‘You can do this,’ she told herself as she swivelled her feet onto the floor.

She was in bed, dead to the world, when her phone started ringing.

Esson looked every bit as alert as Clarke felt, but had managed to conjure up two beakers, at least one of which contained coffee. Clarke accepted it with a grateful nod. Uniformed officers were constructing a cordon of blue-and-white tape. A scene-of-crime vehicle had arrived, finding a way through the roadworks and parked on the emerging tram line. Clarke recognised the man in charge, Haj Atwal, so knew things would be handled properly. Gawkers had appeared at the windows of the tenement across the street. Inside Haggard’s building, neighbours were being ushered back behind their doors.

‘Do we know who reported it?’ Clarke asked Esson as they began to ascend the stairwell.

‘Anonymous.’

‘How anonymous?’

‘Not very.’ Meaning the switchboard had a record of the caller’s number.

One of Haj’s team was keeping guard on the second-floor landing. Clarke and Esson signed in and got suited up in protective overalls and shoe covers.

‘Doctor been?’ Clarke checked, receiving a nodded reply. Then, to Esson, ‘Shall we?’

‘After you, boss,’ Christine Esson said.

Clarke paused in the hallway. Surfaces were being dusted, a hand-held UV scanner checking for blood. Lowered voices were coming from the living room. Rather than interfering, Clarke and Esson stopped in the doorway. Clarke turned at a rustling sound behind them. Haj Atwal had returned.

‘What can you tell us?’ Clarke asked.

‘Doctor estimates time of death at between seven and eleven p.m. Phone call was logged at eleven twenty. He’s been stabbed. Twice in the back and once in the abdomen. Seems to have bled out right where he’s lying.’

Clarke forced herself to focus on Francis Haggard’s face. His eyes and mouth were open, tongue visible. The scene was vividly illuminated by the SOC team’s own freestanding lamps. A photo­grapher crouched down for a closer shot, obscuring the view. Blood had pooled around the body.

‘A violent struggle?’

‘No signs of defence wounds on the hands or arms. And as you can see, the furniture is pretty much where you’d expect to find it. One thing we’ve done is close the shutters. No curtains or blinds, and we didn’t want anyone across the way being able to look in.’

‘Means someone over there could well have seen something,’ Esson commented. ‘Were the lights on in here when the body was found?’

‘Yes.’

‘Immediate neighbours didn’t hear shouting?’ Clarke added.

‘That’s very much your department, Siobhan. We’ve not found the murder weapon as yet. I’d suggest a search team.’

‘A knife, right?’

‘Doctor reckons a fairly small blade. Centimetre and a half in width, at least eight centimetres long. Autopsy will tell us more.’