Nine a.m., and Burgess stood at the mouth of the alley, cursing the bloody cold weather and wishing he was anywhere but here. Hands deep in his coat pockets, he contemplated the task ahead, his breath chundering out in staccato gray puffs. It wasn’t every morning he was called out to take a look at a body—dumped during the night, most likely—but it was something he wished he wasn’t doing. Still, the poor woman sprawled out naked a few yards ahead beneath a white forensics tent had been discovered by a refuse collector about an hour ago. It wasn’t her fault the call had come in to Burgess.

I expect Shaw was called, too, and he ignored it like he’s ignored me. Fucker.

He sighed, not wanting to go inside the tent yet, thinking to wait for the on-scene medical examiner to finish her assessment. Marlene was a decent sort, lovely woman, single, so people thought, although he knew better. She was a good friend of his and told him some of her secrets. Like the fact she was shagging the chief.

Large industrial floor-standing torches lit the scene. So early on a winter morning meant piss-poor visibility in a narrow alley like this, and with the storm clouds sluggishly drifting, it was darker than usual. Uneven, rectangular cobblestones glittered with a thick frost that had come during the night, except where footprints marred them and where the heat from the torchlights had burned it away. Two wheelie bins stood against the right-hand wall next to the tent, black refuse sacks bulging out of one of them. A stack of cardboard crates with pictures of fruit on their sides looked about to topple over, undoubtedly put out by the grocer from the row of shops in the street behind Burgess. The scent of washing detergent drifted by—Letty’s Launderette was already open for business, then.

Marlene, her body covered in a white forensics suit, the hood concealing her short blonde hair, hunched over the victim.

While she worked, Burgess waited for someone to bring him a suit so he could join her and find out a little of what was going on. If Burgess had been his normally astute self he’d have put a new stack of protective gear in his car boot, but he’d forgotten to top them up when he’d used the last one the other day. Couldn’t be at the peak of his game all the time, could he, what with all that paperwork sitting on his desk and a cold case continually plaguing his mind. And with Shaw acting a lazy, inconsiderate dick—not his usual character, either—and annoying the hell out of Burgess in the process… Now there was this case to add to everything else, and once again, guilt attacked him for thinking he could really have done without a new murder inquiry on his plate.

If that’s what this is.

Who was he trying to kid? Of course it was murder. Why else would a naked woman be on her back in an alley? Taking a fucking rest? Having a good old nap?

Shit.

He was dying for a cigarette. Scrap that. The urge to smoke hadn’t been present at all since he’d finally given up a year ago. What he was dying for was something to take the edge off his nerves. A good screw would deal with that, but he didn’t have the time. Or he didn’t make the time. He tended to work late, work early, on the job during his days off, too. No life. Typical copper. A sad, walking cliché.

He’d laugh, but it wasn’t funny.

A uniform came over, green and new to the job, if Burgess was any judge, and handed him a suit, booties and gloves with a shaky “There you go, sir.” He scuttled off, just behind Burgess, no doubt to man the street and make sure no one without authority breached the police cordon.

Suit and booties on, latex gloves clutching tightly at his fingers, Burgess took a deep breath then strode toward Marlene. He was tired but he’d plod on, as usual. Nothing else he could do, was there? It wasn’t like he had someone at home he’d rather be with. Or someone permanent in his life. Married to the damn job, not a person.

Another cliché.

He stopped to the left of the victim, beside her upper arm. He always hated thinking of them that way—a victim—but that was what the dead woman was, no point in being gentle about it. In an ideal world, and if he were an ideal person, he’d prefer to see her as a woman who had once been full of life, but that led to emotions, and he didn’t do those too well.

“Morning,” Marlene said, looking up at him. “Not a nice day for it.”

She glanced through the tent opening at the sky, probably thinking, as Burgess had done when he’d arrived on scene, that if they didn’t get a move on it’d piss down in a minute.

“No.” He smiled. Just. “Did you have a late night? Bags under your eyes bigger than a supermarket carrier.”

“Such an eloquent way with words,” she said and moved her head to stare at him. “For your information, my new puppy kept me up. Whining. Needed lots of cuddles. So I ended up staying the night at his place.”

