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those buggers. Still, Morton won’t care any more.’
    He straightened as the scene of crime officer poked his head around the door, his eyes blinking under his protective headgear. Like a bloody tortoise waking from hibernation, Salter thought.
    â€˜All done, Hugh,’ he said. ‘Yours to mess up.’
    â€˜Beyond even my talents to mess this place up any further, mate,’ Salter said. ‘Anyway, I leave the detecting to you people these days.’
    â€˜I was told you lot had commandeered the place. Ordered us plods to keep our size elevens out till you’d done the serious stuff. Imagine that went down well with the boss. No skin off my nose either way.’
    â€˜That right?’ Salter shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me, mate. You know me, always happy to help out the local coppers.’
    â€˜And up yours as well, former DI Salter,’ the other man said cheerily. ‘You deserve this fucking lot.’
    â€˜No one deserves this lot,’ Salter said. ‘Not even me.’
    He followed the SOCO back into the living room. The smell of blood had been strong in the kitchen. Here, despite the open windows, it was almost overwhelming.
    â€˜Jesus.’ Salter looked around. There was a large congealing pool of blood in front of the white leather sofa, further smears and splatters around the walls, across the furniture. Everywhere. Another officer was crouched by the door, carefully packing away the remaining equipment. ‘What’ve you found?’
    â€˜Plenty of DNA,’ the SOCO said. ‘Most of it’s the victim’s, though, and I imagine you already know who he is.’ There was an unmistakable undertone of irony.
    â€˜Don’t worry, we’ll share the good news with you in due course, I’m sure. Anything else?’
    â€˜Reckon there was a woman here, too. In the bed.’
    â€˜You can tell that from the DNA already? That’s impressive.’ Salter was peering vaguely around the room, giving a convincing impression of disinterest.
    â€˜No. Smell of perfume on the sheets. Unless your man was into Versace or whatever it is.’
    â€˜Anything’s possible, mate.’ Salter looked up, as if he’d only just realized he was engaged in a dialogue. ‘A woman, eh? Lucky sod.’ He gazed back at the bloodstains on the sofa. ‘Well, not so lucky, I suppose. What do we think happened to her? Was she part of this?’
    â€˜Like you say, Hugh, anything’s possible. Or maybe she’d buggered off before all this happened. Maybe he’d already got what he paid for.’
    â€˜Jesus, you like to think the worst of people, don’t you?’
    â€˜Goes with the territory.’ The SOCO was losing interest, recognizing that Salter had no intention of sharing any information. ‘Anyway, we’ve plenty of stuff, but it’ll take some work to sort it all out.’ He paused, before making one last effort. ‘Strikes me as a professional job.’
    Salter was peering at the pool of blood. ‘Messy one if so,’ he said, non-committal.
    â€˜That’s your trouble,’ the SOCO said. ‘Once you start talking, there’s no stopping you.’
    Salter smiled and then raised his eyebrows as the shrill note of the front doorbell sounded through the flat. ‘Saved by the bell,’ he said. ‘Sounds like the big guns have arrived to take over from us minions.’ His tone suggested that he included himself in the last group only as a matter of courtesy.
    The two SOCOs took the hint and picked up their cases. Salter followed them out into the hallway. Hodder was already opening the front door.
    â€˜Gentlemen.’ The man on the doorstep was a squat, rumpled-looking figure, probably in his early fifties, his grey hair swept back in an ineffectual attempt to hide an increasing baldness. Despite his dishevelled appearance, he carried an air of confident