The two detectives paused, while a constable held up the police bunting for them to duck underneath. The little chequered octagons (‘those darling little octoidals are so this year’) hung limply in the airless glade, the heat oppressive. Detective constable Susan Glow hissed, ‘Geez,’ as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw the asymmetric pieces of material draped over the branches. ‘Another one.’
Detective Sergeant George Corduroy sighed. Was this really what got his colleagues so vexed? A sodding washing line? This secondment was a total waste of space. He heard DI Ulysses Trombone’s voice intoning, ‘Don’t be so precious George. It’s part of the multi agency cooperation thingy. Do this right and you’ll make inspector.’
While George hung back Susan allowed herself to be fitted with a mid calf Scene of Crime suit in a diamond pattern with pointy collar. A constable held a mirror while the makeup assistant touched up her eyes. She pulled on the satin-latex gloves and joined the two men in matching cerise and gold one pieces eyeing up the cloth strips.
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