He’d been involved in quite a few murders over the years, and normally there’s a quiet respect for a dead body, the natural human response to the worst crime of all. Not a respect for the victim, perhaps; more a recognition that life is itself fragile, that each of us is separated from the most chilling of deaths by the finest, most tenuous of threads.

‘…I mean, don’t get me wrong, but it all feels more like a robbery around here.’

She nodded with uncharacteristic patience, allowing him to go on.

‘That sadness? Y’know, the way a murder scene grinds you down a bit, the fact that a life has just been taken away, docked out like a cigarette. The starkness of it.’

She let his words linger. And there was a softness to her face now, a kindness.

‘Jason Beverage,’ she said.

‘Yeah, interesting name.’

‘Scum. How much do you want us to care?’

‘It’s a murder, no?’

She pursed her lips. Thought about it for a second.

‘Yeah, and it’s being taken seriously.’ She paused, glanced at the stone wall, the white tent. “I interviewed three women he raped. He used Rohypnol on two of them. There were probably a lot more. Oh, he sold prescription drugs on the side. Hobby of his.’

‘Were there convictions, for the rapes?’

‘We only managed to get one to court. She’d been so shit-faced he didn’t need to drug her. They go back to her place, and she lets him in. So that’s apparent consent, soon as she opens the door. Oh,’ she added, ‘he liked to rob ’em while he was at it. The one that went to trial? He does her, then he robs her, takes everything. Empties her fridge on the way out, an’all. Takes his friggin’ brekkie in a carrier bag.’

‘You couldn’t make it stick?’

Immediately he regretted it. Proving rape in a context like that was a nightmare.

‘Defence had a bloody field day. Brushes up well, our Jason. Good-looking young fella in the dock, and half the women in court thinking they wouldn’t kick him out of bed. The victim gave evidence. Twenty minutes on the stand, she looked like a desperate old slapper.’

‘You got a conviction for robbery, though?’ he said, recalling the case summary he’d read.

‘Yeah. Big whoop. Nine months, suspended, if memory serves. Truth is, I’d’ve stuck another pencil in his face if it would have done any good.’

He let that one settle.

Rita wasn’t having any of it.

‘One of your little pauses, eh? Bollocks, Joe. I’ll be done here soon as the pathologist shows up. We can get a fry-up. I’m starving.’

With that she was off again, marching over to the crime-scene manager, who was milling around close to the tent, clipboard in hand.