Manly’s lips tighten. ‘DI Archer, we need to get these off the streets. There are children present and the Lord Mayor will have my head on a stick!’

The roadies struggle to hold the cabinet, and as the trolley begins to wobble the frame starts to bend. Liquid seeps through the edges and a warm sweet chemical smell fills the air. Archer moves forward to help, but it’s too late. The trolley collapses and the cabinet slips, crashing to the ground as glass shatters and liquid spills across the paving stones, washing over the feet of all nearby.

The smell is foul. The smell of a mortuary and death.

Formaldehyde.

A hushed silence falls over the walkway.

Archer puts her hand to her mouth in an effort to block the stench.

She hears a shriek and then notices Manly swoon and fall to the wet ground.

Sharon continues to sob somewhere behind her. Archer isn’t sure if she feels revulsion or pity at the sight of Billy Perrin’s naked, twisted corpse. His dead, half-lidded eyes stare back at her with a helpless expression and she looks away.

Then there’s the crunching of glass underfoot and the clicking of camera phones.

‘Shit!’ says Archer.

‘Stop filming!’ shouts Quinn.

One of the roadies doubles over and throws up.

More people approach and gather in a circle.

‘Stay back. This is a crime scene.’

Archer calls to the roadie who has managed to keep his breakfast down. His face is grey. ‘You. Find me something to cover this man’s body.’

He nods and disappears.

Archer is relieved to hear the sound of police sirens. The roadie returns with a large dirty dustsheet. Archer and Quinn help drape it over Billy’s body. The scene is beyond contaminated now, but at least Billy will have his dignity.

A gap opens in the crowd as two uniformed officers barge through. One is a young Indian woman. Her partner is a younger dark-haired man, clearly not long out of Hendon, whose face begins to pale at the smell.

‘What’s going on, Harry?’ asks the female officer.

‘Neha, could you and Junior there move these people on and then cordon off this area.’

‘Sure thing.’

‘What’s your name?’ Archer asks the young officer.

‘Nesbitt, ma’am.’

‘PC Nesbitt, take a few deep breaths and just keep the crowd back. Understood?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Something flashes at the corner of Archer’s eye. Frowning she turns to see a man photographing the cabinets from all angles.

‘Sir, please stop what you are doing.’

The man has a mop of untidy grey hair and looks like he has slept in his clothes. He has either not heard her or is ignoring her.

‘Get away from those cabinets. You are trespassing on a crime scene.’

‘It’s a bit late for that. Half of London has been through here already.’

‘I won’t ask you a second time,’ says Archer.