Twenty-six-year-old DC Mathew Connors made a sound like a fur seal as his beef curry from earlier in the evening involuntarily heaved from his stomach, splattering down into the darkness of a drain hole. The murder at 21 King’s Lane was unlike any he had seen. He had greeted the grim-faced SOCO moments earlier with a cheery ‘good evening’ and immediately regretted it. Sergeant George Houghton had been ashen-faced and Mathew knew he had attended many, many crime scenes in his thirty-something years on the force. George had wordlessly led Mathew down the winding lane, pointed to the corner, and walked away. Sweating and heaving, Mathew now knew why George hadn’t lingered. Wiping his mouth with his now sodden, stained handkerchief, he backed away from the scene. He ducked under the blue and white barrier tape and hurried back out into the steady rain. He reached the point where the lane intersected with Earl’s Court road, across from the normally busy Tube Station. He needed to breathe cold, wet air and regain control.
