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titillating they could imagine because it made for better gossip. Phil had seen enough to know that the imagination of the general public was something to be very frightened of. Because that was who he cleaned up after every day.
    As he was removing the blue paper suit, Sperring came alongside him.
    â€˜What now? Sir?’
    â€˜Now?’ echoed Phil. ‘We plan what we’re going to do next.’ He shivered, flapped his arms about him, but it was no good. He could feel the cold penetrating through his clothes, right down to his bones. ‘But not here,’ he said. ‘Too bloody cold.’
    â€˜I know somewhere,’ said Sperring.
    He walked towards the barrier. The crowd parted for him. Phil bobbed along in his wake.

8
    J ust over five minutes later, Phil was sitting in the lounge of the Edgbaston Tap, an old, low, sixties red-brick box of a pub on which a contemporary facelift had been attempted. Phil didn’t care about the decor. He was just pleased to be somewhere warm.
    On entering, Sperring had taken charge. He had flashed his warrant card to the landlord, asking for privacy and for any journalists to be kept away. A couple of uniforms were standing by the door to do just that. Phil, again, hadn’t challenged him.
    He sat down with Sperring and a very pale-looking Khan. His new team. He felt their eyes on him. Still sizing him up, still – in Sperring’s case, at least – finding him lacking. He had to win them over. He had to inspire. He had to lead.
    â€˜OK,’ he said, huddling with them round the table, ‘let’s gather, let’s pool. I like my team to put together their first impressions while they’re still fresh in our minds. It’s the way I’ve always worked. I’ve found it helpful.’
    Phil noticed that Sperring’s eyebrows had risen at the mention of the words
my
team
. Khan looked between the pair of them, seemingly wanting to go along with Phil but glancing at Sperring as if waiting for the older man to give him the go-ahead.
    Sperring gave an almost imperceptible nod. Phil noticed.
    â€˜DC Khan,’ he said. ‘You first.’
    Khan took out his notebook. ‘House-to-house hasn’t given us much yet. Most people didn’t even know there was someone living there. They saw someone moving stuff in, carpets and that, but thought it was being rented again.’
    â€˜He must have decorated,’ said Phil. ‘Thought everything looked new.’
    â€˜Apparently it was rented to students before that, but the neighbours complained about the noise. Gated community an’ all that, so the letting agency said they’d only rent to professional people in future.’
    â€˜And Glenn McGowan was a professional man?’
    â€˜City Lets had references for him from his employer,’ said Sperring.
    Phil remembered the Christmas card. ‘Allard Tec?’
    Sperring checked his notes, nodded.
    â€˜We’ll talk to them. Coventry, according to the Christmas card. We’ll also need to look into his background, friends, colleagues. And we’d better do a check with prisons and hostels, see if any known deviants have recently moved into the area.’
    â€˜Apart from McGowan, you mean?’ Khan laughed. Sperring’s mouth lifted, eyes twinkled.
    â€˜Very funny. We still have to make sure it’s him. And there were other Christmas cards in the house,’ said Phil. ‘We need to find out who they were from. How well they knew him, what their relationship was. He must have given an address when he rented the house; the letting agents should have that. We’ve got to find out everything about him, get some lever into his background. Also those DVDs by the TV.’
    Khan gave a snort. ‘Not the only TV in there, was it?’
    â€˜Hilarious,’ said Phil, his face demonstrating that it wasn’t. ‘The DVDs. The home-made-looking ones. They had no labels, no