Jem put the water down as a sudden rush of adrenaline made her giddy. “A tribal design?” She pointed to her own neck. “Here?”

“Yeah. It went right up to his ear.”

“Fucking hell. God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” Jem stood and paced away, pulling out her mobile and scrolling through its call register. Rosie’s number was on top of the list, a missed call logged within seconds of Paula’s. Jem hovered over the link, desperate to tell Rosie about this, to use it as an easy way back to her. She didn’t, though. She knew Rosie was the wrong person to contact, and she refused to resort to a coward’s tactic. She found the right person much farther down the register and hit the number before she lost her nerve.

The call was answered promptly.

“Detective Merritt, Major Crimes.”

* * *

Rosie signed the evidence label on the bag she’d just sealed, shimmying her torso from side to side as she did so. Her legs and bum were numb and tingling, and she’d lost most of the feeling in her left foot.

“Kash!” she yelled from her spot on the study floor. “Is it lunchtime yet?” She rolled onto her hands and knees and used Peel’s desk as leverage to stand. “Kash? Come on, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

“Just finishing the bathroom,” he yelled back.

She limped across the landing and bobbed her head around the door. “Holy shite,” she said, taking in the rows of tablet boxes arranged on the bathmat. “His or hers?”

“Hers, mostly. According to the advice leaflets, she’s a depressed insomniac with chronic pain and a vitamin B deficiency.”

Rosie sat on the loo seat. “And a husband who likes young boys.”

Kash completed his line-up with a box of lorazepam. “That may well be a causative factor.”

“Aye,” Rosie said, but she had lost all interest in the mini-pharmacy. Using her foot, she slid the mat away from the side of the Jacuzzi bath, toppling the tablets like a row of dominoes. Kash scowled at the mess she’d made, but one look at her expression curtailed any remonstration.

“What is it?” he asked.

She dropped off the loo and knelt beside him. “That panel’s been moved.” She ran her finger along a faint line of grime ingrained on the lino. “This marks where it was, but they’ve pushed it farther back when they replaced it.”

He caught on at once. “I wonder when and why.”

“Who knows?” She began to scout around for anything she could use to unscrew the fixings. “Could have been a leaky tap, but it would be remiss of us not to double-check. Hang on a tick, I think there was a toolbox in the hallway.”

She was back before he could destroy the nail file he’d co-opted in lieu of a screwdriver.