Vanished by James Delargy (best books to read in life txt) 📗

causing a slight panic at HQ as if she was the one in trouble. She assured them that she was just fine. But that Lorcan Maguire wasn’t.

Hanging up, she dragged the vehicle around and headed back to Kallayee, back to where she hoped the fire was still warding off the hungry scavengers.

36

Emmaline

The fire had been on its last legs by the time she returned to the scene. A few of the braver animals had inched closer only to scatter again upon her arrival. Rather undignified, she had face-planted down the dune for the last few metres, her weary legs giving up.

From there she sat, regained her breath and waited for backup. First came Rispoli, Barker and Anand. MCS were dispatching a team to help, backed up by dedicated admin support based at HQ.

Forensics arrived soon after. Emmaline watched as they did their thing, the crime scene manager organizing the common approach path, the metal plates slowly sinking into the sand as if being eaten by the hungry desert. Other SOCOs swarmed around the body, collecting samples, photographing, some writing on pads, some working on tablets, another sketching the scene. It was as if Emmaline had warded off one attack only to let Lorcan succumb to these albino vultures.

Rispoli approached her with a steaming cup of coffee.

‘Long night?’

Emmaline took a sip. It burnt her tongue but her body saluted the caffeine.

‘How did you find him?’

‘A pack of dingoes.’

Rispoli raised his eyebrows. ‘Lucky.’

‘Luckier if we had found him earlier.’

‘What do you reckon happened?’

‘I think we can assume that this connects with the message we found on Lorcan’s phone. Someone was after him. They already had Naiyana. He fled and made it to here.’

‘And Dylan?’

‘His backpack is at the scene. He’s not.’

Even to her it sounded like a blunt summary of what had happened. Seeing the team leader step away from the scene, Emmaline got up and approached. Pulling the hood from her head, she could make out Dr Rebecca Patel, her dark hair shiny with sweat that streaked her face.

Making for the off-road vehicles that were parked on the far side of the dunes, Rebecca pulled a bottle of water from a cool box and swigged it. No coffee for her.

‘What do we know?’ asked Emmaline, shielding her eyes from the vicious reflection of the white smock.

‘Facts?’ asked Dr Patel.

‘Facts.’

‘It wasn’t a dingo attack that killed him but I’m sure you already knew that.’

Emmaline nodded. ‘I was the one under attack.’

‘I doubt that.’

She suddenly remembered that Rebecca Patel didn’t do jokes. Nothing should lighten the mood. Maybe she was right.

‘We have one male, around thirty years old. Missing a significant amount of flesh.’

‘The dingoes?’

Dr Patel stopped, a look of abject sympathy on her face. ‘That is not a fact. The examination and any teeth marks will determine exactly.’

A waste of time, thought Emmaline but kept it to herself.

‘But an assumption can be made—’ said Emmaline.

‘Can be made by you, Detective.’

Emmaline pressed on. ‘Any initial determination on the actual cause of death? And date?’ She fully expected it to match the date of the frantic phone message – a week ago, 30 December. Lorcan hadn’t even made it to the New Year.

Before Dr Patel could shoot her down with assumptions not being facts, Emmaline jumped in. ‘And I want your assumptions.’

‘But they might not make the report.’

‘I can live with that.’

Dr Patel paused as if she was weighing up her whole career in that instant.

‘Shot. Once in the chest. No powder residue on the entry wound,’ said Dr Patel, sipping the water.

‘So not a suicide?’ asked Emmaline, the caffeine in her system suddenly hitting the right spots, her muscles abuzz.

‘There is residue on the victim’s two remaining fingers. But in my opinion the victim fired a gun during a separate instant. His death was definitely not a suicide.’

‘What type of gun?’

‘Hard to be a hundred per cent sure as yet but my assumption is a rifle.’

‘The type of gun that might be used to ward off dingoes?’

Dr Patel considered this for a moment. ‘Yes. And the type of gun that makes suicide difficult unless you have very nimble toes. And he was still wearing trainers.’

‘Time of death?’

‘A week or so given the state of the body, plus the advanced decay from exposure to the heat. We’ve been lucky. Any longer and the evidence would have all disappeared.’

‘What about the broken bone? A defensive wound from a bullet?’

Dr Patel shook her head. ‘No. There is a lack of soot for that to be the case.’

‘So?’

‘It is badly fractured. Blunt force probably. A heavy impact.’

Dr Patel delivered this coldly, the ice water now flowing through her system, doing the same job as the coffee was for Emmaline. Wakening her to a murder case.

Emmaline returned to the scene and found the Forensics team removing the body for further examination. Thankfully the remoteness of the location had prevented any media attention as yet. But that was sure to come soon. Like the blowflies that sense a rotting corpse, the press would come.

Rispoli, Barker and Anand joined her at the side as Forensics underwent their final provisions. Emmaline filled them in on what she had learned so far. She would have to fill in whoever MCS sent out too. But her boss, Detective Inspector Angela Moore, had made it clear she was in sole charge. Solve the case.

‘How sure are we it’s Lorcan Maguire?’ asked Rispoli.

‘Ninety-nine per cent,’ said Emmaline.

‘More than what’s left of him, anyway,’ said Barker. It didn’t get a laugh.

‘So he was shot out here?’ asked Anand, looking around the scene. ‘And no one came to check?’

‘I performed an impromptu experiment last night,’ said Emmaline. ‘I can confirm that no one came to help me.’

‘Hurton is still over six kilometres away. Maybe they didn’t hear it.’

‘There’s little to block the sound,’ said Rispoli.

‘Maybe it was someone from Hurton,’ said Barker.

It was something Emmaline had started to consider. The people in Hurton hadn’t been inviting for the most part, unco-operative about