Ouch.

The dog crept forward and began licking Philip’s face apologetically. Batting him away but at least appreciating the gesture, Philip rolled onto his back and groaned. His eyes felt better closed but he was going to have to pick himself up at some point. Slowly, he opened an eyelid, and then hauled himself into a sitting position. His hands were covered in a mixture of mud and blood, waterlogged trousers sticking to his legs as more blood sluiced from the cut. He reached out and patted Buster gently with his fingers, making sure not to use his aching palms.

‘Silly dog, what did you see?’

Philip followed his pet’s gaze. A mound of leaves, tree bark and twigs had been shoved backwards into the gully but that wasn’t what his eyes were drawn to. Poking through the undergrowth was a pale, lifeless human arm.

9

So much for a day off.

Jessica sloshed her way through the woods until she came to the area that had been covered with white tents. Body suit, over-shoe covers and hair net in place, she allowed the SOCO officer to lead her through the site. In contrast to the scene at the rowing club, Jessica knew the queasy looks on the faces of the other attending officers meant this was something she should see for herself. Not that she wanted to.

Small piles of leaves, twigs and dirt had been moved to the side, exposing the washed-out limp body of a young strawberry blonde. Without wanting to step any closer than the doorway of the tent, Jessica felt the twinge in her stomach. ‘She was probably strangled,’ the officer said softly.

Jessica remained silent, listening to the rest of the details. It was so easy to become desensitised to the things witnessed every day, but every now and then something would hit you. As well as the marks around her neck, the index finger on the woman’s right hand had been sliced off, along with part of her ear. Both cuts were likely made after death because of the lack of blood but Jessica found it hard to tell where the slits began and ended because she had been so brutally beaten too. The woman’s torso, especially her breasts, was peppered with bruises, the remaining fingers jutting off at unnatural angles. Across the small of her back, there was a spiky tattoo weaving its way towards her hips. From the state of the injuries, the officer said it was likely the body had been there for longer than a day, less than two.

With the photographs taken and initial assumptions reached, it was time for the body to be taken for autopsy. Jessica and the other officers watched in a calm reverence as it was carried away through the woods, and then it was to business. Officers had been called in from days off, with others lent from surrounding districts. With the woods a popular spot for walkers, at least a third of those were needed to keep the place as untouched as possible. Jessica separated the rest into teams ready to pick through the area centimetre by devastatingly slow centimetre.

That was all well and good but they all knew the real damage had already been done. Even with the area surrounded by tent and tape, Jessica had seen the footsteps and paw prints all around the body. With everyone off doing something, she walked back to the parked cars and approached a man resting on the bonnet of a muddy Range Rover. At his feet lay a dog, covered with grime, head nestled between the man’s feet.

‘Are you Philip?’ she asked.

The man was middle-aged, bundled up in any number of coats and tops, which made him look chunkier than he actually was. His jeans had ripped and blood was beginning to dry into the material. His lived-in fatherly face was partially obscured by a mud-spattered, skewed deerstalker. He looked at Jessica, nodding, but his eyes were empty.

She pointed towards the wound in his leg: ‘Someone should look at that.’

He held up his hand to show where the ring finger on his left hand was missing the very tip. ‘I’ve had worse.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘Accident with a forklift a few years back. To be honest, filling in all the accident forms hurt way worse than losing the finger.’ He chuckled humourlessly but Jessica knew what he meant: if someone stubbed their toe around the station then she’d have three dozen forms to fill out in triplicate. No wonder things didn’t get done.

‘I messed up, didn’t I?’ he said, more quietly than before.

‘How?’

‘With the body. You’re supposed to stay clear and not touch anything, aren’t you? That’s what they say. I went and fell on my bloody arse, then the dog was sniffing around.’ He hunched and ruffled the dog’s ears.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Buster. Stupid bloody name. Some kids’ TV show, I think. My daughter named him.’

The dog rolled onto his side, still nuzzling against Philip’s shoes.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Jessica said, touching him on the upper arm. ‘Our scene was screwed the moment it started raining. The body had been out there for more than twenty-four hours anyway. By the time you found it, pretty much anything useful we were going to get had been washed away.’

That wasn’t strictly true and Philip’s tumble around the body certainly hadn’t helped – but there was no point in making him feel any worse than he already did.

‘Your girl who interviewed me said I could go home but I don’t think I can face it yet. I called my wife to say I was going to be late. I didn’t tell her about the body, not over the phone, I just said I’d gone for a longer walk. She asked if I could pick up some milk on the way home. I don’t know why but it made me laugh, not because it was funny – it was just one of those things. I was thinking, “Milk, bloody hell, there’s some poor girl that’s been cut up and I’ve got to worry about nipping by the corner shop on my way home.”’

Jessica wanted to say something soothing but what was there? It was always the normal things that got you.

‘Who was she?’ Philip asked.

‘We’re not sure yet.’

‘Bloody waste, though, isn’t it? Some young girl like that. Can’t be any older than twenty-one, twenty-two. Christ, my Emily’s only thirteen. You think they’ve got their whole lives ahead of them and then you see something like that.’

Jessica didn’t reply for a few moments, allowing the gentle breeze to skim between them. ‘We can have someone take you home if you want, plus we have people you can talk to.’

‘Aye, I know, love. Your other woman told me. I’ll be all right. I’ve seen a few things in my time, not like that but, y’know . . .’

Back at Longsight Station the usual Saturday morning chaos was fully in evidence. The regular array of Friday-night drunks were being processed, the quieter ones sent on their way after a telling-off, the ones with the big gobs left downstairs in their cells to stew for a few hours longer. Some people never learned that shouting their mouths off at the police got them nowhere.

A pair of constables was pulling together a list of missing people who could potentially be their victim, so Jessica went to her office and flicked through the messages on top of her keyboard. Something about pensions, a note from Fat Pat about forgetting to sign cars back in, notification of some all-department briefing, blah blah blah. If they filed these things straight into her bin, it would save her the hassle.

Jessica picked up her desk phone and called Archie. One ring, two rings, five rings: ‘Can’t you pick up on the first ring?’ she said.

The familiar Manc twang: ‘Jess?’

‘Yes, y’lazy sod. What are you doing?’

‘Give over – it’s my day off, it’s Saturday.’

‘I know what day it is and it’s my day off too. They found some body out Walkden way, just off the East Lancs Road. Some poor girl.’

‘I’ve not had the news on. Do you need me in?’