‘That’s not all, I’m afraid. There was one other DNA match on the system. Still no name, and it dates back five years on an unsolved case.’

Connie put her hands on her hips. ‘Now what are the goddamn chances of that?’

‘I’d say really rather low, assuming that wasn’t merely rhetorical,’ Dr Lambert replied.

‘Was it another murder?’ Connie asked.

‘That remains to be seen,’ Dr Lambert said. ‘The crime was neither confirmed nor solved. I pulled only cursory details from the online file. A young woman was apparently heard calling for help in Advocate’s Close just off the High Street. It was around two a.m. and the witness, another young woman walking alone had, quite rightly, opted to fetch help rather than intervene. By the time police arrived, they found a bundle of possessions, an empty sleeping bag, signs of a struggle, with bags kicked over and contents strewn. Neither weapon nor blood. However, a twenty-pound note was left on the pavement next to the possessions. That was seized for forensic testing.’

‘How many different sources of DNA are on any given banknote at one time?’ Connie asked.

‘A lot,’ Dr Lambert conceded. ‘But the forensic report said this DNA came from saliva. Recent, I would guess, as it hadn’t been in a pocket or wallet long enough to have rubbed off or become so tainted that it was unreadable.’

‘Who was the missing woman?’

‘I don’t have an answer for you there, either. No identification in the possessions. We have her DNA from the sleeping bag, but it never matched anything on the police national database. No physical description of her. No age. Just a mystery and a lot of assumptions. Not even any specific evidence that a crime had been committed.’

‘And still, I don’t like it.’ Connie folded her arms. ‘Do you have the crime scene photos here for Angela’s death?’

‘I do,’ Ailsa said. ‘Come into my office.’

She pulled the sheet back up and stripped off her gloves. Connie followed suit before sitting silently at a computer screen studying one photo after another.

‘That’s a lot of blood,’ Connie said.

‘It is,’ Ailsa said. ‘Some of it is definitely from his nose – he must have had a substantial bleed – and it contains a level of mucous material. It was pooled on her neck, upper chest and in her cleavage.’

‘Pooled? So she was on her back, and he was just lying on top of her. Was she raped?’

‘No. No sign of any sexual assault at all. No semen anywhere.’

Connie pushed her chair backwards, letting it glide a foot or so before it came to a natural halt. She crossed her arms and stretched out her legs, staring at the ceiling.

‘So he just lay on top of her, bleeding? That can’t be right. What other injuries did she suffer?’