‘Adam Jones was found just after seven p.m.,’ Elsa said. ‘I would estimate the time of death was between five and seven p.m. Hugo Buck was found at six a.m. and I would estimate time of death between four a.m. and six.’

Mallory smiled. ‘Two-hour windows, Elsa? Not taking many chances, are you?’ He looked at his detectives. ‘I think we just missed them – both of them. I think they both died just before we got there.’

The pathologist raised her hands – the perfect hostess trying to avoid an unpleasant scene. ‘Time of death is only ever a best guess,’ she said. ‘You know that as well as I do.’

‘We have to cut Elsa some slack,’ Mallory said, still smiling. ‘Time of death can eliminate subjects or damn them. So time of death is where our forensic colleagues are at their most cagey, and least willing to speculate.’

‘And where the investigating detectives are most desperate for accuracy,’ Elsa added.

‘Defensive wounds?’ Gane said. ‘I can’t see anything obvious.’

‘Nothing,’ the pathologist said. ‘Neither of them had the will or the chance to put up a fight. There are no defensive wounds on the hands, arms, wrists, legs or feet.’ She peered at the body of Adam Jones. ‘Although on the body of Mr Jones I did discover some old cuts, bruises and abrasions from minor, earlier incidents.’

‘Life on the streets,’ I said. ‘Takes its toll. No sign of recent substance abuse? He wasn’t using at the time of death?’

Elsa shook her head. ‘Surprisingly not.’ There was a note of pity in her voice. ‘Mr Jones was drug free. He was trying to change his ways, despite what you can see.’

What we could see were the exhausted veins on the man’s arms – track marks, the miniature railway lines of heroin abuse. They were fading now.

‘I think he was trying to kick the habit,’ Elsa continued. ‘I think he had tried more than once.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Do stop me if I start doing your job.’

Mallory said, ‘Star sign?’

Elsa stared at him. ‘Taurus,’ she said. ‘The oboe you mention in your notes gave it away. Taureans are lovers of music and song.’ Then she smiled. ‘Oh bugger off, Mallory!’

We all laughed.

I leaned close to the dead men, looking at the neck of first Adam Jones and then Hugo Buck. In length, depth and darkness, the wounds were absolutely identical.

‘One cut,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Just one cut in the right place.’

‘Sometimes one cut is all it takes,’ Mallory said. ‘The assassination squad stabbed Julius Caesar twenty-three times. But the Roman physician who examined him concluded that Caesar would have survived the assault if not for the wound to his heart.’

Elsa pointed at the wounds where she had cut open, examined and then closed up their stomachs.