“Don’t tell me, you held his paw until he dozed off.” It wouldn’t surprise him at all. “Soft-hearted bugger, staying with him. Puppies—or as normal people call them, new lovers—are a lot of hard work.”

“They are, but some are worth the trouble.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed glare. “And whether I held his paw or not is none of your business.” She blushed but smiled. “Anyway, how do you know that’s what I held?”

“I’m a detective.”

“Very funny.”

“I can be.” He winked.

“For your information, I held his co—”

“Um, no more. The visual is too much.” He sighed. “So, what do we have here?”

“And there was me enjoying our chat, thinking you were going to tell me you spent the night with a puppy yourself. Or is Shaw turning up late to morning scenes on purpose lately so it doesn’t look obvious you were together?” She raised her eyebrows farther.

He wasn’t going to answer that one. She knew he’d only fucked Shaw once and didn’t think the experience would be repeated.

“You’re not only a soft-hearted bugger, but a nosy one. Anyway, can’t stand about gossiping too much on work time, can we?” he said. “Chief will have our guts for garters. Or mine, anyway, now that you’re exempt from his wrath. Good move, getting that puppy.”

“He likes garters.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Red frilly ones draped over his face. But that’s gossip for after work. In The Pig later, say, six o’clock?”

“Yeah, providing this case doesn’t…well, you know how it goes.”

She nodded. “I’ll be there anyway, whether you turn up or not, so it’s no biggie. Now”—she pointed at the victim—“this appears as though she’s just asleep, so we have no obvious cause of death unless you look in her mouth.”

He studied the frosty-skinned dead woman. On her back, arms down by her sides, legs straight and together, she could have already been in position on the mortuary slab, waiting for her autopsy. No bruising to indicate an assault and battery. Pristine white skin. Blue tinge around her lips—on most of her skin, actually. Mouth gaping open—something was inside it—brunette hair brushed nicely. Clean. Straight bob, recently styled.

“And it’s unnerving for me,” Marlene went on, “if the cause of death is not immediately apparent. She’s perfect, no marks to give anything away. I’ll have to do a more thorough inspection once we’re at the hospital, but I can tell you she’s been dead a while, so death occurred around about two a.m., poor girl. She’s what, twenty-five-ish, something like that? What do you reckon?”

Burgess shrugged. “I can never tell these days. Some women look older, some younger. Girls look like women…”

“Hmm.” Marlene raised a waving hand and glanced behind him. “Camera, please?”

A suited man appeared and Marlene stood then stepped back while he snapped images.

“Can you hang around with me now and take more as I go along?” she asked the photographer. “I’m going to have to turn her over in a bit—easier as she’s stiff with rigor—but first I need to check her eyes and what’s in her mouth.”

Burgess hated this part. Seeing the cloudy sheen over a dead person’s eyes wrenched his stomach every time. Eyes that had once taken in the joys of life. Eyes someone had gazed into with love. And probably hate at some point.

And I don’t do emotions?

Marlene leaned in to take a good gander.

“No sign of asphyxiation,” she said. “But I’m not surprised—her throat is clear of any handprints, rope or whatever else these whackos use. But she wasn’t suffocated, either. Hmm. Anyway, onto the mouth.”

“Um…?” Burgess crouched, dangling his hands between his splayed knees. The click of the camera echoed, the shuffle of the snapper’s feet grating. “Is that a black sock in there? Something fluffy at any rate. Material?”

“I’m not sure.” Marlene jerked a thumb toward her silver medical case. “Get my blunt-ended large tweezers out of there, will you, darling? In the lid. Next to the scalpel. In the elastic holder thingies.”

Burgess rose and did as she’d asked. He handed the tool to Marlene and she took it, glancing up at him, frown firmly in place.

“If this turns out to be what I now suspect,” she whispered, “you might want to turn away. Phobias—they’re a bitch for some people.” She widened her eyes.

Trying to tell him something so that the photographer didn’t have a clue?

Phobias. Shit. Uh… Right.

“So you have a sock phobia, too?” Burgess asked, playing along with her game. He remained standing, not curious at all to see what Marlene would pull out.

She laughed softly. “It’s an insect of some kind, hon. A bloody big one. I can’t tell for sure but, if you want to get closer, you can see what I’m sure is an abdomen.”

