Fatigue nagged at her as they cleared a row of trees to see a blue and white oasis in the darkness ahead. LEDs flashed from the roofs of two patrol cars, intermittently lighting the tall-sided white truck parked nearby. As Frank had predicted – the largest at Scene of Crime’s disposal. Its presence didn’t necessarily mean those in charge expected a particularly challenging scene; just that Thunderbird One, as her DI put it, wasn’t currently required elsewhere.

Hawkins drew up alongside the stationary police convoy, noting beyond them in the darkness a row of four squat cottages. She squinted through the strobing emergency lights, picking out bursts of overgrown foliage, smashed windows, missing doors.

The hallmarks of dereliction.

She cranked on the handbrake and stepped out of the car, immediately feeling her heeled leather boots sink in the soft mud. She resisted the urge to swear at rural inconvenience, aware that she’d receive no empathy from her ever-pragmatic DI.

But Frank’s mind was already on work. He raised an arm and shouted towards a slim figure near the SOCO truck, almost silhouetted by the flickering lights. ‘That you, Tommy, me old son?’

‘I’d know that voice on me deathbed,’ came the even more Geordie reply, as the man turned and began moving towards them. ‘Wait there, I’ll come to you.’

Hawkins squelched around the front of the Alfa to join Frank, recognizing the slender arrival as he came closer. Tom Smith’s recent promotion to lead Crime Scene Manager for South East London had made the Met newsletter a few months ago. Smith had transferred down from his native Northumberland to take the post, and although Hawkins was yet to work with the forty-year-old, she remembered Frank’s elation at the news, the two having been colleagues in earlier posts.

‘Toddy boy.’ Smith gave Frank’s outstretched hand an enthusiastic yank. ‘It’s been too long. How’re things?’

‘You know.’ The DI shrugged. ‘It pays the bar tab.’ He turned. ‘This is the Guvnor, DCI Antonia—’

‘Hawkins, right?’ Smith interjected, smiling at her through a well-trimmed goatee beard. ‘Frank’s mentioned you a good few times.’ He nudged his mate. ‘If he wasn’t such a committed bachelor, I’d be telling you to watch out.’

‘Congratulations on your appointment.’ Hawkins shook hands. She couldn’t be bothered with the idle flirting. ‘How long have you been on site?’

Smith studied her coolly, flashing blue LEDs lighting the side of his face, perhaps trying to decide if she was playing hard to get.

‘Not long. Body’s still inside, and Pritchard’s team are doing their bit. Give ’em ten minutes and you’ll be able to go in.’