The Dying Place by Luca Veste

of the eyes. He finished up the meeting with a bit more geeing up of the troops, with only a couple of them realising he was putting on a show. Murphy waited for them all to leave, Rossi staying behind as he knew she would.
    ‘Late? Unlike you.’
    ‘Yeah, sorry,’ Rossi said, taking aim and throwing the empty bottle across the room and into the bin.
    ‘Not affected your aim though.’
    ‘Not that kind of late night.’
    Murphy hesitated, unsure if it was the best time to ask what she’d been up to. Decided against it. ‘Forensics back in yet?’
    ‘Don’t know. Came straight in here.’
    Murphy walked away into their shared office. ‘Best go and check then.’
    He heard the chair scrape behind him as he went to check his email. The subdued murmurs of the main office instantly shut off as Rossi closed the door to their internal workspace. She’d acquired another energy drink from somewhere and started glugging it down as soon as she sat behind her desk.
    ‘Do we have addresses for all the names yet?’ Rossi said, in between swallows.
    ‘Harris is sorting that as we speak, aren’t you?’ Murphy replied, directing his question to the hunched-over DC in the corner.
    ‘Almost done.’
    Murphy checked his email, the latest message proving to be the report he was waiting for.
    He read over the first couple of pages, Rossi walking around her desk to read over his shoulder.
    ‘A couple of cigarette butts and a shoe print. That’s it?’ Rossi said.
    ‘From the general vicinity. At least that’s something. Look here though … DNA. Someone else’s blood was found on the clothing. That’s a break.’
    ‘No matches though,’ Rossi replied, leaning back on a filing cabinet. ‘Won’t know until we’ve got him that it’s him.’
    ‘True. Which is why it becomes the new thing we ask people at interview. Anyone who refuses to give a sample deserves to be looked into a bit closer.’
    ‘The usual then. Best read my own copy of it, I suppose.’
    Murphy went back to reading over the rest of the report. No defensive wounds or skin under the fingernails – the normal place for them to find DNA. However, no evidence of any restraints used either, which struck him as odd. Dean would have surely known he was about to die, and if someone was strangling him he would have attempted to extricate whatever was being used.
    ‘Unless he was being held down …’
    ‘What’s that?’ Rossi said, looking up from her own copy.
    ‘No evidence of restraints being used. If you want to asphyxiate someone alone, without the worry of them clawing at you, there’s three things you can do. Wash them thoroughly afterwards to remove any traces of DNA; drug them so they’re unconscious whilst you work; or you have help. I can’t see any note of traces of bleach or something in here. And there’s no drugs in the victim’s system.’
    Rossi looked away from him. ‘So, either he had someone to hold them down, or there’s something we’re missing.’
    Murphy pursed his lips, ‘Could be.’
    Harris had turned around in his chair, watching them as they spoke.
    ‘Any thoughts?’ Murphy said towards him.
    ‘Not right now. But I do have something. One of the names on the list. