Kim nodded. She knew.

‘Can we get her out of here yet?’

‘Just a couple more close ups of her breastbone.’

As he spoke, one of the forensic officers pointed a camera with a lens the length of an exhaust pipe at the woman’s breasts.

Kim leaned in closer and saw two marks above each breast.

‘Pushed down?’

‘I’m thinking so. Preliminary exam shows no other injuries. I’ll tell you more after the post mortem.’

‘Any guesses on how long?’

Kim could see no evidence of the liver probe, so she was guessing he’d used the rectal thermometer before she'd arrived.

She knew that a body dropped temperature by 1.5 degrees centigrade in the first hour. Normally it was between 1.5 and 1.0 degree centigrade every hour thereafter. She also knew that figure to be affected by many other factors. Not least that the victim was naked and submerged in now-cold water.

He shrugged. ‘I’ll do further calculations later but I’d say no more than about two hours.’

‘When can you ... ’

‘I’ve got a ninety-six-year-old lady who expired after falling asleep in her armchair and a twenty-six-year-old male with the needle still in his arm.’

‘Nothing urgent then?’

He checked his watch. ‘Midday?’

‘Eight,’ she countered.

‘Ten and no earlier,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m human and need occasional rest.’

‘Perfect,’ she said. It was the exact time she had in mind. It would give her chance to brief her team and task someone to attend.

Kim heard more footsteps on the stairs. The sound of laboured breathing came closer.

‘Sergeant Travis,’ she said, without turning. ‘What have we got?’

‘Officers are canvassing the area. The FOA rounded up a couple of neighbours but the first thing they knew was the fire service rolling up. Alert call was from a passing motorist.’

Kim turned and nodded. The First Officer Attending had done a good job of securing the scene for the forensics team and corralling any potential witnesses but the houses were set back from the road and separated by a quarter acre. Not exactly a mecca for the nosey neighbour.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Point of entry was a smashed glass panel in the back door and the fire officer states that the front door was unlocked.’

‘Hmmm ... interesting.’

She nodded her thanks and headed down the stairs.

One technician was inspecting the hallway and another was dusting the back door for fingerprints. A designer handbag sat on the breakfast bar. Kim had no idea what the gold monogram fastener meant. She never used handbags but it looked expensive.

A third tech entered from the dining room next door. He nodded towards the handbag. ‘Nothing taken. Credit cards and cash still intact.’

Kim nodded and headed out of the house. At the doorway she removed the shoe coverings and placed them into a second box. All protective clothing would be removed from the scene and examined for trace evidence later.

She stepped under the cordon. One fire tender remained on watch to ensure the blaze was totally extinguished. Fire was clever and just one ember that went unnoticed could set the place ablaze within minutes.

She stood at the car, surveying the bigger picture of the scene before her.

Teresa Wyatt lived alone. Nothing appeared to have been taken or even disturbed.

The killer could have left safe in the knowledge that the body would not be discovered until the following morning at the earliest and yet they had started a fire to expedite police attention.

Now all Kim had to do was work out why.

Four

At seven thirty a.m. Kim parked the Ninja at Halesowen police station, just off the ring road that circled a town with a small shopping precinct and a college. The station was located within spitting distance of the magistrates court; convenient, but a bitch for claiming expenses.

The three-storey building was as drab and unwelcoming as any other government building that apologised to tax-paying citizens.

She navigated her way to the detectives’ office without offering any morning greetings and none were offered to her. Kim knew she had a reputation for being cold, socially inept and emotionless. This perception deflected banal small talk and that was fine by her.

As usual, she was first into the detectives’ office and so fired up the coffee machine. The room held four desks in two sets of two facing each other. Each desk mirrored its partner, with a computer screen and mismatched file trays.

Three of the desks accommodated permanent occupants but the fourth sat empty since they had been downsized a few months earlier. It was where she normally perched herself rather than in her office.

The space with Kim’s name on the door was commonly referred to as The Bowl. It was nothing more than an area in the top right hand corner of the room that was partitioned off by plasterboard and glass.

It was a space she used for the occasional ‘individual performance directive’, otherwise known as a good old-fashioned bollocking.

‘Morning, Guv,’ Detective Constable Wood called as she slid into her chair. Although her family background was half English and half Nigerian, Stacey had never set foot outside the United Kingdom. Her tight black hair was cut short and close to her head following the removal of her last weave. The smooth caramel skin suited the haircut well.

Stacey’s work area was organised and clear. Anything not in the labelled trays was stacked in meticulous piles along the top edge of her desk.

Not far behind was Detective Sergeant Bryant who mumbled a ‘Morning, Guv,’ as he glanced into The Bowl. His six foot frame looked immaculate, as though he had been dressed for Sunday school by his mother.

Immediately the suit jacket landed on the back of his chair. By the end of the day his tie would have dropped a couple of floors, the top button of his shirt would be open and his shirt sleeves would be rolled up just below his elbows.

She saw him glance at her desk, seeking evidence of a coffee mug. When he saw that she already had coffee he filled the mug labelled ‘World’s Best Taxi Driver’, a present from his nineteen-year-old daughter.

His filing was not a system that anyone else understood but Kim had yet to request any piece of paper that was not in her hands within a few seconds. At the top of his desk was a framed picture of himself and his wife taken at their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. A picture of his daughter snuggled in his wallet.

DS Kevin Dawson, the third member of her team, didn’t keep a photo of anyone special on his desk. Had he wanted to display a picture of the person for whom he felt most affection he would have been greeted by his own likeness throughout his working day.

‘Sorry I’m late, Guv,’ Dawson called as he slid into his seat opposite Wood and completed her team.

He wasn’t officially late. The shift didn’t start until eight a.m. but she liked them all in early for a briefing, especially at the beginning of a new case. Kim didn’t like to stick to a roster and people who did lasted a very short time on her team.

‘Hey, Stacey, you gonna get me a coffee or what?’ Dawson asked, checking his mobile phone.

‘Of course, Kev, how’d yer like it: milk, two sugars and in yer lap?’ she asked sweetly, in her strong Black Country accent.

‘Stace, would you like a coffee?’ he asked, rising, knowing full well that she didn’t touch the stuff. ‘You must be tired after fighting warlocks all night,’ he quipped, referring to Stacey's addiction to the online game World of Warcraft.