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the location was significant in some way. Had Gemma been a willing participant in whatever had gone on, or had she been forced? Had the man dragged her or held her down by her hair for some reason? Had she struggled? Hopefully the post mortem results would reveal more. The main question now was what had become of the man?
    ‘If you’ve seen enough, we ought to be going,’ Donovan said, checking her watch. ‘We’ve got a meeting with the pathologist in just over half an hour, in Victoria.’
    ‘Who did the PM?’ he asked, as they started to walk back together towards the stairs.
    ‘Dr Blake.’
    Tartaglia tensed, glancing quickly over at Donovan. But there wasn’t a glimmer of anything untoward in her expression. Being realistic, there was no way she could know what had been going on. No way any of them could. At least he hoped so. He sighed. Shit. Shit. Why did it have to be Fiona Blake?

3
    The last time Tartaglia had seen Fiona Blake, she’d been lying naked next to him in his bed. That had been about a month ago and he’d barely spoken to her since.
    Today she was dressed in a prim grey suit, auburn hair scraped back tightly in a bun, white blouse buttoned up tight to the collar, as if she was trying to hide any hint of femininity or softness.
    ‘There’s no sign of sexual assault,’ she said in her usual precise tone. ‘In fact, Gemma Kramer was a virgin.’
    She stared at him across her desk as if they were total strangers and for a moment he had to remind himself of the intensity he had so recently felt. She had kept him and Donovan waiting outside in the corridor for nearly half an hour. He was sure it was deliberate and it made him feel even more awkward and nervous of seeing her in an official capacity, particularly with Donovan there too. He felt grateful that Donovan was sitting beside him now, a protective shield, her presence inhibiting any possibility of a more personal conversation.
    ‘I understand you found traces of GHB in her system,’ Donovan said.
    ‘Yes, and alcohol. There was a small amount of red wine in her stomach. Both were ingested shortly before death.’
    ‘GHB’s not known as Easy Lay for nothing,’ Tartaglia said. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t assaulted in some way?’
    Blake gave him a piercing look. ‘As I said, Inspector, I found no evidence of any form of sexual activity.’
    The use of his title felt like a slap in the face. Although why she should be feeling angry was beyond him. It had been good, better than good, if he was honest, for the short while it had lasted. It had only come to a sudden halt when he had found out accidentally from someone else that she had a long-term boyfriend called Murray, a fact that she had never bothered to mention. He remembered the last terse phone call when, ignoring the subject of Murray, as if it made no difference to anything, she’d suggested that they meet up as usual. He’d shouted at her, told her to leave him alone, to stop calling. Angry with himself as much as with her, he’d slammed the phone down before she could say anything else. Finally he had understood why she could only see him at odd hours, why they only ever met at his flat and why her mobile was invariably switched off late at night and at weekends.
    ‘I suppose there’s no way of telling if it was mixed with the wine and then drunk, or if they were taken separately?’
    She shifted in her chair, and looked away towards the window. ‘I can see what you’re thinking, but I can’t help you. Maybe the wine was spiked, but it’s impossible to tell. People do take GHB recreationally, you know.’
    He shook his head. ‘The girl was barely fourteen, and a church seems a pretty strange place to choose, if all you want to do is get high.’ As he spoke, he noticed a large, single diamond on Blake’s ring finger. It looked like an engagement ring. Perhaps conscious of his gaze, she slid her hands off the table and folded them in her lap behind the desk.
    ‘Would