Page 65 of Little Children

His gaze had landed on the figure of a woman in her late twenties.

Her jeans were pulled down around her ankles and her underwear pulled down to her calves. Her sweatshirt was rolled up, exposing her bra. A single line had been cut across her neck; the wound had bled down to her breastbone and into her black hair.

‘Shit,’ Roy said, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know this woman.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Bryant croaked out, trying desperately not to give himself away.

He knew her too.

The face he was looking at belonged to Jasmine Swift. The woman they’d visited the day before. The woman who’d reported a burglary and then been harassed by DI Red Butler.

Bryant had to turn his face away to hide the shock written all over it. He was sure Roy would know in an instant that he wasn’t looking down into the face of a stranger.

How was it possible that a woman they’d just spoken to was now lying raped and murdered not five feet away from him? Had they caused this? Did someone know they’d spoken with her? Was someone covering their tracks?

His first instinct was to take out his phone and call the guv. This young, vibrant woman was dead, and he didn’t know if they were the cause of it. But he had to hold his nerve. There was nothing the guv could do to help Jasmine right now, and any strange behaviour on his part would only appear suspicious.

Only when he was sure he could keep his expression impassive did he turn back to the body at his feet.

The similarities to the crime scene photo Roy had shown him were astounding.

‘Looks similar to…’

‘Yeah, yeah, exactly what I was thinking,’ Roy said, stroking his chin.

‘How long’s she been dead?’ Roy asked, looking at the pathologist with whom he had exchanged not one civil word.

Dealings between his boss and Keats were hardly warm and fuzzy, but at least they were cordial to each other.

‘Twelve hours or thereabouts,’ the pathologist said, glancing at Bryant as though waiting for an introduction.

‘Anything else I need?’ Roy asked, completely devoid of manners.

Bryant could see the pathologist bristling at the sergeant’s manner. Rather than answering, he turned away to consult with one of the forensic technicians.

‘Now’s your chance,’ Roy hissed in his ear as he took out his own phone.

Hell no, Bryant thought. The very idea of taking a photo made him nauseous, but he took out his phone anyway. As he raised it, he knocked his elbow into Roy’s hand, sending his phone clattering to the ground.

The pathologist turned and gave Roy a hard stare.

Roy mumbled his apologies and retrieved his phone, but the moment was lost. The pathologist’s attention was now firmly back on the victim.

Small triumphs, Bryant told himself. The man was as despicable as they came, not to mention rude, insensitive and arrogant, but at least he wouldn’t be poring over any photos of this poor soul any time soon.

‘Fuck me, man,’ Roy said as they headed back towards the car after what must have been Bryant’s shortest ever crime scene visit.

‘Yeah, I bloody told you. I always get caught.’

‘Crime scene ones won’t be anywhere near as good. I had the perfect angle to see right up?—’

‘So, where now?’ Bryant asked hurriedly.

‘Ah, well, I already know a bit about this lovely lady, so I think we’ll start with her ex-boyfriend.’

‘Not her family?’ Bryant asked. Surely her next of kin were the first people to contact?

‘Yeah, we’ll let someone else do that. First line of suspicion has to be the ex, and I know exactly where he lives.’