Rotting away on a slab in the mortuary, with his teeth ripped out, covered in bruises and burns and cuts? ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. He was very badly beaten, and after four days in the heat, he’s—’

‘I want to see my son!’

PC Sim humped the mattress back into place, then tucked the sheet in again.

Logan leaned back against the wardrobe. ‘Anything? ’

Anthony Chung’s room was almost as big as his father’s study. A king-sized bed, shelves of DVDs and CDs, a dining-table-sized flatscreen TV, games consoles, sofa, desk, big shiny silver laptop, nautilus weight machine, collection of empty beer bottles stacked up into a pyramid.

She fluffed the duvet back where it’d come from. ‘Not a sausage. But if his mum’s up here making the bed and doing the hoovering. . .? ’

He was never going to leave anything incriminating where she’d find it. Not unless he was trying to provoke a reaction. ‘So: nothing under the bed, nothing in the desk drawers, or under the socks and pants.’ Logan did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, with his eyes half-squinted shut.

Where would a rich, spoiled, manipulative little sod keep things he didn’t want anyone to find?

Sim sank down on the edge of the bed. ‘What makes you think he’s hiding something? ’

‘Teenagers always are.’ Logan nodded towards the window. ‘Take a look.’

She picked herself up and wandered over, standing on her tiptoes to peer out at the garden. ‘What? ’

He joined her, pointing at the black plastic guttering a couple of feet down. Little white twists of paper lay amongst the shrivelled leaves, small cylinders of grey cigarette filters poking out. ‘See that? ’

A crease appeared between her narrowed eyes. ‘So he smokes roll-ups. That’s not—’

‘Every single one of his friends said he was stoned off his face the whole time. And if he’s up here smoking weed, then he’s got a stash.’

‘Are you sure, Guv? ’ She did a bit more peering. ‘Why would he put filters in his joints? What kind of person does that? I mean, I know he was American, but still. . .’

‘So, where did he hide it? ’

‘Hmm. . .’ Sim stepped back from the window. Then crossed to the shelves, fingers walking along the spines of the DVD cases, head tilted to one side – presumably so she could read the titles. And she thought Americans were weird.

Logan pulled out his phone, ignored the list of waiting text messages and called Control instead. ‘Did DI Leith get an FLO organized for Anthony Chung’s parents? ’