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Fortunately for him, as he disconnected the call, two uniformed constables appeared, introducing themselves as Carole Phillips and Mike Howlett.
“I see you’ve got your work cut out,” said Howlett. He was young, not much older than Patrick Edwards, one of Gardener’s own team, with short black hair and blue eyes.
Carole Phillips was blonde, short and well built. She was eyeing up the bin man who’d been sick. “What can we do to help?”
“Take the names and addresses of everyone you can see, please.”
“Can we let them go after that?”
“Probably not,” said Gardener. “I’ll let you know.” He briefly explained what had happened to the man on the floor.
“Is it a Hazchem scene?”
“I hope not,” said Gardener. “If it is, we’ll be here forever. For now, please get as many names and addresses as you can and see if anyone knows exactly where the man came from and which route he took to arrive here. If it is possible, try and find out what he touched on the way.”
“Do we know who he is?” asked Phillips.
“I’m just going to see if I can find out.”
Once again, for the benefit of the crowd, Gardener blew his whistle and told them to cooperate with the constables. He had no doubt that a lot of people – especially those furthest from the scene – would already have slipped away, wanting no part of it. He made a note to talk to whoever was responsible for the CCTV around the corner.
The two uniforms moved off and Gardener returned to the body on the precinct. Gloves still on he reached into all the pockets he could find; one on the sweatshirt and four in the jeans – all were empty.
Brilliant!
All four of the bin men were on their phones. No doubt they had pictures for Facebook and Instagram, though he suspected at least one of them was explaining the hold up, or their absence from work.
A number of officers appeared at the cordon, immediately setting up the scene. He could see a marquee was being dragged towards the area. Scene suits were being handed round. One of the officers had a log sheet, when another voice sounded from behind – one he recognised immediately.
“What do we have here, then?”
“A nightmare, Sean. That’s what we have – a full blown nightmare.”
Reilly suited up and stepped within the confines of the red and white tape.
“A full-blown Hazchem nightmare?” asked Reilly, after glancing at the body.
“Maybe.”
“You haven’t called it yet?”
“You know what will happen when I do.”
“A big fuck-off tent for a start.”
“We’d have the circus in town; government techs, mi
litary personnel with all manner of gadgets to sniff chemicals if airborne or if on contact surfaces.”
“The body wouldn’t be moved for ages,” continued Reilly. “We wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near until it was safe.”
“All that lot,” said Gardener, pointing to possible witnesses, “would have to go through decontamination procedures with statements taken from them afterwards.”
“I don’t think I’d want to be anywhere near when it all kicks off,” added Reilly. “But if this bloke has something dangerous – and looking at him he hasn’t died from a dose of the clap – we need to know about it, and we need to protect everyone including ourselves.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Sean, but my gut feeling tells me it isn’t a Hazchem scene. Let’s see what Fitz says.”
“Do we know who he is?” Reilly asked, staring at the body.
