zoomed in on details of burning wreckage. Especially Ruth Darnley’s car. The flames had spread to other vehicles, it was hard to make out much even with the zoom, but there was still a human shaped figure just visible through the conflagration.
I was still taking pictures when the Fire Service arrived. There were Police officers there as well. They ushered me away, took the camera off me, led me over to some paramedics.
It was only then that I realised that I was in pain from my legs, and that my eyes were aching from staring into the flames, and that my cheeks were wet with tears.