John Smith approached the yellow tape cordoning off the crime scene from the rest of humanity. He lifted up the tape and stepped inside the perimeter, careful not to step into anything on the ground. He saw his subordinate taking notes near the far end. As he walked over, Bill Bowman looked up, frowned, and shook his head, “Hello, Chief! We have one hell of a mess here, a 10-39. It may have been a gang fight judging from the large number of footprints and blood trails. They’re everywhere. One of the gang must have green gang colors; I’ve found a lot of green items.”
“Don’t call me Chief!” snapped John, “I have a name.”
“Right you are, Chief! Oh, sorry, I mean John. Well, so far I’ve identified more than a dozen sets of footprints. They are all on concrete so we can’t get a good plaster cast. It appears the perps all came in this way and left the same way. Judging from the dried blood, I would say they left about two hours ago. A lot of alcohol was involved. I did find one cup of coffee that was still warm.”
Bill held up a plastic cup, “And look at this! This type of plastic cup always leaves excellent latent fingerprints. I have been using my camel hair and magna powder and then photographing all the prints before I lift them with clear tape. I even found some cups with traces of lipstick. I’ll get to the blood trails next.”
“Right, Boss, and plenty of it. I don’t see a pattern, but my guess is we should check all the emergency rooms for gunshot victims. I’ve photographed the location, degree of coagulation and type. They all appear to be spots as opposed to spatters, so we can’t do a blood spatter analysis. You should call for backup. This is more than a Level 1. It’s going to be a long night.”
Frowning, John shook his head, “No back up. You have the lead on this and it’s your job. Did you check the restrooms yet?”
“Yes, Chief, I mean John, but don’t go in there. It is a mess. I checked every stall and there’re no bodies. Women’s restroom too. I checked them both. I still have to tag and bag everything. I drew up a sketch.”
“How about the trash cans, do you get them?”
“Right, Boss. I logged in all the empty bottles by the labels, brands and types of liquor. I also checked for cigarette packs and butts. I logged in all the brands. Found some with lipstick again. Some broads were definitely involved in this crime. We should be able to run the DNA.”
“Bill, we’ve had this conversation before, and I hope this is the last time, because if it happens again, you’re fired. Got that? You aren’t a detective. You’re a custodian — a custodian whose job is to clean up this section of the football stadium. These ‘perps’, as you call them, are football fans. They happen to be Notre Dame fans and that’s why they wear green. I think you’ll find that the blood trails are ketchup leading away from the concession stands. You’ve two hours to get this section clean with no backup or you’re fired. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Boss, I mean Chief, I mean John,” sputtered Bill as John turned on his heels and marched off.
When John rounded the corner, Bill pulled out his pocket tape recorder. “Note to self. The Chief’s very tense. He must be under a lot of pressure from the white shirts at the puzzle palace to clean up this mess.” Turning off the recorder, putting it into his pocket, and half muttering to himself, “I’d better get started. The Chief will be back in a couple of hours, and he’ll want a progress report.”
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