Now that Prescott was inside his crime scene, he had the patience of a saint. He could see the wheels of the machinery turning, see his officers working and progress being made. He followed his SOCOs deeper into the mess, allowing them to clear and preserve the way in front of him, and Sally followed after. This was his scene now, and she totally respected the shift in authority.

Eventually, and in relative silence, Prescott and Sally made it as far as the sofa. The iron bed frame, which had now been removed, had missed the body when it fell. Even so, the body was massively damaged. The face was not only burnt down to the skeleton, but the cheekbones and lower jawbone were smashed and many of the teeth were missing.

“Could that damage to the skull be from falling debris?” Prescott asked.

Sally leaned in to get a better look. “The ceiling was largely gone by the time we arrived, so God knows what might have fallen through and landed on the sofa. The cleaner-looking skull fractures around the temple area could be heat stress. The skull can sometimes just pop, depending on the intensity of heat.”

“Damn shame this fella’s teeth are so damaged,” Prescott commented, almost to himself. Then louder, “Look at the bloody mess your lot have made of this place!”

Sally was just about to tear a strip off him when she looked at his partially hidden face. His eyes were crinkled at the edges and she knew he was smiling.

“Bloody fires,” Prescott continued, avoiding her gaze. “If the flames don’t destroy the evidence, the water does.” He scratched his head through his blue paper hood and his eyes flicked about again as he thought through everything he was seeing. “If this is murder, we might be looking for someone who’s savvy about forensics, you know. I mean, you can’t print burnt wood and you can’t find shoe prints under water.”

He was suddenly distracted by the contents of the hearth. The water from the fire hose on the floor in this area of the room looked like thin black paint—a result you might expect to get after paper is burnt, creating a fine, soluble ash. Further back in the hearth, untouched by the water altogether, were the remnants of what looked like stacks of dry, charred paper. The paper was now nothing more than tiny fragments of its original form, but the volume was confusing.

Prescott picked up the longest of four fire pokers, and gently nudged the top layer of paper away in the hope of getting to some less burnt samples underneath. He tried not to damage any of the delicate paper. Eventually he spotted a single intact piece, no more than one centimeter in length, showing the instantly recognizable pale blue-green pattern from the bottom left-hand corner of an old five-pound note. Prescott carefully picked up this fragile piece of evidence and placed it in the palm of Sally’s gloved hand.