‘We should look up what time it snowed last night,’ Jonah said, thoughtfully. ‘There’s no snowfall on top of them.’ And then he looked towards the edge of the kerb. ‘You think he arrived by car?’

‘It looks fairly likely,’ McCullough said. ‘I would say a taxi, except I think they’d have noticed if he was bleeding to death in the back.’

‘So someone else dropped him,’ Jonah said. ‘That person might have carried the knife in some kind of cloth before leaving it next to him?’

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t pulled out of him in the garden,’ Shaw said. He frowned down at the footprints. ‘Interestingly, it doesn’t look like he was running or staggering.’

‘The prints are quite flat-footed and steady,’ McCullough agreed. ‘So if he was escaping an attacker’s vehicle, it doesn’t look like he fled in terror.’

‘So he might not have known how badly injured he was?’ Jonah asked.

‘He might not,’ Shaw said. ‘Though people can exhibit a strange sort of calm when suffering severe blood loss.’

Which was, Jonah decided, too depressing a line of thinking to pursue right now. ‘Let me know when I can ID the body,’ he said, and turned to take a little reconnaissance of Saints Close.

Hanson had boiled the kettle, rooted out a mug and teabag from the cupboards and poured the water before she looked in the fridge and found no milk. But, of course, Louise wouldn’t have brought it in. She wouldn’t have remembered the milk when she’d seen a body on her doorstep.

Hanson headed outside, treading carefully over the cables that led into the garden, and saw that the milk crate beside the step was empty.

She leaned into the sitting room to say, ‘Sorry. I can’t seem to find the milk. Did you put it somewhere …?’

‘Oh.’ There was a moment of pure blankness on Louise’s face, and then she said, ‘No, I was being stupid. There is no milk on Saturdays.’ She gave a laugh. ‘What an idiot.’

‘Well, good work on being an idiot,’ Hanson said, smiling. ‘You wouldn’t have found him so soon otherwise.’

Louise nodded at her, and then said, ‘I can have it black. That’s fine.’ Just as Hanson was turning away again, she asked, ‘How long will it be until you know who he is?’

‘I’m sure it won’t be long.’ Hanson tried to make it reassuring, instead of ominous.

‘Will you tell me, when you find out?’ Louise asked, her stare very fixed. ‘I really need to know.’