Dundee University was home to the Centre for Anatomy and Human Identification and had been offering degree courses in forensic anthropology for years. CAHID was regularly contacted for advice and input in high-profile identification cases at home or abroad.

Those strings had been pulled by Woody, who wanted to ensure that everyone who might need to take the stand was impeccably qualified.

‘Where are we on Crestwood staff members?’

Dawson picked up a piece of paper. ‘I’ve weeded out various short-term and temporary staff and I’m left with a list of four other members of staff that were recorded as working there when the place burned down.

‘As we know, Teresa Wyatt was the deputy manager and Tom Curtis was the head chef. General manager was a guy called Richard Croft. There was a housekeeper there for years by the name of Mary Andrews and two night-watch guys who doubled as caretaker, odd job guys.

‘So far, I’ve tracked Mary Andrews to a nursing home in Timbertree ...’

‘Richard Croft, isn’t that the name of the Conservative MP for Bromsgrove?’ Kim interrupted him. She could swear she’d just read an article that Croft had just completed some kind of bike ride for charity.

‘Definitely the same name but I haven’t yet been able to link him ...’

‘Pass it to Stace,’ Kim instructed.

She saw the set expression on Dawson’s face.

‘Stacey, what have you got on the names of the kids?’

‘I’ve got about seven so far and most of them's from Facebook.’

Kim rolled her eyes.

Stacey shrugged. ‘There ain’t many records of Crestwood and even less people that wanna talk about the place. My understanding is that the younger kids had already been placed in foster homes or other care facilities around the area. Another six or seven had gone back to family members, leaving around ten kids at the time of the fire.’

‘Sounds like a bloody nightmare.’

Stacey grinned. ‘To lesser mortals, maybe.’

Kim smiled. Stacey loved a challenge and that was about to be a good thing.

‘Right, Bryant, go get the car started.’

Bryant grabbed his jacket and left the office. Kim stepped into The Bowl and sat to remove her biking boots. As she did, she overheard the conversation taking place in the outer office.

‘Have yer tried flowers?’ Stacey asked.

‘Check,’ Dawson replied.

‘Chocolates?’

‘Check.’

‘Jewellery?’

No response.

‘Are yer kidding? You haven't tried jewellery? Oh, Kev, nothing says “sorry for being a totally amoral arsehole” like a sparkly expensive necklace.’

‘Piss off, Stace, what would you know?’

‘I'd know, lover boy, ‘cos I'm all woooooman.’

Kim smiled as she tied her right lace.

‘Yeah but your love life amongst the world of goblins doesn't count. I need advice from a woman who goes out with men. Like, real ones.’

The conversation ended as Kim stepped back into the office. ‘Stace, you’re now working on the staff members and ex-residents.’

Dawson looked confused.

‘Get your coat, you’re coming with me.’

He took his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

‘I’d get your overcoat as well. You’re now staying on site with forensics.’

His face lit up. ‘Seriously, Guv?’

Kim nodded. ‘I need to know what’s going on as soon as it happens. I want you to make a total nuisance of yourself. Keep asking questions, follow people around, listen to conversations and the minute you get anything new, let me know.’

‘Will do, Guv,’ he said, eagerly.

He followed her down to the waiting car.

She got in the front seat and he got in the back.

‘Buckle up, kiddies,’ Bryant said, pulling out of the car park.

Kim glanced into the rear view mirror at Dawson's eager, excited face, then turned and looked out of the window.

For a person with no people skills whatsoever, the law of averages dictated that now and again she had to get it right.

Twenty-Five

The site she’d left yesterday now looked like a small walled city. The entire edge of the property was surrounded by interlocking metal fencing. There was an entrance at the top of the site and one at the bottom, each guarded by two constables. Others roamed the fence edge, keeping within the eye line of other officers. Kim was satisfied that the perimeter was secure.

A corral had been set up along the top of the site for press but she could see they were already spilling out along the fence line. Two white tents had been erected; one around the pit and another for the technicians to store equipment.

Kim headed into the first tent but was not prepared for the sight of the skeleton in the pit – or the effect it would have on her. She had attended many crime scenes; had witnessed bodies in every stage of decomposition, but this one was just bone. When tissue was still present it felt as though there was something to return to the family, something of the person left to bury and mourn. But bones felt anonymous, featureless; like the foundations of a building but without the architecture that made it unique. Kim realised she didn't like that thought one little bit.

She was also shocked by the tiny amount of space the skeleton occupied.

'No clothes?' Kim said as the forensic archaeologist came to stand beside her.

‘Good morning, Detective,’ said Cerys.

Yep, she always forgot that bit.

'To answer your question, it doesn't mean there weren't any clothes. Only that they're not there now. Different materials deteriorate at different rates. Depends how long they're in the ground. Cotton can disappear in ten years or so, whereas wool can remain intact for decades.' Cerys turned towards her. 'I wasn’t too sure you’d be back.’

They both stepped away as technicians took photographs from every angle. A yellow marker had been placed alongside the length of the bones.

‘We didn’t get much time to chat yesterday,’ Kim said.

Cerys tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. ‘Didn't have you down as the chatting type but okay ... I'm twenty-nine years old, single and childless. My favourite colour is yellow. I have a weakness for chicken-flavoured crisps and I am enlisted in the Territorial Army when I'm not busy knitting.’ Cerys paused. ‘Okay, I lied about the knitting.’

‘All good to know but that's not really what I was asking.’

‘Then ask the question you want to, Detective.’

‘How qualified are you for this job?’ Kim said without flinching.

Cerys tried to hide her smile but her eyes lit up. ‘I achieved my degree in archaeology at Oxford eight years ago. I then spent four years travelling on archaeological projects, predominantly in West Africa, came home and earned my forensic science degree and have spent the last two years trying to gain respect in a male-dominated arena. Sound familiar, Detective Inspector?’

Kim laughed out loud and offered her hand. ‘Glad to have you on board.’

‘Thank you. Now, the bones have been exposed and I’m waiting for the anthropologist to discuss removal. I have to be sure we don’t under cut or over cut.’

Kim looked at her blankly.

‘Sorry, we need to be as careful as possible that we don’t either take too much or too little. We can’t go back and do it again.'

Kim's expression remained unchanged.

Cerys thought for a moment. 'Okay, imagine the ground as a brick wall. Each course of the wall is a period in time. If we take too much of the soil we risk encroaching on other events that occurred before the murder and which could give us false information.'