Rowlands followed her under the tape. ‘Who did this?’ Jessica asked, nodding at the door as they stepped towards it.

‘Our lot. The tactical entry boys came down this morning.’

‘Bit early for them, wasn’t it?’

‘I guess but they get called out to all sorts.’

‘What’s inside?’

‘You’ll see . . .’

Rowlands stopped by the front door while a uniformed officer in the hallway pointed Jessica up the stairs. The house looked as nicely decorated on the inside as it was tidy on the outside with prominent plush shaggy carpets and ornaments in the hallway.

Jessica found Cole outside one of the bedrooms. He had his back to the room facing the stairs as she got to the top. ‘Scene of Crime boys are on their way,’ is all he said as he moved aside for Jessica to have a look.

The first thing she noticed was how bright the room was. The bay window to her right had blinds that were fixed into the frames but they were only partly closed. The early-morning sun poured into the room, illuminating the magnolia walls and light yellow sheets on the king-size bed opposite.

Jessica first saw a pile of clothes on the floor. She thought it was similar to her own floordrobe but, as her eyes flicked across the room, she saw the body.

She was glad she hadn’t had breakfast that morning.

A woman was lying on her side half underneath bed covers that were pulled back to her waist. Her eyes were bulging and her face was a light grey, almost pale blue colour. Deep cut marks were visible around her neck and had bled over the covers. The dark red liquid had pooled and set underneath her, matting into her blonde hair and the sheets. ‘Oh,’ Jessica said.

‘Oh indeed,’ Cole replied behind her.

2

Jessica had seen bodies in all types of horrific situations – people beaten so badly you didn’t know if they were male or female, limbs contorted at almost incomprehensible angles and worse. Parts of the training programme had been pretty grim but it was something that came with the job. While you were working in uniform, you also saw plenty of things most people wouldn’t want to. Some could handle it better than others.

She hadn’t seen too many bodies in a state like the victim’s though and it looked as if the dead woman had been there for a day or two. The deep, vicious choke gouges in her neck had almost certainly been caused by some kind of thick wire and the colour of her skin made the cause of death pretty clear, even before the Scene of Crime team arrived.

Jessica knew that the SOCOs would have their hands full considering it was a Saturday morning. Scene of Crime teams were a mix of civilians and serving officers and worked citywide, meaning the hours and travelling distances were awful. Saturday and Sunday mornings were by far the worst times, cleaning up the mess of various revellers’ nights out and the inevitable alcohol-related carnage that came with it.

Various television shows made investigating crime scenes seem like a glamorous occupation but Jessica doubted whether darting around Manchester, usually in the rain, and tidying up one drunken mess after another would quite reach the same heights.

She didn’t enter the room any further as she could see all she needed to from the doorway and didn’t want to risk contaminating anything. She turned back around to face her DI, who was still looking away. ‘That’s pretty nasty. Do we know who she is?’ Jessica asked.

‘Probably. The house is owned by someone called Yvonne Christensen. One of her friends called in two days ago saying she’d not seen her in a couple of days and that no one seemed to be home, even though her car was still parked outside. Uniform were around yesterday and couldn’t get any type of response. They came back this morning with the tactical entry lot.’

‘Bit early for them, isn’t it?’

‘They had already been out at another job raiding some place for drugs. You know what everyone’s like with budgets. I guess someone figured they’d get two jobs done for the price of one.’

Jessica let his answer hang for a few moments, before replying. ‘Does anyone else live here?’

‘We’re not sure yet. It looks like the body has been there for a couple of days so probably not.’

Cole didn’t turn around the whole time he talked. He was leaning with both hands on the banisters at the top of the stairs. ‘This one’s going to be ours,’ he said quietly.

It was only a few words but Jessica understood it was more what he implied than what he explicitly said. She knew he wouldn’t really want too much to do with the grim details but would help out in his own way and direct operations from the station. The groundwork would be hers.

‘So who’s the friend?’ Jessica asked.

‘Someone she goes to one of those weight clubs with. They live a few doors down. Uniform are with her now but she doesn’t know yet. Dave has her name.’

That was his second implication: ‘Go tell her’.

Jessica walked around him back down the stairs. The interior design seemed far gloomier than it had moments before and she met Rowlands by the front door. ‘Do you have the details of the friend who called this in?’ Jessica asked.

He ummed as he pulled a notebook out from his pocket and flicked through the pages. ‘Stephanie Wilson,’ he said, folding the book back up and putting it away. ‘She lives just down the road.’

‘Are you ready to go talk to her?’

‘Yep.’

‘Let’s hope she’s not too traumatised or your hair’s going to tip her over the edge.’

Despite their joking, they both knew it was time to be serious. The two of them ducked back under the police tape outside the house and Rowlands pointed for them to turn right. Mrs Wilson lived on the same street but on the other side of the road around a hundred yards away. Jessica thought the sun was surprisingly warm considering the time of the day and the fact it wasn’t yet summer. She noticed there were a few obvious curtain-twitches as they walked down the road, which was little surprise considering the patrol cars outside the victim’s house and the obvious police presence. The ones hoping for a show would be sadly disappointed when the body was removed under a cover later on.

Perhaps it was because she was so used to actually attending crime scenes but Jessica never really understood the interest that came when police attended an incident. She didn’t get the types of people who slowed down for motorway accidents just in case there was blood or something else to get excited about, or those who crowded around vicious fight scenes. When you had seen some of the sights police officers had to each day, and dealt with the aftermath, Jessica didn’t believe most people would be so keen to get in line for a good view.

Rowlands rang the doorbell of Stephanie Wilson’s house, which set off an overly cheery ‘Greensleeves’ chime not really appropriate for the moment. The door was answered by a uniformed officer, who led them through to the kitchen.

The basic layout of the house seemed to be identical to that of the victim’s home. There was a stairway just inside the front door with a hallway running alongside it straight to the kitchen. A couple were sitting at a small round dining table in the kitchen with mugs of tea in front of them. There wasn’t an awful lot of room but the two officers were pointed to the remaining two seats around the table, while the constable picked up a third mug from the side and went through to the living room.

Mrs Wilson was a lot larger than her husband, with short shoulder-length greying hair. Jessica would have guessed she was in her early fifties but she was never that great with ages. The woman wasn’t massively overweight but, compared to her short unimposing partner, she seemed a lot larger than she was.