I said, “Have we got prints?”

“Oh God yes, prints by the dozen. Fingerprints all over the cameras and the trap, and on that arrangement over the attic hatch. But young Gerry says don’t quote him on this, but at a very preliminary glance there’s no reason to think they’re not consistent with your vic—this vic here, obviously, not the kiddies. Same for the footprints up in the attic: adult male, shoe size matches this boyo.”

“What about the holes in the walls—anything around there?”

“Again, bucket loads of prints—you weren’t joking about keeping us busy, were you? A lot of them, going by the size, they’re the kiddies exploring. Most of the rest, Gerry says same again: no reason to think they’re not your victim, he’ll need to get them into the lab to confirm. Offhand, I’d say the vics made the holes themselves, nothing to do with last night.”

I said, “Look at this place, Larry. I’m a tidy kind of guy, but my gaff hasn’t been in this good shape since the day I moved in. These people were beyond houseproud. They lined up their shampoo bottles. I’ll give you fifty quid if you can find me one speck of dust. Why go to all that hassle keeping your house in perfect nick, and then bash holes in the walls? And if you have to bash holes, why not fix them? Or at least cover them up?”

“People are mad,” Larry said. He was losing interest; he cares about what happened, not why. “All of them. You should know that, Scorch. I’m just saying, if someone from outside made those holes, it looks like either the walls have been cleaned since, or else he wore gloves.”

“Anything else around the holes? Blood, drug residue, anything?”

Larry shook his head. “No blood, inside the holes or around them, except where they got in the way of spatter from this mess. No drug residue that we’ve found, but if you think we could be missing it, I’ll get a drug dog in.”

“Hold off on that for now, unless something comes up pointing that way. What about in here, in the blood? No prints that couldn’t have come from our vics?”

“Have you seen this place? How long do you think we’ve been here? Ask me again in a week. You can see for yourself, there’s enough bloody footprints for Dracula’s marching band, but I bet you most of them are the uniforms and the paramedics and their great big clumsy feet. We’ll just have to hope that a few prints from the actual crime had dried enough to stay in shape even with that lot wandering back and forth all over them. Same for the bloody handprints: we’ve got loads, but whether there’s any good ones left is anyone’s guess.”

He was in his element: Larry loves complications and he loves grousing. “And if anyone can salvage them, Lar, it’s you. Any sign of the vics’ phones?”

“Your wish is my command. Her mobile was on her bedside table, his was on the hall table, and we’ve bagged the landline just for funsies. Got the computer, too.”