Robin retches slightly and Steph laughs at his distress. She carries it back to the mortuary. When she returns she bends down to the small fridge next to a filing cabinet and gets out the milk, adding it to the stewing tea, and Robin is very grateful for the separation of the two refrigerated units. Steph passes him the mug, then sits down at her desk.

‘Any unexplained marks on his body?’ Robin asks, desperate to change the subject.

‘No defensive or offensive injuries to the hands or arms.’ She thinks for a moment, taking a sip of her tea. ‘I’m sorry, Rob. I don’t know what to tell you. You didn’t find any disturbance in the room?’

‘Nothing.’

They sit in silence for a moment. Robin’s seen her at work before, surrounded by corpses and the smell of disinfectant, and it’s where he’s always found her oddly more attractive. Something to do with her confidence: her assurance and knowledge where she’s clearly the expert.

‘You want to go out?’ he says, and is surprised by himself.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘With you?’

‘Yes, with me.’

‘Out out? Not just for drinks and a casual shag?’

He knows she’s baiting him. ‘Out out. For dinner.’

‘Okay.’ She smiles. ‘When? Text me and book a restaurant.’

He finishes his tea, and they walk together to the exit to the mortuary.

‘What would compel a guy to do something like that?’ he asks, almost to himself.

‘The theory is the constriction of the neck heightens the sensation, making for a better orgasm.’ She watches him as she says it, clearly observing his response. ‘Or perhaps it’s the thrill – more arousing because of the danger and the risk.’

‘Hmm,’ is all he can think to say as he pauses in the doorway.

‘You want to try it when we go out?’ she says, mocking him.

‘Fuck off.’

‘I might be able to pick up a traffic cone?’

‘Seriously, fuck off.’

She laughs and he appreciates knowing someone who can tolerate this level of humour. ‘So, nothing else weird from the PM?’ he asks, mentally closing the case.

‘Nope. Although…’ Steph stops for a moment, thinking. ‘Come and look.’

They go back into the main room, putting fresh gloves on and standing next to the body. ‘Help me roll him.’

Robin goes over to the other side of the cadaver and leans over, putting his hand on the dead man’s skin. It feels cold and slightly squishy, not unlike uncooked chicken. He pulls and they tilt him onto his side.

‘See here, and here.’ She points to the white patches on his bum. ‘Post-mortem hypostasis, where blood pools after death. The pale areas are where the greatest pressure was applied.’

‘So why here?’ Robin asks, indicating the one on his upper back.