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some notes as Irvine spoke.
    ‘If we know who she is, then we can check where she lives. Speak to anyone who lives with her.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Find her clothes. Or maybe what’s left of them. If I know criminals, the first thought is usually to dump them or dump and burn them. Probably won’t be too far away either. Something like this, they like to get it over with fast. We might get some residual evidence from that – hair, fibres or fluid samples. And we need to ask the pathologist to look out for that kind of thing during the post-mortem. She might have had sex before she was killed.’
    ‘Should we find out who she bought her regular supply of drugs from as well? And who her regular customers were.’
    ‘If we can. The other girls might know.’
    Armstrong wrote in his pad some more.
    ‘It’s always personal,’ Irvine said.
    ‘What?’ Armstrong asked.
    She looked at him and shook her head, she had been talking to herself more than anything.
    ‘I mean, that’s pretty much the rule in CID on murder investigations. It’s usually someone that the victim knows.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    ‘So I’d bet whoever dumped her here had met her before today. And that’s how we break this case.’

10
    Logan had gone back to his office to work on a backlog of contracts for new CPO jobs before the call to his contact at Homeland Security. He was putting the finishing touches to the last document when Cahill came in. It was a small room next to Cahill’s and Logan kept it simple: a walnut desk, swivel chair and a unit with a low-level cupboard and shelves above it. He glanced at the photograph of Ellie on the middle shelf as Cahill walked to his desk.
    ‘You ready?’ Cahill asked, holding up his watch and tapping on the face of it. ‘Just gone two.’
    Logan looked at his own watch, surprised to see that Cahill was right. He had worked through lunch without noticing.
    ‘I guess I got caught up in this stuff,’ Logan said, standing to follow Cahill as he left the room.
    Hardy was waiting for them back in the War Room, sipping from a bottle of water and watching more news coverage of the crash.
    ‘Anything new?’ Cahill asked.
    ‘Nope. Usual talk about recovering the black box and waiting till they know more before reaching any conclusions.’
    ‘Still no mention of terrorists?’
    ‘Nothing. Looks like it was an accident from what they’re saying, but who knows what they might be holding back?’
    Logan sat beside Hardy and pulled the conference phone towards him.
    ‘If it’s not terrorists, then why all the secrecy about your friend?’ Logan asked.
    Cahill shrugged and sat beside Logan.
    ‘Let’s call your contact and see what she can tell us.’
    Logan picked up the phone handset and punched in the number he had for Susan Jones at the Department of Homeland Security in New York.
    ‘I’m looking for Susan Jones,’ he said when a man answered.
    He was put on hold and pressed a button to activate the conference setting on the phone. A Tom Petty song started playing.
    ‘Nice hold music,’ Hardy said, tapping a pen on the table in time with the music.
    The music stopped and the same man came back on to the line.
    ‘Sir, who may I say is calling?’
    ‘Logan Finch.’
    Tom Petty was back on. Hardy started humming along.
    ‘Logan, hi,’ Susan Jones said after a minute. ‘It’s been a while. How are you?’
    She sounded incredibly bright and upbeat, which was what Logan remembered about her. That and the killer cheekbones.
    ‘I’m good. How’s things with you?’
    ‘Oh, you know. Still trying to keep the world safe from harm.’
    She laughed – a high, flutey sound. Logan always thought that it was totally at odds with such a tall, athletic woman.
    ‘I’ve got you on speakerphone, Susan. Is that okay?’
    Letting her know not to talk about anything other than business. Logan glanced at Cahill who winked at him.
    ‘Sure. Who have you got there? Clients getting roughed up at one of our