Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars

question.
    “I couldn’t smell shit if I was neck deep in
it,” Murv replied, shaking his head.
    “Yeah. Ya’ talkin’ ‘bout the sickly
gag-a-maggot reek?” Ben asked.
    “Yeah.”
    He pointed to a nightstand next to the twin
bed. “There’s a tube’a crap over there. Some kinda novelty eat-me
gel or somethin’. Smells like a whor…” He caught himself
mid-sentence, casting a quick glance at Felicity. “…Reeks don’t
it?”
    “That’s an understatement.”
    “Is there anything in particular you want me
to concentrate on, then?” my wife asked.
    “You get the outside already?” Murv
asked.
    “The door and a few shots of the lot leading
up to the entrance. I didn’t see any markers, so I just shot
mid-range.”
    “Yeah, nothin’ out there in the way of
evidence we could see,” he agreed. “Except the car. It’s the
victim’s, so we’ll want it covered in and out before we start
tearin’ it apart.”
    “No problem. I still need some overalls of
the lot and sign too,” Felicity offered. “But I thought I might
wait for daybreak since it’s not far off.”
    “Makes sense,” Murv told her with a nod.
“Then just play it by the book. I’ve got a few markers down in
here. Not much, but go ahead and shoot every angle just to be safe.
We’ll sort it out later.”
    “Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Cover all the bases. Two
of everything.”
    “Aye,” she returned. “No problem. Digital
okay?”
    “Hi-res?” Murv asked.
    “Six megapixel, raw.”
    He nodded. “Go for it.”
    “You got gloves for ‘em?” Ben asked.
    “Yeah,” he replied, rummaging around in his
coat pockets for a second then extracting a wad of latex. Just as
he was handing them to us, he let loose with a third explosive
sneeze. This time, however, it exited well ahead of his reflexes,
containing itself within the mask.
    “Crap,” he exclaimed then shoved the gloves
into Felicity’s hand as he headed out the door muttering, “If y’all
‘ll excuse me for a minute.”
    “You couldn’t get someone else, Ben?”
Felicity admonished as she picked a pair of gloves from the wad
then handed the rest to me. “That man should be in bed.”
    “Don’t let ‘im fool ya’, Felicity,” he
returned. “He runs the CSU. He would’ve insisted on being here
anyway. Besides, he’s the best there is.”
    “Aye, well I still say he needs a tottie and
a good night’s rest.”
    “I’ll tell ‘im you said that.”
    She cast a quick glance between us then
handed me the camera bag she had been carrying slung over her
shoulder.
    “All right,” she announced, moving on to the
business at hand. “We’ll work the main room clockwise, including
the dressing area, then we’ll do that bathroom separate. Row,
there’s a logbook in that bag. Just stay behind me and write down
whatever I tell you. Ben, I hate to tell you this, but you need to
be somewhere else. Because, right now, you’re in my way.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    A blinding flash of illumination burst forth,
painting the corner in its harsh glow, then dissipated almost as
quickly as it had presented itself. The steady whistle of the
thyristor on the flash unit started squealing through the otherwise
quiet room, rising in pitch until it was almost imperceptible.
    The owner of the motel had arrived just after
we began working through the main room and per one of the uniformed
officers, was asking to speak to the person in charge. Ben staved
him off for a few minutes, but as soon as Murv had returned from
replacing his ruined dust mask, my friend had left to address the
situation. The flu-stricken crime scene tech walked the room with
us, only once interjecting a question about a particular angle, but
other than that he left Felicity alone to do her job. I assumed
that was a good sign.
    “That was forty-eight, correct?” my wife
asked without turning.
    “Yeah. Forty-eight,” I replied.
    I watched over her shoulder as she peered at
the miniature LCD on the back of the