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was tied up. See how the skin has been worn and broken by the electric flex. Unfortunately for her, whoever tied her up did too good a job. Again, someone who knew what they were doing, and were very careful to do it right.’
    Kirtle moved to the body’s hands and lifted one for Georgiou to see. Rigor mortis was already losing its rigid grip on the body.
    ‘However, there’s no sign of anything that could be thought of as a struggle before she was tied up. I checked the fingernails and skin of the hands.’
    ‘So she knew him,’ said Georgiou.
    ‘It seems likely,’ said Kirtle, nodding. ‘She wasn’t drunk, that’s for sure. Not only the level of alcohol in her blood—’
    ‘—but the fact she was walking home,’ finished Georgiou.
    ‘Exactly,’ said Kirtle.
    ‘Any sign of sexual interference?’ Georgiou asked.
    Kirtle shook her head.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not even any attempt.’
    ‘Maybe he’s impotent,’ mused Georgiou.
    ‘That doesn’t stop many of them trying,’ said Kirtle. ‘They can’t get it up but they can still ejaculate. Nothing. No sign of semen.’
    ‘Fingerprints?’
    It was a long shot, but Georgiou knew of cases where a fingerprint had been left on a victim’s eyeball.
    Again, Kirtle shook her head.
    ‘Forensics will be your best answer on this, but to me it looks like whoever did it was wearing gloves.’
    Georgiou studied the headless body silently for a minute, then said: ‘Nothing that says which sex the murderer was?’
    ‘Sorry,’ replied Kirtle, shrugging. ‘No semen. No saliva. No body fluids. No marks on the body, except the wire and the knife blade. I’ll tell you one thing, though …’
    Georgiou waited.
    Kirtle indicated the open wound that was the neck.
    ‘It’s quite likely that whoever did it, they got splashed with blood. She was bled like an animal at a slaughterhouse before her head was cut off. That’s a lot of blood to pour out. It would have splashed when it hit the ground. Possibly spurted over the killer. Either they were wearing some kind of protective clothing, which they got rid of later, or theywent home with their clothes covered in blood. Someone must have seen them.’
    ‘OK.’ Georgiou nodded. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Maybe forensics will have something more,’ said Kirtle.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Georgiou. ‘But if he – or she – is as careful as you say, we can’t count on it.’

SIX
    A s Georgiou and Tennyson walked into the briefing room at police HQ for the twelve o’clock meeting, Georgiou was embarrassed when the four detectives waiting for him broke into a round of applause.
    ‘Well done, chief!’ called out Iain Conway, a fierce, tall-looking Scot in his late twenties. If Tennyson lived on a diet that seemed to consist of sweets and beer, Conway was a health-food nut. Plus high proteins and vitamins. With his muscular neck and shoulders, Georgiou sometimes wondered if Conway added steroids to his ‘muscle-building’ diet. ‘You showed the bastards!’ finished Conway victoriously.
    Georgiou smiled self-consciously.
    ‘Thanks for that,’ he said. ‘But just because I appear to be off the hook for the moment, don’t let it fool you. If we don’t clear up the murder of Armstrong’s daughter, then we’re all at risk of being kicked out for the slightest infringement, real or imagined.’
    ‘While the villains get away with a slap on the wrist,’ said Conway, scowling.
    As the murmur of voices agreed with this sentiment,Georgiou again raised his hand to calm the team down.
    ‘We’ll deal with the politicians later,’ he said. ‘Let’s look at the case first. Because I’ve been away for a few days, I’m going to let Mac bring all of us up to speed on what we have. But first, the word from the pathologist. You’ll all be getting her official written report as soon as she can do it, but for the moment, Dr Kirtle has the impression that our killer is a very controlled person. Fastidious was a word she used. He – or