Read Online Unti Peter Robinson #22 by Peter Robinson - Free Book Online

do.”
    â€œHe was wounded,” Winsome said. “In Afghanistan. Walks with a stick.”
    â€œDid he have anything interesting to tell us?”
    â€œNot really, sir. Just that he grew up around here and the airfield’s always been like this as far as he remembers. Kids play there. He’s also noticed a few lorries coming or going over the past year or so.”
    Banks knelt by the stains on the ground, hearing his knees crack as he did so. “It certainly looks like blood and brains to me. Let’s say it is human. What happened? Someone shoots him, and he falls and bleeds out on the ground?”
    â€œPossibly,” said Winsome. “Or stabs him. Then leaves the mess but takes the body away. If it were just an animal, I couldn’t really see anyone having a reason to do that.”
    Banks glanced at the stain. “There’s not really all that much blood, is there? Have you—­”
    â€œI thought I’d better leave it to the CSIs.”
    Banks frowned at her. “Winsome, you’re developing an annoying habit of answering my questions before I’ve asked them.”
    â€œYes, sir. You were going to ask if I’d searched for a bullet or shell casing. I must be getting to know the way your mind works.”
    Banks stood up. “Do you know how frightening that thought is?”
    â€œMy dad always said I was a bit of a mind reader. Could have had a career on the stage.”
    Banks smiled. They heard another car pull up in the yard, and moments after the door slammed, Jasminder Singh hurried in with her bag of tricks. “All right, where is it?” she asked.
    â€œNice to see you again, too, Jazz,” said Banks.
    Jazz made a face. “DCI Banks. What a pleasure! And DS Jackman, how are you? Well, I hope? Will that do? Now can you show me where it is? No, don’t bother, I can see it for myself.”
    The new forensics bloodstain analyst and DNA technician was a petite attractive brunette in her early thirties. She didn’t usually attend crime scenes with the CSIs unless her specific ser­vices were required, and the squad always had a hard time finding protective clothing that fit her. She looked lost inside the baggy overalls as she squatted by the stain on the concrete. She quickly mixed a small sample of the congealed blood with a delivery agent and added it drop by drop to the collection tube. She looked up at Banks as he watched her work. “You’ve seen this trick before?”
    â€œUh-­huh. It’s still voodoo to me, but I understand it works.”
    Jazz showed her white teeth in a broad grin. “Pretty much,” she said, getting to her feet. “We just wait for two or three minutes and—­Jap’s your uncle—­we get an answer.”
    â€œJap?”
    â€œI didn’t have an Uncle Bob, but I did have an Uncle Japjot.”
    Banks just stared at her.
    â€œIt was a family joke,” Jazz muttered. “You had to be there.”
    They both turned to the tube, and a minute or so later two pinkish-­red lines appeared.
    â€œHuman blood,” said Banks.
    â€œDon’t jump to conclusions. It might be from a gorilla, or maybe a weasel or a badger. Nothing’s perfect, is it? But I’d say there’s a very good chance it’s human, yes.”
    â€œAny chance of a quick result on the DNA?”
    Jazz gave him a look. “Always in a hurry.”
    â€œPretty please?”
    â€œYou want to jump the queue, is that what you’re saying?”
    â€œYes. I mean, what’s the point of having a forensics lab attached to the police station if we can’t get a rush job on something? Besides, we need to know if this is something we need to call the team in for.”
    â€œWell, at least you admit it. I’ll see what I can do. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
    â€œYou’re a treasure.”
    â€œDo you think we should call in the rest of the team,