He sits down at the desk and makes a call to the woman in charge of the SOCOs at the Miller house.

She answers immediately. ‘It’s too early,’ she says, without waiting for Robin to ask, her voice slightly muffled. Robin’s worked with Jess for years – an experienced crime scene manager – and now imagines her standing in the house, dressed in the full white suit, her mask over her face, hood over her ears.

‘But any suggestion of anything?’ Robin pleads.

Jess sighs. ‘This place is spotless. There’s nothing back from the initial run-through with luminol—’ so no obvious traces of blood, he thinks ‘—and the whole house stinks of bleach. My guess is she’s been over it, top to bottom, and if there was anything it’s gone.’

‘Any sign of the life insurance paperwork?’

‘Not yet, no.’

‘And you’ll look for prescription drugs?’

‘Yes, Robin.’ Her tone is slightly patronising now; he knows she’s barely humouring him.

‘And what about the freezer in the garage?’

‘We’ve impounded it, but nothing stands out, no. There’s not even any rubbish in the wheelie bins.’

‘Shit!’ Robin leans back in his chair. ‘The rubbish! We took that last time we were there.’

‘You did?’ Jess says. ‘Well, have a look through that. It’ll give you something to do instead of bothering me. I’ll call you if we find anything.’

Robin hangs up the phone, and gratefully takes the coffee from Freya as she comes back.

‘Nothing?’ she asks.

‘No.’ He stands up. ‘But come with me. We have work to do.’

64

Freya stands in the doorway of the evidence storeroom.

‘You’re having a laugh,’ she says.

In front of them are six large balls of rubbish, bundled up again into huge see-through evidence bags. Even through the plastic, Freya can detect the smell, and it’s making her feel faintly nauseous.

Robin’s frowning. She knows he likes it as much as she does.

‘Do we even know what we’re looking for?’ she asks.

He sighs, blowing his cheeks out, then takes a long swig from the coffee. ‘Not a clue,’ he says. ‘Anything that looks suspicious.’

He glances at her and notices the slightly green look on her face. ‘You do the recycling. That lot will be clean, at least.’

‘And what? You’re going to wade through a week’s worth of rubbish?’

‘I guess so, yes,’ he says.

They fetch massive sheets of brown paper and white protective suits, commandeer two rooms and get to work. They set up video recorders and cameras. They fetch two of the admin staff to stand, watch and take notes.

‘Video everything,’ Robin says. ‘Every item documented, photographed, then exhibited in its own bag. I don’t want them accusing us of any shit.’