‘Robert Johnson, the site foreman. The architects are due from Sweden. We’ve got millions of pounds worth of equipment arriving today and—’

‘And a man is dead. The site will be closed for at least twenty-four hours. After that, areas may be released in stages or the whole thing.’

He tutted. Took out a packet of tobacco and papers from his trouser pocket and began rolling.

‘My officers will need to see your CCTV. Could you organise that, please?’

He looked up. Lit his roll-up and nodded.

‘Who found the body?’

‘Young lad. Chris Thomas. Was doing an early morning site check. He’s in the Portakabin over there with one of your officers. Badly shaken.’ He pointed. ‘By all accounts it’s not pretty, I’ll warn you now.’ He gestured to his mouth.

‘We’ll take it from here.’

‘Chris says it’s one of our guys. Patrick Ryan. He recognised the work boots and his tattoo.’

‘Why did he think it’s related to the fire?’

‘You’ll see.’

Dougie joined us, two white forensic suits and protective wear in his arms. ‘Dr Clark has just arrived.’ He passed us protective clothing.

We pulled the suits over our clothes, and the shoe covers on, and followed Dougie through the outer cordon, round various items of machinery, diggers and concrete churners, and onto the crime scene via the common approach path.

‘The team are still taking photographs.’ Dougie was filling us in as we walked. ‘We’ve got the elements to contend with, but the crime scene has a few characteristics I think you’ll be interested in.’

His intonation reminded me of the foreman’s gesture. ‘Like what?’

‘The—’

‘Morning, Maya.’ It was Dr Clark, our regular pathologist.

‘Morning, Doc. What’ve we got?’ I smiled an apology at Dougie.

‘Most unusual, actually.’ Dr Clark was standing over the body, his cheeks flushed pink with excitement. A man’s body lay on its back on the ground. His arms were spread-eagled. In the middle of his chest, there was a cluster of bullet holes. The clothes had diluted blood on them. A black bandana had been tied over his nose and mouth, with the LfA logo clearly visible.

‘Shit.’ I leaned over him and the fumes hit me. ‘So, he’s been shot, had a scarf tied over him and been doused with petrol?’ I turned to Dougie. ‘Is that why uniform said it was linked to the fire?’

‘Er—’

‘Must be a good canister of petrol there.’ Dan interrupted. ‘Pain in the arse as it’ll have washed off some of the blood pattern and GSR.’

‘There’s more,’ said Dr Clark. Using gloved fingers, he carefully lifted the mask. The victim’s mouth was open, and where his tongue should have been, there was a gaping black hole.

It was a sickening sight.

‘The tongue’s got to be a statement.’ I looked at Dan, who was the other side of the body.