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after she had tasted the vintage and nodded her acceptance of it.
    ‘Thank you,’ Laura said. She could easily get used to lunching here every day, she thought.
    ‘So did you meet prejudice setting up your company in London?’ Laura asked.
    ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘But it’s a different planet down there. Or at least it was ten, fifteen years ago. The north’s beginning to catch up now, I think. Harvey Nicks in Leeds can’t be bad.’
    ‘There’s a lot of money sloshing around up here now,’ Laura said. ‘But still a lot of problems, too. Leeds is Leeds but Bradfield’s something else. You should have a look at Aysgarth Lane. It’s still a bit third-world around there. There’s some real poverty. And on some of the estates.’
    ‘Yes, I’ve noticed. The place needs a good kick up the backside in some respects,’ Jenna said. ‘Not least at United.’
    ‘So you could say you’re on something like a crusade?’ Laura said.
    ‘I suppose you could. And I hope the
Gazette
’s going to be right behind it, as well.’

CHAPTER THREE
    Michael Thackeray’s face tightened as he read Amos Atherton’s preliminary report on the body of the young woman who had been found in the canal. Somehow seeing facts like these in black and white always seemed worse to him than hearing the pathologist’s conclusions tossed over his shoulder almost casually from the operating table while he watched. The spare, scientific prose reduced the victim to a specimen in a way that did not quite happen when the body was actually present in the all-too oppressive flesh. Even the bare list of injuries sickened him. There were twenty-five separate fresh bruises and contusions on the girl’s face and body; three broken ribs; one smashed finger; one stab wound, three inches deep and a quarter of an inch wide caused by a pointed blade with no serrations; there was internal bruising and scarring; her lungs were filled with water and she was carrying a foetus of approximately six weeks gestation. And there was evidence that she had suffered similar brutality over a period of time. Before she died, she had been beaten, stabbed, quite possibly raped and finally drowned, as she had fallen or been pushed into the canal in no fit state to even attempt to save herself. He hoped that by then she had been unconscious.
    He called Superintendent Longley on the internal phone.
    ‘It’s definitely murder,’ he said quietly.
    ‘Was she on the game?’
    ‘Possibly,’ Thackeray said, wondering why he hoped quite so fervently that she was not. There were some police officers who might take prostitution as a signal not to put too much effort or resources into a murder investigation, regarding violence as a professional hazard for ‘working girls’, something they ‘asked for’, and which occasionally went too far and killed them. He did not count himself amongst them.
    ‘On drugs?’ Longley asked.
    ‘No external signs of that,’ Thackeray said. ‘But we won’t get toxicology results for a few days.’
    ‘Best keep speculation about her lifestyle under wraps for a while till we see if anyone claims her,’ Longley said. ‘A “respectable family” won’t be too thrilled if we cast aspersions.’
    ‘There’s been no missing person report that fits,’ Thackeray said. ‘But at that age, she could be a student. No one may notice that she’s not around until she fails to turn up for something important.’
    ‘Or a refugee,’ Longley said. ‘Legal, illegal, she may be difficult to pin down.’
    ‘I’m setting inquiries in motion,’ Thackeray said.
    ‘Talking about inquiries,’ Longley said. ‘I’ve just heard that they’ve appointed an assistant chief constable from West Midlands to look into our recent problems. No one I’ve ever heard of. Man called Brian Richards, started off with the Met, made commander and moved up there about six years ago. I’ve got feelers out to find out a bit more.’
    ‘Right,’ Thackeray said.