‘Murder? I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s been disemboweled, his head is almost severed, there’s pools of blood in the hall, the bedroom and the bathroom. I’ve never seen so much blood. The poor dog was covered in it. Lawrence had a hard time cutting off some of the dog fur for the laboratory as the little bastard has got teeth like a piranha. He’s had a go at everybody. The neighbor said she’d look after it and give it a bath, but she can’t keep it for long as she’s got two cats.’

‘Should I get over there?’ Jane asked.

‘Right now Tyler’s not letting anyone in until a pathologist has had a look at the victim. And you won’t believe what happened to me. I was told to get back here, get more uniforms, get the bloody pathologist there, and this woman gets out of a Mercedes 280SL, leaves it parked in the middle of the road, and starts screaming at me that she wants to know what’s going on. I mean, right now, Jane, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. It looks like the killer used a cricket bat, left a razor in the bathroom, victim’s got blunt-force trauma to the back, front and side of his head, so we can’t identify him. The woman upstairs wouldn’t come down and take a look at him. She said he’s an agent.’

‘What, an estate agent?’

‘No, no, like a theatrical agent. There are photos of these people all over the flat, and this Mercedes woman starts screaming at me that she wants to know what’s happened. I told her that there had been a terrible incident in the flat. She starts pushing and shoving me, demanding that she goes down the steps. The guv comes out because she’s screaming the place down, and then she says, “Has something happened to Charles?” She almost pushes me off my feet and starts to go down to the basement, screaming that she was his wife. The guv tries to stop her, meanwhile, we’ve got blokes putting the corrugated cardboard down to avoid contamination and footprints in all the blood, and she keeps yelling that she is Justine Harris, Charles Foxley’s wife, and she has every right to know what is going on. That’s when I am told to fuck off and do what I’m told to do.’

The phone rang to interrupt him. Spencer grabbed the receiver and listened before snapping angrily, ‘Everybody’s waiting. I’ll get there as quick as I can.’

He slammed the receiver down again.

‘Pathologist is on his way. It’s that bad-tempered guy who works over at Hammersmith – nasty little sod.’

Spencer’s radio bleeped. ‘I’m at the station, guv . . . What?’