‘I wouldn’t. Not at a scene like this. If you don’t need to move something, don’t. Have we made the call to CSI?’

‘I called. He had a forty-minute journey time.’ The sergeant checked her watch. ‘Which will be around twenty minutes by now.’

‘OK, good.’ Joel fixed back on the body. He was looking from a different angle now, side-on, the man’s head forward. The back of the neck and head had taken on a freakish shape where it would have been distorted by the force of the shot. There was a clear splatter pattern behind too, the spray taking in the ceiling and blinds. The victim was wearing a shirt and what looked like chino trousers. His left hand was balanced in his lap, his right hung by his side. Now Joel saw the black object on his lap.

‘Did anyone move that weapon?’ Joel said.

‘No. I do know better than that!’ The same PC was now indignant.

Joel stepped a little closer, but not too close, stopping before he could disturb the blood that had pooled on the floor like a shadow, and leaned forward. The weapon was a pistol: a Browning 9mm, black with a raised grip held on by visible screws. The handle was towards him, the barrel part buried in the victim’s shirt to point at his midriff.

‘This is how you found him?’ Joel directed his question towards the man in a white shirt with Security written in black over his breast pocket.

‘Of course it is. I ain’t touching that!’ He wore a shocked expression, like he was still seeing the seated corpse for the first time. His wide eyes seemed wider behind thick-lensed glasses. He had the rasping voice and stained fingers of a heavy smoker.

‘Any CCTV on this site?’

‘No.’ The accompanying headshake moved the man’s glasses down his nose and his finger left a smear when he pushed them back. ‘There are cameras that the company used to monitor down in the foyer. I guess they turned them off the day they left.’

‘You guess?’

‘I know they’re off. I just meant that was probably what happened. No need to be monitoring an empty site.’

‘But there is need for a security guard?’ Joel said and the man’s eyes flared even wider at the challenge.

‘Once a week, that’s all. Part of my Sunday round. Just to check the place ain’t been screwed. There’s still cables an’ that, lots of copper if you know where to look. Or for squatters, in empty places in the town you do get ’em.’

‘Do you check it’s locked?’

‘Yeah, every week.’

‘And last Sunday?’

‘It was. I have to do a tick-sheet. I wrote it down and everything.’

‘And today?’

‘Like it is. I could tell it was busted open straightaway.’ His rasp now held an excited edge.

‘I only saw one door?’ Joel said.