An older man blocked the path. He was an average height, hair the color of dirty grouting. Despite the weather, he was wearing a coat and a pair of faded shorts. Even from a couple of feet away, Wildeve could smell his unwashed clothing. He was holding a shopping bag with vertical blue and white stripes. Through the stretched plastic, she could see a loaf of bread and a tin of soup.

“Mr. Lovell?”

“Aye,” he said. Not Scottish, but there was a memory of an accent in there somewhere.

“I’m DS Stanton. This is DC French. We’re—”

“—here about that copper’s body. Aye, I know.” He let his eyes leave her and settle on French. “Rough night, was it, pal?”

French’s eyes narrowed. “No, sir. I stumbled across a rather nasty smell.”

Lovell gave him a level stare. “Did you now?”

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” said French.

“Reckon not,” said Lovell. “No law against that, is there?”

“No, of course not,” said Wildeve. Mr. Lovell smiled at her with such tenderness that the grief she had swallowed down threatened to engulf her again. She cleared her throat, buying time to compose herself. Kindness, it always undid her.

“You’ll want to know if I spoke to him,” he said, still looking at her. “Word’s already flown around the street.”

“Did you?” said Wildeve, urgency sharpening her tone.

“’Fraid not,” said Lovell. But he couldn’t quite meet her gaze.

“Yeah, right, course you bloody didn’t,” muttered French. Wildeve glared at him, skewering his sarcasm with a stab of her eyes.

“Look,” she said. “If there’s something you’d like to share with us, Mr. Lovell, we can be very discreet.”

He studied her, considering his next move. He opened his mouth to say something, but French made an elaborate gesture of looking at his watch and Lovell’s face closed up. “I was working when they found him,” he said. “But I’d like to catch the bastard, before another one turns up.” His voice hardened. “Can’t let them get away with it.”

“We don’t intend to,” said French. “No way.” He pasted on his most synthetic smile. “Actually, I feel a sudden urge to use the conveniences. Not going to refuse an officer of the law the chance to exercise a basic human right, are you?”

“Toilet’s broken,” said Lovell, his gaze pinning French in place. “It’s full of shit.” The police officer blushed but he didn’t reply. The two men stared at each other for a too-long moment until French looked away.

Lovell coughed and loose phlegm rattled in his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been working for most of the night and I’m going to make myself some breakfast.”

“Mr. Lovell—” Wildeve could feel his attention slipping and she made a grab for it.

“Aye?”

“How long have you had that shop?”