Momentarily alone, Jo stared up at the West Block and thought of Ruby. Which of those tiny windows was hers? Ruby was top floor, like the victim, but the ones in the social housing block didn’t get the label “penthouse.” The seventh floor of the West Block was divided into four apartments, each one a quarter of the size of the victim’s. She knew this because the last time she’d been here, she’d nearly knocked. She’d gotten as far as the intercom, looked at the row of buttons, but bottled it at the last second, sent a text message instead. That was a month ago, and there’d been no contact since. That message didn’t even really count as contact, since Ruby had never replied. It had been early October when they’d last spoken, shortly after Ruby’s birthday when she’d phoned Jo from a payphone, claiming to have run out of credit on her mobile. Jo had known it was a lie: their mother still paid the bill for Ruby’s phone. Jo had wanted to meet up then, but Ruby avoided making the arrangement, so that Ruby’s birthday present, a silver ring set with her namesake stone, inscribed with a line of Latin, was still in Joanna’s pocket.

Jo pulled out her phone, scrolled down to Ruby’s icon, and pressed to connect. Just like last time, and every time she’d tried for the past six weeks, there was nothing but the recorded message: The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later. A frustrated sob bubbled up, hard in the base of her throat. She stifled it.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her glance up. Beyond the patrol cars, youths had started to gather, hoods pulled up against the cold, scarves tucked in around faces, eyes glittering. There were around fifteen of them, she reckoned, dotted here and there in groups of two and three.

“I see the rubberneckers have turned up already,” said Atkinson, appearing behind her.

She pocketed the phone she was still holding. “They’re just interested,” said Joanna. “Understandable. There hasn’t been a big thing on the New Park for a while, has there?”

“Not since that cannabis farm we found at the top of the East Block. Oh, and there was that pop-up brothel.”

“All that was before the refurbishment, though. It’s a nice area now, Steve.” She arched an eyebrow.

“Well, sure. Shame no one told that lot.’ He gestured toward the youngsters, who had mostly retreated to the darker places between the buildings, red pinpricks glowing where they sucked on their cigarettes. “What’s the status of this job, boss? Suspicious circumstances?”

“I’m waiting for that to be made official. New system. We don’t get CSIs, or anything, not until it’s been signed off by an inspector.”