Styles peeled away from the wall and followed Porter inside. Their reflections in the polished glass elevator doors made for an incongruous pairing. Styles had his weakness for all things Hugo Boss, his image neat and orderly, close cropped hair, number two all over. He had been christened office pretty-boy by a few of the older crowd, part jealousy, part banter, but he took it all in his stride. A few had referred to him as the Met’s answer to Thierry Henry, until they saw him try and play five-a-side. Porter was from Irish stock, his wardrobe more high-street fashion, and his appearance, while not unkempt, had a more lived-in feel to it; hair so dark it bordered on black, refusing to be fully tamed by gel, but with a sense of messy style to it. Styles started to bring Porter up to speed as they waited for the lift.

‘It’s one of the stranger ones I’ve seen,’ he said as he tucked his phone into his jacket. ‘Call came in from the maintenance guy. He went in to turn the water off after it started leaking into the flat below, except it wasn’t a leaky pipe.’ He paused as the lift doors opened and they stood aside to let a crime scene tech out first. The camera in their hand left no doubt as to what they’d just been up to.

‘Come on then, don’t keep me in suspense,’ Porter said as Styles hit the button for the fourth floor.

‘First guess was that the freezer had packed in, probably a while back cos those things are usually pretty robust, but the door seals do give way eventually. Turns out that there’s just no power. Not sure why yet. The freezer thawed, water ran down the front, through the cracks in the floor tiles and ended up waking the downstairs neighbour during the night.’

‘I’m assuming you’ll get to the juicy part soon?’

‘Yep. The maintenance guy figured out where the water was coming from and was about to start patching it up when he got spooked and called us.’

‘Spooked by what? What’s got him rattled? A domestic? A burglary? A spotty teenager fresh out of training could handle that. Quit stalling and tell me why we’re here.’

‘There’re no flies on you, guv,’ said Styles in mock acquiescence.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, just the marks of where they’ve been.’ Porter finished the tired old joke for him and looked at him expectantly.

‘Sorry, I’ll quit playing. Turns out it wasn’t just food going off in the freezer. There’s a hand in there.’

That got Porter’s attention. ‘Just a hand?’

‘As if that’s not enough?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Styles nodded. ‘Yep, just a hand; female by the looks of it, and missing the little finger.’