‘I reckon I could drive to this bloody property blindfolded,’ Bryant said as they entered Hollytree for the second time that day.

‘Or we could sit in the office eating Penn’s cakes all morning while we wait for Mancini’s brief,’ she replied.

‘Yeah, what’s with that?’ Bryant asked.

‘Don’t know,’ she said and just managed to stop herself from adding ‘and don’t care’ suddenly aware of how childish that would sound.

‘They’re pretty good, though,’ Bryant said.

Kim ignored the frisson of irritation that niggled her.

‘There’s something here, Bryant, I can feel it,’ she said as he parked behind Mitch’s van, which was this side of the cordon tape strung between two wheelie bins with a constable standing at the midway point. Groups of neighbours stood smoking, drinking and pointing at the Mancini home.

She did a quick assessment of the scene before her and frowned.

‘I tell you what’s not here. And that’s Mancini senior,’ Bryant said.

‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that and I reckon we’ll get him later. His disciplinary is due at three this afternoon and I’m sure he’ll be turning up for that.’

‘Despite everything that’s happened?’

She nodded. ‘If Mancini junior has done this in some twisted revenge for the sullying of his father’s good name, then senior will be there. And if it’s nothing to do with it, he’ll be there.’

Bryant made no move to get out of the car.

‘What’s up?’ she asked with her palm on the door handle.

‘Remember how the SIO of the Yorkshire Ripper case became fixated on letters and recorded messages from Wearside Jack while the real killer continued to murder more victims?’

She frowned, unsure of his point.

‘Bryant, I’m following the bloody evidence,’ she exclaimed. ‘What do you want me to do, ignore the fact that our guy had motive, opportunity and means and that forensically we can tie his boots to the first victim? Jesus, give the prosecutor the day off and I’ll try this one myself.’ She paused and tried to swallow her annoyance. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you doubting direct evidence?’

‘Nat Mansell said something about making a choice. What did she mean?’

Kim shrugged. ‘To have an affair with a married man, to back up a false accusation of theft, what she had for breakfast. How the hell should I know?’

‘You always tell me that everything means something, so don’t you want to know?’ he asked.

‘Not at the expense of ignoring forensic evidence that’s got Mancini’s name all over it.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ he said, finally getting out of the car.

‘Yeah, I probably am,’ she snapped, stung by his doubt. What the hell did he want her to do, walk into Woody’s office and declare she had chosen to ignore all the evidence because it was making too much sense and was too tidy? She realised that she had added those last two words herself. Bryant hadn’t said that. But it was what he had meant. He’d either put the thought into her head or brought her own thoughts to the fore, and right now she wasn’t sure which. Yeah, she really needed Woody questioning her sanity the week he was deciding if she was capable of doing her job.

Fucking Bryant and his earworms, she cursed, as she paused at the front door of the property.

She hesitated as she approached the property. ‘Sergeant?’ she asked an officer giving instructions to two constables.

‘Marm?’ he responded, surprised.

‘If you’ve not instructed one of these officers to pair up with the guy on the cordon then do it right now. No one stands on Hollytree alone,’ she said, brushing past him.

His expression of understanding assured her it would be done.

Mitch met them at the kitchen door with two pairs of blue slippers.

‘Anything yet?’ she asked, bending down to put them on.

‘Done a cursory glance of all the rooms but focussing on the bedroom for any clothing and the kitchen for missing knives to start,’ he explained. ‘And other than a sizeable collection of soft porn, nothing to report as yet.’

She swallowed her disappointment.

‘Mind if we take a look around?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘Yeah but just looky no touchy, Inspector,’ he said.

‘Got it,’ she said, heading to the living room.

She stood in the middle of the space and looked around. The room didn’t allow for much furniture. The sofas were back against the wall and one coffee table in the centre was in reach of them both. Other than the music centre and the television there was little else present, or of interest. The ugly weed had drooped and shrivelled on the sideboard.

She moved to the doorway of the poky bathroom. A narrow shower cubicle jutted out on her left. A toilet and sink lined the far wall with a waste basket in between.

She opened the shower door and peered inside.

‘Guv, you know—’

‘Clean,’ she observed, closing the cubicle. ‘Too bloody clean. Two men live here,’ she observed. ‘And judging by his room Giovanni isn’t the house-proud type.’

‘One of them cleans for a living,’ Bryant argued.

‘Yeah, exactly, how many cop shows you watch in your spare time?’ she asked, moving further into the room that only had space for one.

She looked around and almost gagged. ‘Yeah, tell your theory to the toilet pan,’ she said, looking away.

She opened the small cabinet above the sink by reaching to the top of the mirrored doors and pulling them open avoiding the bottom rim, which would have been more commonly used. She found the usual toiletries: toothbrushes, two different toothpastes, shaving paraphernalia and soap. She closed it again and glanced down at the waste bin, half-full of a few wrappers and lumps of toilet roll.

She glanced back at Bryant who was not so secretly checking his watch.

‘Okay, Bryant, I heard you loud and—’

She stopped speaking when her phone began to ring.

‘Penn,’ she answered.

‘Mancini’s brief just arrived, boss.’

‘On our way,’ she said and ended the call.

She stood in the hallway and opened her mouth to concede defeat when something lower down in the wire waste basket caught her eye.

She frowned and took a step back. She squatted down to get a better look at the inch of blue latex amongst the white crumpled tissue.

‘Call Mitch,’ Kim said, not taking her eyes from it in case it disappeared.

Bryant called, and Mitch appeared almost instantly.

‘Yo,’ he said, coming into view.

‘You say you’ve been in here?’ she asked, straightening.

‘Only a cursory glance from the doorway for signs of anything— Ooh, I see,’ he said, following her pointed finger.

‘Lou,’ he called. ‘Bags.’

It was a small property and Lou appeared promptly with a clutch of evidence bags.

Lou regarded her expectantly, and she stepped back into the hallway.

Mitch nodded at him. He opened an evidence bag as Mitch began to pick out the wadded tissue and drop each piece of rubbish into the evidence bag, exposing more of the blue latex.

Eventually Mitch reached it and held it up for them both to see.

It was clearly a latex surgical glove and it was stained red with blood,

She turned to her colleague. ‘So, what do you reckon, Bryant. You think we should ignore that?’