DI Davies coughed, startling Sam. She swivelled and turned her torch full into his eyes. ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘it’s you.’ Stepping to the side she flicked her spotlight over the body. Davies put his hand on Sam’s back, as much for his benefit as hers. ‘If you want to help Donna Cook, you have to suck this up and catch the little bastards.’ He coughed again. ‘If I know anything, Sam, unless they’re stopped, they’ll do it again.’ Behind them, sirens wailed and blue lights flashed. Matthew had been found and Edmonton Green police force wanted to announce their progress to the community.

Police headquarters had been on tiptoes waiting for this moment, and the National Identification boys in their rusty Bedford van finally arrived at the crime scene. The sun was breaking through the darkness, painting the world red and gold; it was the first sunrise Sam had ever seen that didn’t bring a feeling of hope. They came down the site embankment like the cavalry–but they were too late to do any real good. The body had lain outside exposed to the elements for a while, that much was obvious. They struggled against the wind to put up their blue plastic tent as the rain continued to hammer down on the material.

Dr Gerry Cornwell was soaked to the skin, his loafers covered in mud and his toes squelching inside. He was anxious to get away from this place. He pulled on Sam’s sleeve. ‘We can’t do any good.’ He squeezed her harder. ‘Try it my way and I think you’ll have them before the week’s out.’ Before she could answer, the police doctor, Dr McKenzie, came out of the identification bureau tent. He wasn’t a morning person. His unshaven chin looked like a Brillo pad, and his bloodhound eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to see in the semi-darkness.

‘What was the cause of death?’ she asked, knowing from the state of Matthew that there would be a few options to choose from.

Sam didn’t anticipate McKenzie’s next words. ‘It’s hard to tell at this point…’ he told her, before adding, ‘…the fact they removed his heart didn’t help.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Twelve hours after they had both looked at the horror of Matthew Cook’s final resting place, Gerry Cornwell’s stomach rumbled. Sam showed no signs of stopping. The duty social worker had provided them with copies of reports on the problem families in Edmonton Green, and the number was depressingly high. Sam had lost track of time, her nose was buried in a pile of papers, and there was a stack of notes at her elbow.

‘Let’s be honest, we’re not going to solve this case in one night,’ Gerry said. ‘Are we?’

She stared at him as an irritated sigh escaped her lips. ‘We can try. Or do you want to give up now?’