Looking across he could see a lot of chaotic activity. Two fire engines, two marked police cars and an ambulance, as well as other vehicles. Blue lights rotated a-plenty. Dozens of people, it seemed, scurried about and the reflective jackets of the uniformed services glistened against the blue lights, headlights and the approaching daylight. Henry parked outside the house, not wishing to add to the confusion of vehicles and bodies down at the scene. This was an old habit of his. Whenever and wherever possible he liked to approach any crime scene from a distance. ‘I like to come from downwind, with the sun at my back,’ he was fond of saying. He always felt it gave him an advantage . . . somehow. It allowed him to make assessments and start shuffling the pack of cards in his head that was his combination of experience, skills and abilities of being a detective. Not that he was a detective at present, just a cop on suspension. So what the hell was he doing here? The question hit him hard as he pulled up and parked on the gravel at the front of the Wickson house.
