‘Any sign it’s not natural causes?’ Nell asked as they climbed the open-air stairwell, the smell of urine heavy around them, cigarette butts and broken bottles nestling at the edges of each step.

‘Not yet, but the pathologist has only just arrived.’

She hoped it was Eve, then they might stand a chance of getting out of there before midnight. Fishing her warrant card out of her jacket, she flashed it at the uniformed officer standing discreetly beside the open door: ‘DS Nell Jackson and DC Paul Hare.’

The uniform nodded and tipped her head down the hall. ‘Parents in the front room, second on left,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Deceased on right, directly across from them.’

‘Pathologist?’ Nell asked. Her heart pumped a little faster, adrenalin and nerves kicking in.

‘In with the child.’

‘OK, thanks.’ She looked at Paul, who gave a weary smile.

‘Child first, parents second, OK?’

He nodded, then smiling her thanks at the uniform, Nell said, ‘Right, let’s go and get this over with.’

In contrast to the hall – with its frayed pink carpet and tobacco-stained walls – the nursery was freshly painted, albeit unprofessionally. Despite the darkness – blackout blinds still down from the night before – Nell could make out paint spots on the carpet beneath a large cream cot; stuffed toys cramming the end of the mattress; a red blanket folded neatly over the wooden bars. And in the far corner of the room, a lone chair, next to which sat a bottle on a table, barely touched. There had been care given to this room, Nell thought; the best had been made of a bad job. So what had gone wrong?

Eve Graham was standing by the cot, gloved hands on the frame, staring downwards. The pathologist’s short white hair caught the light from the hall, but her face – the wide cheekbones, thickly carved jawline – remained in the shadows. There was a stillness about the scene that Nell felt uncomfortable interrupting.

‘Why hasn’t she started?’ Paul asked, voice low.

‘She likes to get a sense of the scene before she starts, to take it in as it was, before we arrive and swarm all over it.’ But Nell conceded the delay was unusual, even for Eve. She must have been there for half an hour at least.

At the sound of Nell’s voice, Eve straightened, drawing in air as she removed her hands from the cot and turned to face them.

‘Better late than never, I suppose.’ Her gravelly voice betrayed years of late nights smoking Benson & Hedges while drinking whisky and wine. Her tone was light; there was no chastisement, rather a bored disinterest in their arrival. Nell relaxed. This was the Eve she knew.