Back in the garden, she peered through the cages, where she presumed birds had once lived happily. All she could see was black soot covering the floor and piles of feathers in the corners, with some stuck in the wire. The fire had been intense. As she peered closer, her eyes began to make out tiny skeletons in amongst the carnage and she covered her mouth. There must have been about thirty little carcasses in there. To the side of the aviary, two large kennels were burned out and almost destroyed. Four long chains were attached to each structure and ended with a charred collar. She could make out the remains of six or so animals that she figured were once dogs. The corpses still smouldered and Kelly knew that she was looking at a crime scene that had been active only hours ago. She made her way back inside and spoke to the forensic officer. The coroner’s van had arrived and they were ready to move the body.

‘Time of death?’ she asked.

‘She’s still warm.’

Chapter 19

Dr Demi Cramer looked at her phone and decided that she wanted to take the call from Kelly Porter. The case in the Lake District had stoked her interest. Genuine nutters were on the decline and a good old fashioned inquiry into a darkly disturbed mind was something that didn’t come along enough. She was sure that the facts she’d been given so far were enough to question the diagnosis of amnesia, but she’d love to meet the young woman they’d named Carla Rigg. In fact, she’d begun a case file on her, despite her enigmatic status. It was something to do other than profile rapists and sadists who were two-a-penny in the capital.

She excused herself and left the bar, where she was enjoying an after work drink with colleagues. The conversation was always the same: nature vs nurture: which fucked a kid more? It had grown tedious. Police work for the criminologist was never dull, but lately, it had become repetitive. She answered her mobile and squeezed through the crowds pressed into the basement pop-up restaurant. It was a coffin waiting to happen anyway and Demi wondered how on earth the Straw Captain, in Kings Cross, had got its fire license passed. As far as she could see, there was one way in and one way out, and that was the single staircase.

‘Hello?’ she shouted above the racket. City workers turned into another species on a Friday night: clamouring for trendy food, packing new bars and staying out late spending hard-earned cash on overpriced entertainment. She shouldn’t complain. It was nobody’s fault but her own that she was single and frustrated. Jealousy pricked her consciousness when she saw couples kissing and holding one another or enjoying a private meal. Cynicism told her that they were illicit affairs, not marriages, otherwise they’d be arguing.