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Natalie went to see her grandmother after school; she arrived at four-thirty, then left to walk home at about five forty-five. She would have reached home at just after six, found the front door open and discovered the body of her mother. We therefore only have a short timeframe. Irene Phelps could have met her killer on the tube and walked with him to her flat; he killed her between the hours of four to five-thirty. That’s it from me, Gov.’
    Sheldon ran his fingers through his thinning hair, then continued in his soft Northern accent, hardly raising his voice, ‘We need to ascertain whether she knew her killer or disturbed him inside her flat. The place looksransacked, but she had little of value and very rarely kept any money there; the place had been turned over and the lady put up one hell of a fight. We found no visible signs of forced entry but we’ll know for sure when the forensic teams give us their report. If she did know her killer and let him in, then we need to spread the net to question anyone that knew her, any ongoing relationships; so far, we’ve not had time to gather much evidence of who she knew, so that will be our first priority.’
    Sheldon then gave a list to the duty manager of what he wanted the team to work on. He checked his watch and gave a strange low whistle. No one spoke. He sucked in his breath, gesturing at the photographs up on the incident board.
    ‘She took a terrible beating. It was a vicious attack and we need to get this bastard fast, because there is carelessness about the murder scene. Eating a fucking sandwich, drinking a cup of tea–unless the victim made them for him, but I doubt it; there was too much blood in the kitchen. Whoever killed her would have heavily bloodstained clothes, so question neighbours, anyone around her flat: someone must have seen this son of a bitch, so let’s not waste time. Get out there! Meanwhile, we wait for the PM and the forensic reports. That’s it, everyone. Let’s get moving, unless anyone has got anything to say?’
    No one did; the briefing broke up as everyone got their marching orders. Frank Brandon came to Anna’s desk.
    ‘You and me, we’ve got the neighbours and workplace. You want to split it or work together?’
    ‘Whatever suits,’ Anna said.
    ‘Okay, I’ll do the neighbours, you get over to the library. May I call you Anna?’
    She smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I was just wondering, who is questioning her daughter?’
    ‘That’ll be Harry; he’s good with kids, got a brood himself. She was in a right state, so maybe they’ll delay talking to her until she’s had some counselling.’
    ‘Did she call the police?’
    ‘Yeah–well, she ran to a neighbour and they called us for her.’
    ‘And she’s twelve?’
    ‘Yeah, just a kid. Her dad’s coming to see her; she’ll be staying at the grandparents’. Why you interested in her?’
    ‘Well, she found the body, and with the short time period, she might have even seen the killer–maybe she even knew him.’
    ‘Yeah, well–leave that to Harry, okay?’
    ‘Fine. I’ll get over to the library.’
    Brandon had a chiselled face, high cheekbones and, with his square shoulders, it was obvious he worked out. Although he had everything going for him in the looks department, there was something unattractive about him–at least, there was to Anna. He used a very heavy cologne, which she thought was Aramis; in any case, it was certainly very pungent, and he had this manner, as if he was an object of desire. Perhaps he was–in his own mirror.
     
    The library had not been closed, but there were numerous bouquets of flowers left by the doors. They looked rather sad and bedraggled; a couple had cards written by children.
    Anna was introduced to a pleasant-faced woman, who shook her hand firmly.
    ‘I’m Deidre Lane; poor Irene worked alongside me in the children’s department. I suppose you’ve seen a few of them have left flowers. I’ve more in my office and I’m not