A “nominal” is a person who has come to the attention of the investigation and been entered into the HOLMES major inquiry system. Witness statements, forensic evidence, a detective’s notes on an interview, even CCTV footage are all grist for the inquiry’s computerized mill. The original system was developed as a direct result of the Byford inquiry into the Yorkshire Ripper case. The Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, was interviewed several times before he was caught, by accident, at a routine traffic stop. The police can live with looking corrupt, bullying, or tyrannical, but looking stupid is intolerable. It has a tendency to undermine public faith in the forces of Law and is deleterious to public order. Lacking any convenient scapegoats, the police were forced to professionalize a culture that had, up until then, prided itself on being composed of untalented amateurs. HOLMES was part of that process.

In order for the data to be useful it had to be input in the right format and checked to make sure any relevant details had been highlighted and indexed. Needless to say, I hadn’t done any of this on the St. John Giles case yet. I was tempted to explain that I worked for a two-man department, one of whom had only just gotten the hang of cable TV, but of course Stephanopoulis already knew this.

“Yes, boss,” I said. “What’s this victim’s name?”

“This is Jason Dunlop. Club member, freelance journalist. He was booked into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Last seen heading that way just after twelve and found here just after three by one of the late-night cleaning staff.”

“What was the time of death?” I asked.

“Between quarter to one and half two, give or take your usual margin of error.”

Until the pathologist opened him up, the margin of error could be anything up to an hour each way.

“Is there anything special about him?” she asked.

I didn’t need to ask what she meant. I sighed. I wasn’t really that keen to get close again but I squatted down and used it as an opportunity to have a good look. His face was slack but his mouth was held closed because of the way his chin rested on his chest. There wasn’t any expression that I recognized and I wondered how long he’d sat there clutching his groin before he’d died. At first I thought there was no vestigium but then, very faintly in the hundred-milliyap range, I caught the impression of port wine, treacle, the taste of suet, and the smell of candles.

“Well?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “If he was attacked by magic it wasn’t directly.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” said Stephanopoulis. “Couldn’t we call it ‘other means.’ ”

“If you like, boss,” I said. “It’s possible this attack had nothing to do with ‘other means.’ ”