10 1st September
The morning sun was far brighter than either Wendy Knight’s or Jack Culverhouse’s moods, searing through the vertical blinds like a laser beam as Culverhouse shielded his eyes while he addressed the incident room.
‘Right. Report’s in from the post mortem,’ he said as the other officers looked on. ‘Might as well have not bothered as there’s nothing new other than an estimated time of death, which they put at somewhere between midnight and one o’clock in the morning, although there were some inconsistencies. We should get more detail later today, with any luck. Luke, any luck with the CCTV?’
The eyes of the officers darted over to DS Luke Baxter, who was leaning back on his chair, twiddling a pencil around in his mouth. At the sound of his name, he dropped his chair forwa