Did he want to? Hell, no. He coached himself to act professionally, though. Took a deep breath as if looking his phobia in the eye was something he could do. He cautiously peered into the mouth. “Fuck me. Okay. Um…yeah.”

He’d seen some strange things in his time, had even read about insects and whatnot being put into victims’ mouths, but in one of his own cases? Never, thank God. But it appeared he owed God no thanks this time. The arse end of the abdomen resembled that of a wasp, only bigger. Much bigger. Egg-sized bigger.

Burgess controlled himself enough to keep his shudder to a minimum while the photographer took more pictures. “I’ll just…step away while you, uh, take it out.”

Turning his back on Marlene, he pulled out his phone to see if Shaw had bothered responding to his earlier text message.

Nothing.

For God’s sake.

“Burge, can you get an evidence box out of my case, please?”

He slid his phone away. Picked out a box and opened it to make it easier for her to pop the ‘sock’ inside. He held it out behind him, relieved that she took it and he could take another step or two forward. He was level with the victim’s feet now, and he stared down at her red-painted toenails. They’d been cut nicely, and she either had exceptionally good skin or she had enjoyed pedicures. So she’d taken care of herself. Had wanted to be pretty?

“Oh, fucking hell…” Marlene breathed. “Would you look at that?”

“I’m not sure I want to. Socks and all that…”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I thought I’d shit myself, but…wow, it’s large and ugly, but…wow. I’m surprised it even fitted in her mouth.”

Burgess closed his eyes for a second and blew out through pursed lips. He needed to get himself in order and turn around. The sock would be dead, anyway, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t hurt him. But the sight of those things just—

He spun to see Marlene standing now, holding out a tarantula secured in her tweezers, which were more like barbeque cooking tongs. The beast appeared smaller than it would have in life, its legs scrunched up in death, but that abdomen, that other end—its torso and face or whatever?—was still too large for his liking. Just being in its presence was enough to make him want to scream.

“All right, put it in the damn box.” Burgess shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, and he focused on the victim’s knees. “Aside from the thing itself being fucking creepy, who the hell would put that in someone’s mouth?”

“The killer, maybe?” Marlene carefully put the thing in the bag.

“Your sarcasm is on point, as usual.” He wiped a hand over his forehead, not surprised that moisture came away on his fingers. “You’re a braver person than me, I can tell you.”

Marlene closed the box and began writing out an evidence label for it. “Believe me, I had to tell myself it was a toy.”

“So it wasn’t?” He knew it wasn’t, but there was no harm in asking. No harm in pretending. Whatever got him through it would work.

“Oh, no. Real thing. Makes this case more interesting, doesn’t it? More challenging for you?” she asked.

He didn’t need to see her face to know pity and understanding would be in her eyes.

“You could say that. We’ll need to contact someone about it,” he said, more to himself than her. “Find out what kind it is and where they can be purchased. I’ll need to maybe see pictures of them.” Bloody hell. Can I do this? “I don’t get how the killer could even have dealt with such a thing.”

“Nowt queer as folk,” she said, going back down on her knees. “They do the strangest things. Anyway, I need to inspect the back of her then she can be loaded up. I’ve thankfully got a clean slate this morning, so I’ll get on with her examination straight away once we get back. You, my dear friend, have a job and a half on your hands, I’d say, because apart from the stumbling block you have, as far as I know, there’s no identification with her. No bag, nothing. Unless someone finds it nearby. Or in the wheelie bins. Oh, hang on.”

Burgess didn’t dare ask if she’d spotted another creature. “What?”

“Let me just check the outside of her vagina, see if anything’s there so you’ve got more to go on. I can’t look inside because she’s stiff as a board and her legs won’t open yet.”

He turned away for that, too, feeling angry that the woman’s dignity had been lost the moment she’d been left here. On show for anyone to see. An assessment of her body carried out in front of people. He shook his head so he didn’t allow any more tender emotions in and waited for Marlene to speak.

“No sign of anything untoward,” she said. “But I’ll know for sure later.”

“Thanks. Six o’clock, The Pig, if I don’t hear from you sooner,” he said.

“Yes. And what a glorious glass of wine I’ll have there. Already looking forward to it. Later, Burge.”