“The dustbin men found him when they came to empty the bins,” Annie said. “In with the rubbish. The body’s stuck, so the bin wouldn’t empty, and one of the men went to see what was wrong. He’s still in shock.”

Banks bent forward and peered. The boy was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. There were no immediate signs of violence or ill-treatment, but he couldn’t actually see very much because of the contorted position the body was in. “Christ,” he said. “He can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. Just a skinny kid. Any idea who he is?”

Annie shook her head. “We’ll get the house-to-house going as soon as we can get a few more officers here.”

“Which house does the bin belong to?”

“Number six Malden Terrace. Elderly lady, lives on her own. A Mrs. Grunwell. She’s pretty upset.”

“Hardly surprising,” said Banks. “Could she tell you anything?”

“Only that she put her bag of rubbish out last night at ten o’clock, as usual, in the bin outside her back gate for the men to pick up this morning, and there was no body there then. As you can see, it was put on top of the rubbish. The dustbin men were running a bit late because of the weather, or it might have been found much earlier.”

“They’ll be running even later now. Where are they?”

“In the CSI van. Someone managed to conjure up a pot of tea.”

“What about CCTV? Surely there’s some around here?”

Annie shook her head. “I asked the local PC about that—he was first on the scene—and he told me they’ve been rendered inoperable.”

Banks smiled. “ ‘Rendered inoperable.’ That’s fine textbook police talk. He meant they’ve been vandalized?”

“Impression I got.”

“We’d better arrange for a mobile incident unit.” Banks lifted the flap of the tent and glanced around at the estate as the lightning flashed again. “Sometimes I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have one permanently stationed here.”

“Now, now,” said Annie. “And you a loyal Guardian reader. Champion of the underprivileged.”

“You don’t have to study the crime statistics as closely as I do.”

“Ah, the responsibilities of high office. You could always go back to your nice warm office and scan a few columns of figures while the rest of us do the grunt work in the rain.”

“There’s a novel idea,” said Banks, withdrawing back into the tent. “Remind me to learn how to delegate.”

Shadows moved beyond the canvas walls. Another car door slammed and a middle-aged man in a mac dashed in. Dr. Burns nodded his greeting to Banks and Annie and complained about the miserable weather. Banks gestured to the CSIs and turned away as they tipped the bin on its side and began to ease the body out. Finally, the dead boy lay on a plastic sheet on the ground, stiffened into the fetal position by rigor mortis. One of the CSIs pointed to the bin. “Can we take this for forensic examination?”