‘Did anyone take the room temperature?’

‘McSween has it.’

Rhona took a deep breath before she put on the mask. The smell of a crime scene was important. It might mean she would look for traces of a substance she would otherwise have missed. Here the nauseating odour of violent death mixed with stale sex and sweat masked something else, something fainter. She got it. An expensive men’s cologne.

‘McSween and Johnstone have covered the rest of the room. The photographer is working on the kitchen and bathroom.’

‘What about a pathologist?’

‘Dr Sissons came and certified death. Then suggested I get a decent forensic to take samples and bag the body because he needed to get back to his dinner party.’

‘Important guests?’

‘He did mention a “Sir” somewhere in the list.’

Rhona smiled. Dr Sissons preferred analysing death in the comfort of his mortuary. Taking samples of bodily fluids in the middle of the night he regarded as her territory.

‘That’s some bedcover!’

‘We think it might be a curtain, but we’ll get a better look once we take the body away.’

‘Did the doctor turn him over?’

‘Just enough to tell if he’s been moved. He said the left side of the face, the upper chest and hips had been compressed since death occurred. He’s lying where he was killed.’

Rhona opened her case and took out her gloves. She knelt down beside the bed.

‘There’s a lot of blood under the body.’

Bill nodded grimly. ‘You’d better take a look underneath.’

Rhona lifted the right arm and rolled the body a little. The genitals had been gnawed, the penis severed by a jagged gash that ran from the left hand tip to halfway up the right side. One testicle was mashed and hanging by a thin strip of skin.

‘This must have been done after he died or the blood would be all over the place.’

‘That’s what Sissons said.’

Rhona let the body roll back down. The boy’s head nestled back into the dirty pillow.

‘Any sign of a weapon?’

Bill shook his head. ‘Maybe it wasn’t a weapon.’

‘A biter? Did Dr Sissons check for other bite marks?’

‘He muttered something about bruising on the nipples and the shoulder.’

‘I’ll take some swabs.’

‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’ Bill said.

Rhona pressed one of the deepening purple patches, and watched it slowly blanch under her finger. ‘Maybe six, seven hours. Depends on the temperature of the room.’

Bill risked a satisfied smile.

‘Matches the Doc.’

Rhona raised her eyebrows a little. She and Dr Sissons didn’t usually agree. He had a habit of disagreeing with her on points like the exact time of death. It was almost a matter of principle. Rhona had done three years’ medicine before she switched to forensic science. She liked to practise now and again.

‘How did you find him?’

‘An anonymous phone call.’

‘The murderer?’

‘A young male voice. Very frightened. Maybe another rent boy came here to meet a client?’