Perfect Silence. Helen Fields

no other cars around. We won’t get tyre tracks,’ Callanach said.

      ‘Agreed. We don’t know which way it was going so CCTV at the nearest junctions will be a needle in a haystack. There are a few houses dotted along the road, though,’ Ava said. ‘Get uniformed officers doing a house to house. Any vehicles seen or heard late at night. Ask if local landowners mind us searching their premises. Anyone who says no, do a background check.’

      Jonty Spurr rejoined them, stripping off his gloves as a photographer stepped in to capture the scene before the body was prepared for transfer to the mortuary.

      ‘Dr Spurr, any possibility this was an operation gone wrong? The cotton wool packing, the incisions. And dumping the body so publicly. Whoever did this wanted her to be found,’ Ava said.

      ‘It would have been obvious that the blood loss would have been beyond her capacity to recover from. There’s no medical reason for what happened here. The wound packs might have been applied to simply keep her alive longer,’ Jonty said.

      ‘You’re suggesting that treating the wounds was actually a way to prolong the agony?’ Callanach asked.

      ‘My remit is science, not speculation. It’s a wonder she survived as long as she did. She was tough and brave. To have crawled at all, even just a few metres was, in the circumstances, remarkable,’ Jonty said.

      ‘How long since she died, do you think?’ Ava asked him.

      ‘Three to four hours. Apparently, she was found by a farmhand who was on his way to let out some cattle further down the lane. I saw him talking to the first officers on the scene. Given that he’s being treated for shock himself, I’d say he’s nothing to do with it. The pathology aside, it took someone with a strong stomach to take a knife to this girl, then to turn her over and do it again. It’s not like stabbing in anger. It takes medically trained professionals a long time to prepare themselves to make major incisions.’

      ‘A psychopath, then,’ Ava said. ‘Or someone completely inured to the extremes of violence and bloodshed.’

      ‘Someone you shouldn’t underestimate, I think I’d say,’ Jonty confirmed. ‘We’re moving her now. I’ll perform a post-mortem today but it’ll take some time. Join me first thing tomorrow morning for some answers.’

      They said their goodbyes. Luc and Ava stood watching as the corpse was moved from the ground into a body bag and onto a stretcher. The ground where the young woman had died was crimson in the centre and black at the edges. With the body removed, the trail she had crawled was more obvious.

      ‘She didn’t get very far at all,’ Callanach said. ‘My guess is that when she was left here, the perpetrator knew she wouldn’t last much longer. I also think they drove away south west, towards the reservoir.’

      ‘Why?’ Ava asked.

      ‘Because she started crawling towards Edinburgh. There’s no way she’d have crawled in the same direction the vehicle went. You move away from your attackers as fast as you can. Gut instinct makes you go in the opposite direction to where they’re going.’

      ‘Do you think it was someone she knew?’ Ava asked him.

      ‘I’m not sure which would be more dangerous, having the capacity to do that to a total stranger or being able to look into the eyes of someone you know and cutting into them. It’s like she was attacked by an animal. I’ve never seen that much missing skin,’ he said. ‘Let’s walk down the road a bit, see if there’s anything that’s been missed.’

      They walked quietly for a hundred yards, knowing each other’s stride, finding some calm in the greenery. ‘I hate this job,’ Ava said.

      ‘No, you don’t,’ Callanach responded, ‘you just hate why it’s necessary. You need to remind yourself that the decent people outnumber sick bastards like this one by the millions. If we weren’t here, how many more bodies would end up mutilated at the side of the road?’

      ‘Do you never think about going back to Lyon? I know what happened to you there was bad, but time has passed. You could rejoin Interpol, your name has been cleared. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,’ Ava said, turning around to stare back up the lane at the lights and the parade of white-clad personnel walking methodically to and fro.

      ‘You never clear your name after a rape allegation,’ Luc said. ‘It’s like trying to get ink out of a white shirt. I’m settled here now. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Scotland feels like home, but I’m comfortable. If we could just replace all of Edinburgh’s fast food joints with delicatessens it would be better.’

      ‘You’re never going to forgive us for our food, are you?’

      ‘If you expect me to accept atrocities such as haggis, porridge, and what I believe you call mince and tatties, then no.’ Callanach’s French accent accentuated the words as if they were exotic foreign diseases.

      Ava smiled. ‘This route becomes more track than road as it goes past the two reservoirs, but it’s stony. The one time I wish the ground was soft, and we’ve had virtually no rain for a week. You’re right. No fresh tyre marks. The vehicle will have her blood in it, though. We have to find the person who did this, and quickly, before they have a chance to destroy the evidence.’

      ‘Which is what they’ll be doing right now,’ Callanach said. ‘Let’s get back to the station. I’ll brief the squad while you sort out the resources we’ll need.’ His phone rang as they were turning around to go back. ‘Yes, that’s right. Get hold of next of kin. Ask for a photo first. We can’t have anyone seeing this body if we’re wrong about the identity. Thanks.’ He rang off. ‘A young woman was reported missing last Sunday who fits the general description. DC Tripp is chasing an up-to-date photo.’

      ‘I didn’t hear about that. Any reason why the missing person report wasn’t widely circulated?’ Ava asked.

      ‘She was living in a domestic abuse shelter. Women come and go quite regularly. I guess sometimes they just get sick of the lack of privacy, or go back to their previous situations, and many don’t want to be found. Police at the time took a statement from the shelter but there was no evidence of foul play, so they haven’t done much about it since.’

      ‘Did you get a name?’ Ava asked.

      ‘Zoey Cole. Eighteen years old. Caucasian, brown hair, hazel eyes. Sounds like our girl.’

      ‘It does,’ Ava said, picking up the pace as they walked. ‘The question is, how did she come to be living in a women’s shelter in the first place? Maybe whoever made Zoey scared enough to move there might have found out where she was and decided to pay her a visit.’

      ‘I’d be surprised if this stems from domestic violence. It would be the most extreme evolution of offending I’ve ever seen,’ Callanach said.

      ‘People can suddenly erupt and reveal a completely hidden side to their nature. You only went on one date with Astrid and look what happened at the end of that. She was sufficiently fixated to accuse you of rape and to hurt herself dramatically to back it up. Can you imagine how much more obsessed and deranged she’d have been if you were in a relationship with her for six months, or two years? Human beings don’t have any limits when they’re broken. It’s the damage you can’t see on the surface that’s the most dangerous.’

       Chapter Three

      The Major Investigation Team’s incident room was empty. Detective Constable Christie Salter stood in the doorway, coffee cup in one hand, box of doughnuts in the other. One step forward would take her back into a world she’d left months earlier, when a hostage situation had gone terribly wrong and she’d been stabbed in the abdomen with a shard of broken pottery. Salter had lost her baby. Her sanity, too, for a short time, if she was completely honest. Coming back to work hadn’t been a choice. If she’d