There was a white tent nestling under the trees. It straddled a low wall, the fabric hitched up awkwardly over the stones like a badly fitting shirt. People walked around in white overalls and boots, and each time one of them stepped into the glare of the overhead floodlight they became dazzlingly bright against the darkness of the trees behind, as though they were on stage.

For a while he stood and watched the morning sun creep in through the foliage, changing the balance of everything by slow degrees. And with each passing minute the place looked slightly less atrocious, less cold and evil.

‘Joe, great, you’re back!’

He’d been in touch with Rita a few times over the course of the night, as he’d worked the phones and database in Leeds, relaying info to and fro, collating material from Kirklees District. Two inquiry hubs were being kept open until there was a decision from higher up about a joint operation.

‘You eaten anything?’ she asked. ‘There’s a loaf of bread and some biscuits in the Landy. I got our curry delivered, but it all went ages ago.’

He shook his head. It occurred to him that other than a few starters in the curry place he’d eaten nothing since… since when?

‘You had any sleep?’ she asked.

‘Grabbed an hour at my desk. You?’

‘Sleep’s for wusses.’

Fair enough.

‘Where you at?’

‘Pathologist’s coming in an hour,’ she said, wiggling her hips as she yanked up her jeans. ‘Then Forensics’ll sweep the area, once there’s enough light. After that I reckon Jason’ll be getting a taxi to the morgue.’

‘You’re on first-name terms?’

‘You might say that!’

So far, the victim had been little more than a name: cross-referencing him with Shaw, getting support staff in Leeds to crank up data searches on the two men, likely associates, points of intersection, a mass of info that might or might not be useful… Rita was definitely moving things along quickly.

‘I…’ he began, but wished he hadn’t.

He’d spoken to a few other officers from Kirklees during the night as well. And he was detecting the same tone in Rita now.

‘Come on, spit it out!’ she said.

He sighed, stuck his hands in his pockets.

‘I dunno, but I’m getting weird vibes from you lot.’ He looked around to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. ‘The kid was nineteen. Not much more than a boy. He…’

But he didn’t know what to say. The case was being handled with prompt efficiency. Yet the caved-in head, the pencil right through the brain? None of it felt particularly important.