“Will these help?” Rosie held out a large pair of gloves. “I pinched them off Kash. His hands are bigger than mine.” Without waiting for an answer, she tugged one onto Jem’s left hand and slid the pad beneath the leather. It was a snug fit, pressing the heat close, and Jem whimpered in relief, encouraging Rosie to repeat the process on her other hand. “Better?”

“Much, thanks.” Jem made a tentative attempt to curl her fingers. “Puddles and sore hands: there’s a definite theme developing for us.”

They exchanged weary smiles, and Jem shuffled over on the plastic kit box, making space for Rosie to sit, and attempting to share the foil blanket one of the Mountain Rescue blokes had wrapped around her. They huddled closer, the foil crinkling and curling in the wind.

“What’s going on over there?” Jem asked.

“Usual rigmarole,” Rosie said. “The body will stay in situ while SOCO do their thing. He didn’t have any ID on him, so we need to find out who he is. Given his age, it’s likely someone will report him missing, and then it’ll be a case of tracking his movements, speaking to his family and friends, and trying to establish whether this is murder, manslaughter, or simple misadventure.” She shifted slightly so she could meet Jem’s eyes. “One of the docs wanted a word with you, and DS Merritt has asked me to take you to Clayton for forensics and a statement.”

“Forensics?” Jem said, struggling to connect the dots. She didn’t know if it was stress or hypothermia or an adrenaline crash, but she felt as if someone had replaced her brain with putty, obliterating her ability to concentrate or follow simple logic.

“SOCO will need your uniform and your boots,” Rosie said slowly, as though sensing there was a problem. “And swabs from the scratches on your arms.”

“Oh.” Jem had forgotten about the gouges the lad had inflicted. They’d still been oozing blood when an officer covered them in film to preserve trace evidence.

“Is he from your patch?” Rosie jerked her head toward the only other paramedic who had made it to the scene. Jem vaguely recognised him as local to Manchester, though he didn’t work in her group. The pips on his epaulettes marked him as an Advanced Paramedic, and he hadn’t yet bothered to introduce himself.

“Sort of,” she said. “I think he’s based in the city centre, but don’t hold me to that. Rumour has it he’s a bit of a knob.”

“The rumours are right on the money. He took the docs to task for calling it.”

“Really?” Jem’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “How did that go down?”

Rosie chuckled. “Like a mug of cold sick. The lady doctor told him to wind his neck in and to get here sooner next time if he wanted to be involved in the decision-making.”