‘Yes, it’s definitely her,’ Kim said, looking down into the ashen face of Nat Mansell.

Despite circulating the woman’s photo to every constable, sergeant and PC she could reach, someone else had found her first, murdered her and dumped her behind a row of abandoned shops, amongst rotting rubbish that had been putrefying for weeks.

She had already assessed that CCTV wouldn’t help them on this one. Of the six properties behind which they stood only two were not boarded up. One was a newsagent who had no coverage as he paid handsomely for the protection of the gang that ran Hollytree, and the other was the part-time community centre that opened a few hours a couple of times each week. They had one camera on the front door but nothing around the back.

Kim shook her head, sadly. Only a few hours ago she had been chasing this woman for answers across a patch of grass. And now she was dead. If only she’d stopped and talked, Kim knew she could have protected her.

‘She wasn’t killed here,’ Keats observed. ‘Not nearly enough blood.’

‘Any significance in this place being the dump site?’ Bryant asked.

‘Maybe it’s a statement,’ Kim said, looking around ‘Places don’t come much grimmer than this. Even after death he’s telling us how he feels about her. A final insult. Or it was just the easiest, quickest place to dump her body,’ she concluded.

‘Multiple stab wounds,’ Keats said, lifting up her slashed shirt to reveal a torso bloodied and slashed.

‘Jesus, he hated her,’ Kim said. Lines of blood had seeped from the minor wounds before death and trailed around her sides to her back.

‘Why the rookie moves?’ she asked, turning to Bryant. ‘Why risk unnecessary contamination with the body by moving it if the sites mean nothing to him? Why take Cordell all the way to the park instead of killing him right there in his flat?’

Bryant shrugged. ‘Either knows exactly what he’s doing and is sure he’s leaving nothing of himself behind, or is a complete novice who doesn’t understand the Locard principle of leaving something of yourself at every crime scene.’

‘But he is leaving stuff behind, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘So far we have a boot print, a hair and fibres, so he’s actually proving that Locard was on the money,’ she said, turning to Keats. ‘Time of death?’ she asked.

‘I’d estimate five to six hours,’ he said.

She turned to Bryant. ‘Fuck. Within an hour or two of us spotting her at the retirement home,’ Kim growled as a shudder ran through her. They had been so close to saving the woman’s life and her damn leg had let her down. On a normal day she could have caught Nat Mansell and wrestled her to the ground if necessary. Anything to keep her safe.

Her brain followed the chronology of the day. ‘And right before we turned up to find a damp Mancini clad in bath towels,’ she observed.

‘You’re convicting the guy because he took a shower?’ Bryant asked.

‘Would have got pretty bloody from this, don’t you think?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, let’s round up everyone who took a shower around that time, or even a bath or a quick wash in—’

‘Mitch is after you,’ Keats said to her across the body. ‘Wants to show you something at the lab.’

She nodded and began to walk away. She frowned and turned back.

‘Keats, lift up her top for me again,’ she said, only just registering what she thought she’d seen.

He did so carefully.

She studied the picture before her for a moment. ‘Okay, Keats, thanks,’ she said, turning and heading for the car.

‘Didn’t get your fill the first time, eh, guv?’ Bryant asked.

Kim shot him a look and took a few steps to the side. Away from listening ears. He followed.

‘Bryant, I’d like to apologise,’ she said, through gritted teeth.

He looked genuinely perplexed. ‘For what?’

‘Whatever it is I did that made you think I’d put up with these small digs indefinitely. Clearly it’s my mistake, so I apologise and you knock it on the head right now.’

His eyes blazed with whatever bee was buzzing in his bonnet but whatever it was now was not the time. And he knew that. ‘Got it, guv,’ he said, moving back towards the body. ‘So, what are you thinking?’

Kim followed. Whatever was brewing between them hadn’t been put to bed, but it was at least having a nap.

‘Potentially almost thirty stab wounds to her body,’ Kim said, thoughtfully. ‘And seventy per cent of those were aimed at the woman’s stomach.’

‘You think that means something?’ he asked, doubtfully.

‘You already know my answer to that, Bryant. Everything means something.’