No-Neck had been half buried under a pile of papers and glossy magazines. All I could see was the leg I’d stepped on and enough of his face to make the identification.

“Oh dear,” said Guleed when she saw the body. “Is he dead?”

Carefully, so as not disturb the crime scene, I squatted down and felt for a pulse where on somebody normal-shaped there’d be a neck—there was nothing. While Guleed called Stephanopoulis, I pulled on my gloves and checked to see if there was an obvious cause of death. There was. Two entry wounds on his chest, hard to spot because of the black T-shirt; they’d gone in just after the Z and the second P in ZEPPELIN. The wounds showed what might have been powder burns from a close-range discharge. But since this was my first possible gunshot victim, what did I know?

According to Guleed, the first thing we needed to do was get out of the office and stop contaminating the crime scene. Since she was a fully paid-up member of a Murder Team I did what she said.

“We have to check upstairs,” she said. “In case any suspects are still in the building.”

“Just the two of us?” I asked.

Guleed bit her lip. “Good point,” she said. “Let’s stay where we are. That way we stop anyone trying to leave or get into the crime scene.”

“What if there’s a fire escape at the back?”

“You just had to say that, didn’t you?” She tapped her baton against her thigh and gave me a disgusted look. “Okay,” she said. “You go secure the fire escape and I’ll stay here and guard the scene.”

“On my own?” I asked. “What if there isn’t a fire escape?”

“You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”

Her airwave squelched. It was Stephanopoulis. “Yes, boss,” said Guleed.

“I’m coming up Greek Street,” said Stephanopoulis. “Just the one body then?”

“So far,” I said.

“So far,” said Guleed into the airwave.

“Tell Grant that I’m going to ban him from Westminster,” said Stephanopoulis. “I really don’t need the overtime this badly. Whereabouts in the building are you?”

“We’re on the second-floor landing.”

“Why isn’t one of you covering the fire escape?” asked Stephanopoulis. “If there is a fire escape.”

Me and Guleed engaged in one of those silent, pointing arguments that you have when you’re trying to sort something out without alerting someone on the other end of the phone. I’d just emphatically mouthed I’ll go at Guleed when we heard the front door being pushed open.

“Don’t bother,” said Stephanopoulis. “I’m already here.”

She stamped up the steps, pushed past us, and had a look around from the doorway.

“What his name?” asked Stephanopoulis.