“Um, Sir?” Kirsten’s small voice interrupted.

The men turned towards her, John annoyed by the intrusion, Victor still wearing his mask of kindness.

“I think that the noise came from around here. I remember that after I heard it, I had to sweep a large segment of the park with my torch until I saw her. I was facing this way, and I pointed my light towards this side of the alley, then I moved in that direction,” she explained, moving her arms together like a traffic warden. She was pointing to the crime scene now, framing the bench with her ungloved palms. John let his eyes fall down on her legs, a discreet smile curling his lips at the sight of her appealing thigh gap.

Standing with her legs slightly apart, the uniform trousers didn’t manage to hide her curves, with the chilly wind that started blowing in that instant molding the material around her rear form.

Feeling his DI’s gaze on him, John pursed his lips and frowned. He didn’t need the attention. He hated being scolded.

Shifting his weight, John put some distance between him and Victor and

walked towards the crime scene. The pathologist had finally arrived and was examining the corpse.

“You look awfully functional, Doc,” he began, nodding to the overweight man crouched beside the victim.

“I am working the night shift, Sergeant. I was up since last night. You, on the other hand…” the man replied, sniffling a cold.

“I’m also up since last night, Doc. The difference is that I haven’t got the luxury to catch up on my sleep the day before.”

“Not my concern, Sergeant. Her’s, on the other hand…” he said, gesturing to the victim. “But I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

John felt the sudden need to smother the pathologist for his habit of repeating himself, but thought there were too many witnesses. He shrugged it off instead, watching the unflappable doctor examine the victim in silence. Nothing could move him from his ways, not even the sharp bitterness in John’s voice, or the deadly cold in the park.

“So, what do you reckon, Doc?”

“It’s your guy, alright. See the ligature marks on her neck?” the doctor pointed to where he had moved the hem of her skirt. John nodded.

“That looks like a rope burn. I will know more when I start her post-mortem, but, for now, adding this to the other factors, I’m fairly sure this isn’t a copycat.”

“How come?” John pushed, knowing that he had to keep the Doc talking if he wanted something out of him tonight.

The pathologist shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ll know more after the autopsy, Sergeant. For now, you can be sure that she is a development in your investigation. Treat her as such,” and with that, he raised to his feet and motioned to his assistant to prepare for body collection.

John knew this was the moment of giving up so he swiveled on his heels and ducked underneath the police tape. The plastic edge touched his face, leaving what felt like a frost burn on his cheek. He wiped it off.

“I’m going to finish my beauty sleep, boss!” he threw over his shoulder, walking to his car. “I’m sure you can manage with just my lovely colleagues.”

Victor just shook his head, eyeing the young Constable, who was nervously fidgeting with a paper tissue. She looked disappointed that John was leaving already. “He got to her, the bastard,” Victor muttered, anticipating a shitstorm. Then he opened his coat and pulled out his mobile phone to call the Chief Superintendent. He considered changing his habit of carrying things in his inside pocket, especially during the chilly winter days.