WPC Cerys “Kippie” Evans stifled a yawn as she watched he partner, Cassidy, sniff around the site of the bomb-blast on all fours. It was far too early in the morning to be searching for identifying remains. If your religious cult was going to be sufficiently anti-social enough to partake in some form of mass suicide ritual, you could at least have the common decency to wait until after lunch. Kippie was definitely a night owl. Give her a drunken pub brawl any day. Or, alternatively, give her a quiet local pub and she could arrange the rest.
Cassidy didn’t seem to mind but then he was a German Shepherd dog. He and his brother, Butch, had been raised from pups by the police, and policing was all they knew. They didn’t seem too bright but they were good at their job. That made WPC Evans happy as it meant that she was good at her job. Safe in this knowledge, she lay back in the grass and felt the warmth of the morning sun on her face. Cassidy would let her know if he found anything.
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