AS THE SOCOs TAKE OVER the crime scene, Archer and Quinn return to Charing Cross and gather the team in the incident room. Klara has started building profiles of the three women and distributes A4 printouts with information on each.

‘Thanks, mate,’ says Hicks, snatching a sheet from her hand.

Archer feels her hackles rising, but Klara seems unfazed and carries on as if nothing has happened. Archer watches Hicks as he studies the sheet with his index finger lodged inside his left nostril.

She rolls her eyes.

Klara continues, ‘From her Facebook profile, Elaine Kelly is thirty-two and married to Frank Kelly, who looks almost twice her age. They have a son called Jordan and live on the Aylesbury Estate.’

‘And no one has reported her missing?’ asks Tozer.

‘There’s nothing on our records. Elaine’s best friend is Jackie Morris. The last time they communicated was via text last Thursday. Jackie was supposed to look after Jordan but cancelled because she was ill.’

‘What about the husband?’ asks Quinn.

‘He doesn’t have a social media presence. Jackie Morris says their relationship was on and off and he roughed her up from time to time. We have his details on file. Domestic violence and drunken bust-ups in bars.’

‘Sounds like a charmer,’ says Quinn.

‘We need to talk to him,’ says Archer, recalling the bruise on Elaine’s eye.

‘Their address is on the second sheet.’

‘Chau Ho was twenty-three, a dentistry student at Queen Mary University with a part-time job in the Lumberyard Café on Seven Dials. She was a live-in caretaker with some friends in an abandoned hospital in Shadwell. She was prolific on Instagram and has over a thousand followers.’

‘Hey, Keegan, how many followers have you got on Instagram?’ asks Hicks, veering off topic.

Klara frowns and the room goes quiet.

Archer kills the silence. ‘DI Hicks, what the hell has that got to do with anything?’ she snaps.

‘He . . . she has eighteen hundred followers on Instagram.’

‘And?’

‘Perhaps the killer has a kink for Instagram types. She might give us some insight.’

‘That is the shittest suggestion for insight I have heard in a long time,’ says Quinn.

Hicks looks back at the sheet and shrugs. ‘Just a thought.’

‘Rodders, for the record, mate, her name is Klara. K, L, A, R, A. Klara.’

‘My bad, Klara. Please accept my humblest apologies,’ says Hicks, with a wry grin.

‘Please carry on, Klara,’ says Archer.

Klara clears her throat and continues, ‘As I was saying, she was prolific on social media, especially Instagram.’

Archer studies her picture and is sure she recognises Chau, having frequented the café she worked at. ‘What about Megan Burchill?’ she asks.

‘Megan was thirty-five, single and lived alone in Ealing. She worked as a Higher Education Project Co-ordinator in Covent Garden. We don’t know much else. She liked books, cats and television soaps.’

‘Thank you, Klara.’