An off-white kettle sat on top of a filing cabinet. Logan stuck it on to boil. ‘So the burning didn’t kill him? ’

‘The ribcage was full of blood, so the knife wound was definitely ante-mortem. Mind you, given the state of his liver, he would probably have been dead within eighteen months. Your victim was a very heavy drinker: his stomach had nothing but alcohol in it. Something else – the hyoid bone was cracked.’

‘Stabbed, burned, and strangled? ’

‘No. Strangulation is a binary state, you’re either strangled, or you’re alive. Your victim aspirated smoke into his lungs, so he was still breathing when the tyre was set alight.’ She levered off her other shoe. ‘So it’s more like: burned, strangled, then stabbed.’

‘Hmmm. . .’

The kettle rumbled and rattled, then clicked and went quiet again. Logan popped a camomile teabag in a bone-china mug. It was decorated with a kid’s drawing – a skeleton lying on a table, while a stick-figure woman in a green dress stood over it with a big bloody knife. The words ‘MUMMY AT WORK’ picked out in wobbly lowercase. He poured boiled water into the mug, filling the room with the smell of dead flowers, then handed it over. ‘It’d have to be strangled, burned, then stabbed. No one’s going to be daft enough to strangle someone who’s on fire, are they? ’

‘Unless the hyoid bone was damaged by heat, rather than compression. It’s an incredibly delicate structure, we’re lucky it survived at all.’ Isobel blew steam from the surface of her tea before taking a sip. ‘I hear you’re having problems identifying the body? ’

‘Still waiting on DNA. Bloody SPSA reorganization means everything takes three times as long.’ He spooned some instant coffee granules into a second mug.

‘A forensic anthropologist could work up a facial reconstruction from the remains. That would help, wouldn’t it? ’

Logan pulled a face. ‘Steel’s already got a wasp in her pants about the CID budget. We’re not to authorize anything without her say-so. And I’m guessing forensic anthropologists don’t come cheap.’

‘About the same as a decent childminder.’ A scowl. ‘Or a thieving au pair.’

‘What do I look like, made of money? ’ DCI Steel’s voice echoed around the office. ‘DNA’s still our best bet – you don’t get bumped off like that in a mob hit and not be dirty.’

‘But a forensic anthropologist—’

‘No. N.O. spells: “shut up and stop bugging me about forensic anthropologists.”’ She slumped back in her office chair. ‘Take the sodding hint.’

‘But Isobel—’

‘I don’t care if the Ice Queen wants raspberry ripple ice cream with brown sauce and gherkins, we’re waiting for the DNA.’ Steel scrubbed at her face with her hands. ‘He’ll be in the system.’

Ah well, can’t say he hadn’t tried.

‘What about Reuben? ’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What about him? ’