"DC Stewart," I said, flashing my police badge at the large uniformed officer standing outside of the front door.
He looked carefully at my ID and then back at me.
"Are you sure you want to go in there Miss?"
There was genuine concern on the police officer's face which looked pale and drawn.
I walked past the uniformed officer, through the front door, into the large hallway.
The stench of death was already in the air, filling my nostrils with its pungent odour of decay.
The door on the right led into the lounge. It was slightly ajar and within I could see a couple of uniformed officers standing around whilst a man and a woman dressed in disposable paper suits appeared to be measuring distances with a tape measure.
"You took your fucking time Stewart," said a gruff voice from behind me.
I reeled around to see DS Rioch's huge frame filling the front door.
"Sorry Sarge," I said. "I got here as fast as I could."
Detective Sergeant Rioch was the last person in the world you shared personal problems with. If there was a queue of people to unload problems onto, he would be right at the back behind Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin.
"Have you been in yet?" He asked, nodding his bloated head towards the door.
I shook my head.
"Fuckin' mess," he said. "You'd best get in there before her majesty throws a hissy fit."
My face dropped and I turned my attention back to the room beyond the ajar door.
"The DCI's here?"
"Yeah," said DS Rioch, "and DC Thompson. So stop standing around and do something fuckin' useful."
I felt my cheeks turn red. When I'd left uniform police and joined CID Homicide Unit I hadn't quite banked on working with such loathsome and arrogant arseholes. Pushing the door open with the back of my hand so as not to leave fingerprints I walked purposefully and confidently into the room.
Four pairs of eyes immediately turned around and looked at me.
"Ah Stewart, so glad you could join us," said the elegant woman who was standing in the middle of the very large living room.
Inwardly I made a long drawn out whistling sound. This house was in a very rich part of London and now standing here in the living room my senses were assaulted by the sheer magnitude of wealth within this particular postcode. I looked over at DC Thompson who was standing nonchalantly in the corner, his hands in his trouser pockets. He smiled at me and gave me a wink. Trying to stop myself feeling flushed again I joined the DCI in the middle of the room.
The woman who was holding the tape measure placed it in her pocket, whispered something to her colleague and then approached me. She held her hand out to me.
"Hi I'm Jenny Marsden," she said with an unmistakable privately educated tone of voice. "Pleased to meet you."
"Lisa Stewart," I said hesitantly as I shook her hand and then looked at the DCI.
"I'm giving this case to you," said the DCI. "You'll be the lead officer in charge working with DC Thompson."
Shit.
The DCI ran her fingers through her short blonde hair as she spoke.
"Miss Marsden is Chief SOCO for the Division, she'll get you up to speed with the case."
"But why me?"
The DCI moved towards me, and bent down so we were now face to face.
"I'm giving you this case Stewart because quite frankly I think you're a waste of space," she spat. "You prove me wrong and solve it otherwise I'll bust you back down to uniform."
I knew she didn't like me, but I wasn't expecting that.
"Ma'am, I'd respectfully..."
I didn't get to finish.
"Get this case solved Stewart, otherwise you're finished."
I watched the DCI storm out of the living room, brushing DS Rioch aside as if he were made of paper. Regaining my composure I turned my attention back to Jenny Marsden.
"Can you show me the crime scene?"
"Follow me," said Jenny. "But be warned. You will not have seen anything like this before."
As Jenny walked towards the end of the living room I felt a tug on my arm. I looked round to see DC Thompson grinning at me.
"Bloody hell she doesn't like you does she," he said.
I bit my bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears.
"I've no idea what I've done wrong Tommy," I said, the last few syllables sounding slightly slurred as my emotions got the better of me.
"Hey, don't cry Lisa," said Tommy taking my hand between his strong fingers. "Don't let her get to you."
I looked into his dark, handsome face. His blue eyes twinkled at me as he smiled again and immediately I felt myself wanting to melt into his arms.
"She's just jealous," said Tommy. "She was the only woman in the department before you showed up."
"Jealous?"
"Yes," said Tommy. "She's a very attractive and powerful woman. You can only imagine the attention she gets from her colleagues, and boy does she enjoy being the centre of attention. And then you turn up and suddenly she sees you as competition."
"Me? But..."
I could feel myself turning red again. Curse my freckled fair complexion.
"Now, let's get solving this case so we can prove the wicked witch wrong," he said and gently led me to the kitchen where Jenny was now standing.
My immediate impulse was to turn my head away and vomit but I couldn't. Morbid fascination gripped my head in its vice like grip and refused to let me turn my head away. I joined Jenny who was crouched down on the floor next to the victim.
"Is he the owner of the house?"
Jenny tried to stifle a laugh.
"We can only assume it is indeed the owner. James Taunton aged thirty one years old, works, or worked rather in the banking industry. I've managed to recover some teeth to match against dental records and we'll check the DNA database."
I shook my head, trying to take in the scene before me.
"Cause of death?" I asked.
"Fairly obvious I would say," said Jenny. "He was crushed to death. And not just crushed. This poor guy was ground into the floor in the same way I deal with nasty invasive bugs in my house."
If it was James Taunton, somebody had visited a terrible death upon the man.
It was hard to make out if the bloody, pulped mess that lay smeared over a large area of the kitchen floor before us was even human. I looked around the room, totally confused.
"At a guess I would say it would take something considerably larger and heavier than a tank to cause this kind of body trauma," said Jenny, "and like me you are probably wondering how you could possibly drive a tank into a kitchen whilst leaving the walls intact."
Tommy and I looked at each other and we both thought it at exactly the same time. I was going to be back in uniform within the month.
"But do you want to see the really interesting bit?" Asked Jenny.
"There's more?" I said, somewhat shocked.
"Oh you will love this," she said moving to the other side of the human mess that resembled an accident in a strawberry jam factory.
I followed Jenny around to the other side of the remains and then my eyes slowly focussed at what she was pointing at.
It was a trail of blood leading from the victim to the back door.
Except on closer inspection it wasn't a trail of blood at all.
Footprints. It was a trail of tiny human footprints.
I looked at Jenny.
"Of course this is an elaborate hoax, painstakingly executed," said Jenny, "otherwise we are looking for a killer who is approximately five inches in height, give or take half an inch or so. Imagine that."
It was elaborate. Painstakingly elaborate as Jenny had so eloquently put it. This would have taken time to do and all three of us came to the same conclusion at the same time.
There could well be a serial killer in town.