evidence - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
By the time the victim was found his flesh was as cold as the mud he lay in; his ivory skin splattered and face half submerged in the gritty muck. Late May had begun to dry the ground that had been slushy through April, so that now it was the perfect consistency to hold the shape of an imprint. Lucky for him, unlucky for the assailant. There was no way that the killer hadn't left their shoe impression here, and maybe more besides. Perhaps amid all this brown was the evidence he needed. He dug in his pocket for a pear drop only to find the paper bag quite empty, his face fell a little, not a good omen for a new case. But then his fingers grasped onto one that had fallen from the bag. He pulled it out and held it too the light - minimal pocket fluff. He popped it in his mouth and went back to thinking over the evidence before him.
The leaf that clung to the sole of his shoe would jail him for twenty years. It was common enough, there were hundreds just like them even on the sidewalk outside the precinct. Back in the 1930's the city had planted many cherry trees, no matured and shedding their leaves into the chilling autumn air. Like all the others it was a pointed oval with serrated edges. Like it's brethren it had recently transitioned from deep summer green to sunny a hue that defied the gathering cloud and increased rain of the season. Luckily for Mac it had been dry these past few days and now he peeled the leaf from the bottom of his suspect's shoe. The bottom was orange as expected, but the top bore what looked like dried blood, it would be easy enough for the crime scene investigators to say if the blood was still wet when applied. He added to an evidence bag and celebrated with a pear drop, a wry smile almost playing on his lips.
In the half-light of the reluctant dawn lay a shoe. From its size Mac deduced that the bearer was petite, likely no heavier than the average twelve year old. Yet it was sexy, sophisticated and undeniably high-end. Or at least it had been. Now the heel had broken off and it was plastered with drying mud. A short way off lay it's pair, unbroken, kicked off in haste. He moved around trying not to disturb the mud, there were barefoot impressions; not the rolling motion of heel-strike walking, but only the balls of the foot and the toes. She had run, likely for her life. He nodded to the sergeant who got on his radio to order in forensics. They wouldn't be happy to be woken but this scene likely had time sensitive evidence. The clouds were an almost unbroken layer and the air heavy with moisture. In minutes the constables had it taped off and diversions were set.
The glasses were so ubiquitous that Mac didn't think tracing their sale was even possible. They were on every teenager within a three mile radius whether they needed them or not. Still he leant forwards with a gloved hand and placed them in an evidence bag. Who knows, they might get lucky. Somewhere on the black plastic rims could be an epithelial or a partial print. The lack of lenses was curious and irritating, a prescription lens would have been something to go on.
Riley examined the snowy Turkish Delight and popped it into his mouth. Damn, that place made the best. As he flicked through his social media he found that Terry was online. Perfect. Time for a bit of teasing. "Hey Mr T, remember that purse you stole back in 11th grade?"
"Dude, not funny. It was a long time ago."
"Don't want the misses to know huh? Don't worry, I can keep a secret. Didn't she get run down though?"
"Dude, stop it. I didn't know she'd chase me across the street."
"OMG LOL, I thought that was just a rumour!"
"Not funny, c u @ work."
"Yeah, man, drive safe now."
Mac opened the door of the shipping container wider, allowing more of the early morning light to illuminate the contents. Boxes, lots of brown boxes. He'd bet money this was part of Gina's smuggling operation. He put on gloves and stepped into the gloom, the metal echoing under foot. Pulling out a box-cutter he sliced right through the brown card. Inside were large bottles of Perrier water, no different in styling to the kind he ordered at the Italian restaurant on Main Street. Mac removed one glove and tipped a little of the "water" onto his hand. It evaporated quickly and with a familiar coolness- alcohol, likely close to one hundred percent proof. He replaced the cap and handed it to a sergeant. "Cuff 'em."Then he stepped down, ordering the tapping of the scene. Nailing Gina was going to take every shred of evidence he could lay his hands on.
Mac was late to the scene having been en-route to his summer lodge when the call came in. Ordinarily he wasn't dragged into suspected accidents but the boss wanted this one handled right. The suspect was five, allegedly found Daddy's gun and decided to play cops and robbers with Mommy. Somehow it was all a little too neat. An unchargeable suspect and a father who gets the family fortune and custody uncontested, not to mention a tidy sum in life assurance. These things just don't happen in North Vancouver, guns aren't two-a-penny. But the GSR test was positive for the boy and apparently the blood spatter pattern is consistent with that scenario; the shot came from a low height and protected a child-sizes portion of the wall. Perhaps it really was just a big accident, perhaps he was just getting more cynical with age. But at the very least he'd make some charges stick over the unsecured weapon.
The spectacles on the desk, like the worn varnish underneath, had seen better days. Once they were untarnished gun-metal grey with perfect angles, now each arm bowed outward at far greater than ninety degrees. Mac bagged them to get a DNA match from cells caught in the hinges, but until the results were in he was looking for a near sighted conservatively dressed suspect with a large head... almost every politician in town fitted that description...