Hawkins followed, pleased to note the assurance of her younger colleague. Not so long ago there would have been hesitation, an implied transfer of control; perhaps a hangover from some early career complications with idiot colleagues who had made an issue of the sergeant’s South-East Asian origins and small stature. Yet Amala had come on in leaps and bounds in recent months. Organized, intuitive and committed as ever, the only thing holding the DS back had been a lack of self-confidence. But Hawkins’ regular efforts to prod the sergeant out of her comfort zone had finally started paying off. These days, Amala’s delicate physique simply ensured more of a shock for anyone stupid enough to challenge her.

The downside was that others had noticed the change, too, so it probably wouldn’t be long before Hawkins’ protégée was tempted from the nest.

They walked across a courtyard, before entering a second one, smaller than the first. More two-storey flats ran left to right across the cracked and pitted pavement, dirty walls and boarded windows lining the grimy corridor that led back towards the main road. Through the clumsy network of ageing concrete stairs and walkways at the far end, Hawkins noted the SOCO van.

But there was no mistaking their destination. Directly ahead, one of the ground-floor flats was already swamped in blue-and-white crime scene tape, as overalled SOCOs ducked in and out, ferrying various pieces of evidence past the tiny forest of rampant weeds that estate agents might have called a garden, to stow them in the truck for later analysis.

She also saw a group of eight kids hovering outside one of the adjacent properties. The oldest few looked twelve or thirteen and were slouching on their bike seats, flicking cigarettes.

Hawkins touched Amala’s arm as they walked. ‘Can we lose the audience?’

‘Sorry, ma’am, should have said. They found the bodies, called it in.’

‘Fair enough. Have we got names and addresses in case they get bored?’

‘Already done, but they all live on the estate.’

‘Good. We’ll talk to them afterwards. What about CCTV?’

Amala gave her a rueful look. ‘No, the estate isn’t wired. They’re doing the main road after Christmas.’

Hawkins swore under her breath. ‘Find out where the nearest cameras are, just in case. We may need them later on.’ She pointed at the warped piece of chipboard propped under a smashed window. ‘Do we know who broke in?’

‘The kids said the board’s been off for a couple of weeks.’ The sergeant dropped her voice as they passed the group. ‘They thought it was squatters – apparently there’s a lot of that around here. Parents told them to stay clear, but the smell was getting hard to ignore.’