The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER TWO

Monday, 13th August, 2018. Morning 

The following morning saw Judge Neeson's luxurious lounge again full of people. But this time there were no revellers. This time, grim faced men in white coveralls—scene-of-crime officers, forensic experts, police photographers—were engaged in a methodical examination of the room for trace evidence. Extremely small in nature, trace evidence might be less exciting than a shell casing or a footprint, but it was still of value to the forensic scientists who would later study it. That was why some of the SOCOs were on their knees with hand-held vacuums sucking up dust and debris that might contain evidence that could lead to the killer. Other officers, also on their knees, were searching for evidence that could be seen with the naked eye, using forceps to retrieve any loose fibres they might find, and even tiny fibres embedded in the crusted blood.

 At times, however, trace evidence is too fine to be seen by the naked eye. Thus, one of the officers, wearing anti-glare viewing goggles, was checking the carpet with an oddly shaped, hand-held lamp attached to a cable. This was a Crime-lite 82S, a powerful and versatile 16-LED light source with available wave lengths from UV to IV. Red and infrared narrow bandwidth illumination is particularly useful for detecting blood, body fluids, drugs and fibres as well as for examining chemically treated fingerprints, while different light wave lengths can help illuminate fibres and other biological materials for easy observation and collection. These  officers were carrying out their work efficiently and in silence, while others diligently searched the rest of the house.A stricken man, slight build, early thirties, dark hair carefully coiffed,was seated awkwardly in an armchair. He seemed incapable of removing his gaze from the body of Judge Neeson, crumpled on the floor before a large onyx fireplace. If he heard the officer at the door say, "In here, sir,"he showed no sign.

 Detective Chief Inspector Sheehan thanked the officer and,accompanied by Sergeant Denise Stewart, he advanced into the room.Looking around, he said to Stewart, "No sign of Dick Campbell. Not often we beat him to a crime scene." 

Stewart grinned. "Wouldn't worry, sir. Bet he's only a couple of minutes away." 

Sheehan looked at the camel-hair overcoat that someone had carefully draped over the corpse, as if to protect its dignity even in death. It did not conceal the fact, however, that the judge's elegant evening trousers were bunched around his ankles. Sheehan frowned his disgust but spoke only about the overcoat. "Was that there when the body was found?" 

The policeman, who had remained at the room door, looked blank."Sorry, sir. Was what where?" 

"That overcoat." 

"Sorry, sir. Don't know." 

"Who found the body?" 

The office pointed to the slight man on the armchair. "That would be Mr. Edgar Doran, the judge's judicial assistant, sir." 

Sheehan moved forward and addressed the man. "Mr Doran?" 

The man either didn't hear him or was too traumatised to respond. Sheehan placed a hand on the man's shoulder and shook it slightly. "MrDoran?" 

This time the man looked up, his eyes expressing bewilderment. But he was able to say, "Yes?" 

"Mr Doran, I'm Chief Inspector Sheehan and this is Sergeant Stewart.Are you up to answering a few questions?"  

The man's eyes focused, seeming to recognise the blue-eyed, fortyish detective. "Oh, yes, Chief Inspector." He spoke with a slight lisp. "I have seen you a number of times in court." He gestured vaguely at the body. "But I don't really know much about ... about...." He rose to his feet, nervous,uneasy, obviously not comfortable being seated while the chief inspector towered above him.