7
‘Jesus!’ DCI Daniels said, as they stepped from the Toyota.
Gormley linked his fingers and put his hands on his head. They had attended serious road traffic accidents before but this was something else. Body parts and cars were strewn across both lanes for several hundred metres. There were dozens of vehicles involved. Two fatalities they could see as they walked towards the worst of it. Many serious injuries and lots of walking wounded. On the periphery of the incident blue strobe lights converging from all directions as police, medical personnel and fire crews battled to reach the scene.
Smoke drifted from a tanker lying on its side and there were casualties everywhere they looked: sitting on barriers, shaking heads, crying and getting upset. Apart from the dead and injured, there were upwards of twenty-five civilians running back and forth, some involved in the incident, others trying to administer aid – an investigative nightmare for the traffic department.
The police helicopter hovered overhead, sending vibrations through their feet. Suddenly they were in its spotlight. Daniels looked up, shielding her eyes from the rain, wondering if the pilot was a mate of hers, a civilian witness in her last case who’d received a commendation for services to the police and had since been employed by them following a recommendation from her. The spotlight blinked on and off letting her know Stew Cole was watching over her.
He’d heard her on the radio to Mr Cool.
A young man walked towards her. He had spiky hair and piercing blue eyes, was dressed in jeans and T-shirt with a film spotting logo on the front and blood – real blood – smeared across it. He was wearing flip-flops. Sensible footwear for the surface water they were standing in, Daniels thought, her eyes homing in on the rainbow effect of spilt diesel on the road. A biker’s nightmare, even after the rain stopped.
‘You police?’ The man was a little breathless.
Drenched, cold and thoroughly miserable, Gormley looked down at his high-viz jacket. Daniels thought he was about to say What do you think? So she nudged his arm and he restrained himself.
‘You hurt, sir?’ he said instead.
‘Me? No. I wasn’t involved in the accident. I’m just doing my bit.’
Daniels didn’t think the man was injured. She noticed a heavy camera bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Name?’
‘Steven, with a v, not a p h.’ His eyes were like saucers. ‘I counted three fatalities so far. But the body count will rise, there’s no doubt about it. And that’s just this side of the road. I haven’t been on the other side yet. Oh man! I’ve never seen anything like it! Who needs special effects?’
‘That’ll be Spielberg then, will it, Steven with a v?’ Gormley didn’t bother trying to hide his contempt. Flipping a pad open, he took a pen from his pocket. ‘Stop pissing about, son. I need a surname. An address. Then you can sling your hook and go back to your movies. People are in pain here. Show some bloody respect, why don’t you?’
Gormley wrote his details down and then told him to move along.
They watched him slope off, his bag bumping against his thigh as he walked.
‘What a dick!’ Daniels rolled her eyes and lifted her radio to her mouth. ‘7824 to 7295. Now on scene. Your six o’clock. What d’you want us to do?’
The senior traffic officer turned towards her, calm in a crisis as she knew he would be.
‘Can you walk up the line, Kate? I need a rough sketch. Reg numbers. Position. Details of occupants where possible. Appreciate your help. See the bus?’
Daniels’ eyes scanned the scene. A single-decker was right side up but half its windows were out. Red-and-white flags flapped through gaping holes where the glass was missing. Its passengers peering out from within, all of them ashen, some with superficial injuries, gawping at the chaos in disbelief.
‘Yeah, I see it.’
‘Thirty plus on board. En route to the airport, apparently. I’ve instructed the driver to keep the doors shut, but they’re whingeing to be off. They could use a little encouragement to stay put, Kate. I need more casualties wandering round like a hole in the head.’
‘Consider it done.’
Daniels led Gormley away from the film buff, who was still hanging around enjoying the spectacle, behaving like an arse. She didn’t have time for him. They had serious work to do.