Alfonse isn’t finished with Farrage though. ‘I trust you know you have to have your suspect’s name on the warrant when you come to arrest him.’

The scowl from Farrage is a thing of beauty insofar as a twisted expression of hate can be.

It’s a masterful move by Alfonse as Lunk is no more than a nickname, but I’ve never heard of anyone who knows Lunk’s real name. Known only by the nickname, his given name has been lost in the sands of time.

‘Thanks, guys.’ Lunk massages his wrists as he walks us back to the Mustang.

‘If I was you, I’d call my lawyer. It’s only a matter of time before Farrage returns with a warrant.’

9

Our next point of call is the Coroner’s Office. As we drive across town, Alfonse gives me his opinion of Farrage for what must be the hundredth time. Repetition doesn’t make his assessment any kinder.

The Coroner’s Office is located at the east end of town, a half block from the hospital on Route 40. A modern building with a glass and aluminium siding frontage, there is a small car park at the front for grieving relatives and a discreet back entrance for undertakers, ambulances and the coroner’s vans.

We enter the front entrance and speak to the receptionist. Her calm manner and relaxed nature will make her perfect for dealing with distraught families.

‘Doctor Green told me to expect you.’ Her left arm points along a white corridor. ‘Her office is around the corner and second on the left.’

Walking towards the doctor’s office, I marvel at the lack of antiseptic smells. I’d expected to get whiffs of formaldehyde and the strong chemicals used for cleaning; instead I’m getting lavender. Whoever designed the building must have made a deliberate effort to consider the sensibilities of the bereaved.

I knock on the doctor’s door as a technician in scrubs exits from a door encased with rubber seals. A waft of the missing smells emanates from the man until the scented air conditioning regains mastery.

When the door opens I have a split second to get the surprise off my face. Judging by the wide smile on Doctor Emily Green’s face, I’m not sure it’s long enough.

‘Hi, Jake, Alfonse.’

Emily is a regular at the Tree and, although I know she is a doctor, I hadn’t bothered paying enough attention to find out specific details. Alfonse and I had double dated once or twice with her and a friend, but, distracted by my own date, I had done little more than make small talk with her. If memory serves me right, he split with her because she became too clingy.

Hearing Alfonse’s laugh behind me, I know he’s set me up. It is the kind of childish thing we do to each other on a regular basis. Neither of us are looking for a big advantage or prolonged humiliation. Just another mark on the endless scorecard good friends keep.

I hold my hands up in supplication and let them have their moment. Alfonse somehow manages to maintain a friendly relationship with his exes, whereas I either crash and burn or never let them get close enough to be hurt.

‘I got a call from Chief Watson this morning. He told me I’ve to answer your questions.’

At work she is brisk and businesslike, the inane chatter replaced with clipped sentences arrowing to the points she wants to make.

‘That’s nice of him.’ I mean it too. Chief Watson could have paid lip service then ignored me. Instead he’s kept his word and opened up some of the investigation streams. ‘Have you performed Kira Niemeyer’s autopsy yet?’

‘I finished up a half hour ago.’

‘What did you find?’

‘She had seventy-three different knife wounds on her body. All concentrated on her chest and abdomen.’

‘Jesus.’ From the corner of my eye I can see Alfonse crossing himself.

‘How many of them were deep enough to be fatal?’

‘Just one. Whoever killed her pierced her heart to deliver the coup-de-grâce after slashing at her like a madman.’

Alfonse takes over the questioning while I consider the news Emily has just given us.

‘Are you sure the fatal wound occurred last?’

‘Positive.’ Her tone is filled with professional confidence. ‘Although her other wounds would have caused her to bleed to death if left untreated.’

‘Have you any thoughts on the knife used?’

‘The edges of the incisions were rough so my best guess would be the knife used was a typical domestic knife with slight serrations along the cutting edge.’

‘Can you tell if the killer was left or right handed?’

‘Right handed.’ She answers without hesitation, confident in her assessment.

‘What about any sexual activity? Had she been raped or molested?’

Emily consults her notes. ‘There were recent signs of vigorous intercourse although it appears to have taken place two or three days prior to her death.’

Thinking about Kira’s dungeon, I hesitate before asking my next question. ‘Did she have any other marks on her?’

Emily gives me a funny look. ‘She had what looked to be slight rope burns on her ankles and wrists. Just like the vaginal and anal bruising, the marks appeared to be days older than the attack.’

She doesn’t offer anything else. She is following the chief’s dictate to answer our questions without offering anything more.

‘What else should we be asking you?’ Alfonse’s question brings a smile to her face. He’s realised the politics involved and has found a way to get past them which won’t cause her problems.

‘If I was you, I’d be looking at where she died.’

‘Did you examine her where she was found?’

A nod.

‘In your professional opinion, was that where she was killed?’

A shake.

‘So what you’re not saying is that she was killed elsewhere and dumped there.’

‘Exactly.’

Alfonse jumps in again. ‘Is there anything else we should be asking you?’

‘You’ve covered the main points. But there is one thing.’ A thousand-watt smile beams towards Alfonse.

He doesn’t get it, so I get my revenge for his earlier prank sooner than expected. ‘Alfonse was wondering on the way over here if you’re still single. If you are, he said he was going to ask you out to dinner.’ I look at Alfonse who is trying to tell his face to behave. ‘Weren’t you?’

Et tu, Brute.

He nods.

‘Great.’ She hands him a card. ‘I’m free tonight.’

10

After dropping Alfonse at his house to check if the software has finished its task, I go on to my apartment and change into running clothes.

I do my best thinking while running and right now I have a lot of thinking to do. There is so much of Kira’s life that has been kept secret from the world.

After doing a few stretches I set off at a brisk pace, keeping my breathing steady as I wait for the burn to kick in.

The S&M dungeon doesn’t correspond with my memories of her. Whenever we’d hooked up she’d been neither dominant nor submissive. Just normal.

There’d been no suggestion of anything kinky, just two friends bumping uglies to fill a void or sate a need.

The clothes in her spare room are also way out of character. Kira might make a booty call with no underwear, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who flaunted herself around town in micro skirts and low-cut tops. The majority of the clothes in that particular closet were, at best, slutty. At worst, they were the clothes of a cheap hooker.

The exceptions were some very classy dresses bearing expensive tags. Even so, they were a lot more revealing than the bohemian clothes Kira usually wore.

Also present were a selection of sex costumes. The lingerie in the drawers followed the same pattern, either expensive and classy or cheap and slutty.