He passed across one of the 8 by 10 inch enlargements of the victim’s torso. ‘Think about any net, around its catch, so to speak. If the force is applied at one end, it wants to equalise the stress by enclosing a sphere. On a body, which has odd shapes, there will always be parts of it slack and parts taut. Some parts of the net would be stretched. Yet this is different. It has a certain rigidity. There’s some distortion, but not much.’

‘Maybe it is chain-link fencing, that’s more rigid.’

Gillard nodded. ‘Okay, that might fit the bill. The problem with the fence idea is that neither the gauge nor the pattern of the impressions here matches the most common chain-links. It’s typically 50 mm gauge, but the marks on his flesh are smaller and a different shape.’ He pointed to one picture of the victim’s upper arm, which showed a very deep cyanosed indentation, a tracery of purple. ‘Chain-link is a diamond pattern, but not this elongated.’

She looked closely at the photograph. ‘Aye, sir, you’re very observant.’ She continued to dab at her lip with the tissue. ‘So maybe it has the tensile characteristic of chain-link, but not the pattern.’

Gillard looked at her appreciatively. ‘We’re getting somewhere.’

‘Are we? I’m just confused.’

‘Think about it. This mesh doesn’t distort much, so it might be wire or plastic-coated wire.’

‘Or rigid plastic.’

The detective nodded, and slid her another picture, of the back and buttocks of the victim.

‘Although the deepest indentations are on his front and back, there’s clearly enough to go right around him. Under his arms, inside of the thighs there are some fainter indications. But nowhere do we see any overlap, with two or more sets of impressions superimposed.’

‘That’s a canny observation.’

‘If he’d stumbled into this mesh, somehow, or been casually chucked in a roll of this stuff by an assailant, however it’s done, it would be messy, wouldn’t it?’

‘Aye, sir. So you’re saying it was like a wire body-stocking or something.’

He nodded. ‘Made to measure.’

‘Fuck, that’s scary, sir.’

Gillard nodded, his speculation reaching a terrifying conclusion. ‘Gangland punishment, something like that. Ever heard of the iron maiden?’

Chapter Ten

Leticia Mountjoy came to the station at five p.m., just an hour after Anton had left by taxi. He had rung her to tell her what he had said and that she should expect a fairly hostile reception.

‘Anton, I’m a probation officer,’ she’d said. ‘I cannot perjure myself. You have to understand that. I’ve got a really big case coming up that could be great for me.’

‘Tish, please. Don’t drop Leroy in it. We’re in the clear anyway, it just risks complications.’