Greg turns back, sees the look on Robin’s face. ‘I’ll find it now,’ he grumbles. ‘Where is West, anyway?’

‘On another case. Temporarily.’

‘Pity. Still single?’ Greg asks without turning from the screen.

Robin looks at Greg’s unstylish haircut, his thick specs, the stained Star Wars T-shirt. Then he thinks about Freya. ‘You don’t have a chance, mate,’ he replies, although he realises he doesn’t actually know Freya’s relationship status. He’s never asked.

A glance from Greg. ‘Well, nor do you. You smelt yourself this morning?’ Robin does a surreptitious downward sniff. ‘Just saying a shower wouldn’t have gone amiss.’

He’s not wrong, but before Robin has a chance to defend himself Greg’s got the report on the screen.

‘So. Samples taken from the driver’s side show the presence of three separate DNA profiles. One belonging to Jonathan Miller, two unknown.’

‘Two?’

‘Yeah. Fingerprints the same – a load of Miller’s, then a whole heap of partials we can’t identify.’

‘Anything else in the rest of the car?’

‘Not anything helpful. Mud, dirt, crap in the boot. But no biologicals.’

So, no hair, no skin. No bits from a dead body, Robin thinks. ‘And the belt?’ he asks.

‘Yep, yep, wait a sec.’ More clicking from Greg. ‘Not much on the top surface, shiny and smooth so less likely DNA would be transferred and retained.’ Greg looks up. ‘No fingerprints, either.’ He focuses back on the screen. ‘Under surface rougher and more porous, better transfer, and yep.’ Robin looks up, interested. ‘DNA from your victim.’

‘No one else?’ Robin says, disappointed.

‘Nope. Oh, and here’s the results from your porn,’ Greg continues, his eyes not moving from the monitor.

‘It’s not my porn,’ Robin mutters, but Greg’s not listening.

‘One DNA profile. And fingerprints, some of which match to Miller’s.’

‘Some?’ Robin’s interest is caught again.

‘Yeah.’ A pause while Greg reads from the screen. ‘The DNA wasn’t your victim’s, but one handprint was. Oh, now this is odd,’ Greg says, showing Robin the photo. ‘A full handprint, across one page. And only that.’

Robin squints at the picture. Across the naked woman, Robin can see the telltale black mess of the fingerprinting dust, then a separate shot of the handprint once the dust had been removed. Four fingers, a thumb and a palm, laid out like someone had pressed their hand to the centre of the page.

‘Have you compared the DNA on the porn to the trace in the car?’

‘No, you want us to—’

‘Yes. Please,’ Robin adds as an afterthought. ‘And the fingerprints, too. Call me as soon as you know.’

‘Will do. What are you thinking?’ Greg asks, curious.

‘It’s too precise.’ Robin holds his hand out, fingers splayed, copying the handprint on the porn. ‘Too perfect.’

‘You think someone staged the crime scene?’ Greg replies. ‘What were they hiding?’