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Energy, she realised.
Normally when she arrived at a crime scene, everyone present had downcast expressions, quiet respectful demeanours as though scared of waking the dead. People were standing in small groups discussing and pointing, thinking and assessing, logging.
But here everyone was alert, expectant, engaged. There was a buzz in the air that she’d never witnessed before at a crime scene.
The puzzlement on the face of her colleague told her he was thinking the same thing.
They got out of the car as a booming voice called for everyone to move out of the way.
They headed towards the voice, which came from a police constable sprinting up the path to the car park.
Behind him, two paramedics were manoeuvring a wheeled gurney along the gravelled path.
Keats followed closely behind, his face ashen.
She watched as the paramedics opened the ambulance door and expertly transferred the gurney into the back.
‘Keats, what the hell is going on?’ Kim cried.
‘He’s not dead,’ Keats said breathlessly as the engine of the ambulance started up and the siren kicked in.
She turned to face the pathologist. ‘Jesus, Keats, how the hell did you fuck that one up?’
THREE
‘I mean, I suppose it’s easy enough to miss,’ Kim continued as she followed the pathologist to either the scene of the crime or the spot where the guy had taken a nap. Right now, she wasn’t sure which one it was. ‘Just minor details like a heartbeat, pulse, breathing. Totally understandable.’
Keats turned so that she almost walked into him. ‘How long am I going to have to endure this?’
‘Until retirement,’ Bryant offered.
‘Ha, why would I stop there?’ Kim asked, walking past Keats and taking the lead. ‘I’ll be happy to ring you every day after you retire to remind you of this little beauty.’
‘Stone, I’m warning—’
‘I mean, you’re a pathologist. You had one job,’ she said as she approached the head forensic techie.
‘Hey, Mitch, did you hear the one about the pathologist who—?’
‘Inspector, I swear…’
‘Oh, come on, Keats, if the situation was reversed, you’d be dining out on this for months.’
Despite his thunderous expression, Keats knew she spoke the truth. He also knew that if anyone outside of their tight professional circle dared to criticise him, she’d roast them alive.
‘So, what exactly are we talking about?’ she asked, taking a look around. The uniforms had done a good job of clearing the area, and only a woman with a young boy remained just outside the fenced-in recreation park. A police officer was at the child’s level, showing him something on his radio.
Keats followed her gaze. ‘Little boy found him when his football went into the trees. Ran and told his mum, who had a look and called it in as a dead body.’
‘But it wasn’t, was it, Keats?’ she asked with a sideways grin. Oh, she really shouldn’t be having this much fun at his expense.
Bryant headed straight over to the witnesses.
Keats ignored the jab and continued: ‘We arrived. No life signs detected. I called you. Checked life signs again. Detected the faintest pulse and instructed the paramedics to get to work.’
She looked down at where the dead body should have been, but instead all she saw was a deep, scored line in the dirt that she guessed had come from the paramedics’ gurney.
‘A passed-out drunk?’ she asked, trying to get Bryant’s attention so she could signal him to return. This wasn’t a job for them and was worth only a few more minutes of her time to roast Keats.
