There was no doubt McLaughlin had been keen to inveigle his way into the investigation. Why else contact Magnus and offer himself to be interviewed by the police? Also according to McNab, McLaughlin had been touting himself around the various tabloids with stories of what had gone on in this street forty-five years ago, one of which had given him a front-page special, showing a recent photo of him taken here with STREET OF EVIL as the headline.

Which wouldn’t endear him to either the past or current residents.

There was none of the usual group of onlookers that a crime scene tended to attract, although Rhona got the strong impression she was being watched from neighbouring houses as she kitted up. Ducking under the crime scene tape, she was met by the CSM.

‘Duty pathologist’s been, Dr MacLeod. Your assistant’s in there now,’ he told her. ‘The body’s in the living room on the left. It’s a bit of a mess in there,’ he warned her.

The outer door led into a small porch, which in turn led into a rectangular hall. The glass door between looked as though it had been kicked in, with broken glass scattered over the linoleum flooring. To the right, three steps met a landing, before turning to continue upstairs. Ahead of Rhona, a short corridor gave access to a bathroom and at its end a kitchen.

Rhona entered the living room, although the word enter didn’t really describe it. Waded in would have been a better description, for the floor was ankle-deep in refuse, consisting of empty plastic and glass bottles plus fast-food containers. Whoever had been using the place to meet or doss in hadn’t been house proud, that was for certain.

Hearing her entry, Chrissy’s white-suited figure rose from the sea of debris.

‘And I thought my place was a pigsty,’ she declared, with her characteristic grin. ‘So what do we do about this little lot?’

‘We’ll have it bagged and taken to the lab,’ Rhona said. ‘Where’s the body?’

‘Back here,’ Chrissy told her.

Someone had already moved enough rubbish aside to accommodate the laying of metal treads. Rhona followed that route through, past an old battered settee and two armchairs.

She’d already been aware of the hum of flies, but as she neared, they rose from the body in a cloud, buzzing in anger at being disturbed.

McLaughlin lay naked and splayed out on his front, his head surrounded by a large pool of congealed blood. Ignoring the flies, Rhona crouched for a better view of the gash that had almost severed his head from his body.

Chrissy was swatting the flies from around her own head. ‘Time I netted a few of these and took a fly spray to the rest.’

Half an hour later, the room had been cleared of all garbage and the flies had been killed or captured for the purpose of helping establish time of death. Sadly, the removal of the rubbish and the flies hadn’t altered the stench in the room. That telltale scent of death mingled with rotting food and urine. But it had revealed some partial bloody footprints, which had produced an excited ‘Looky, looky’ from Chrissy as she’d filled the last black bag.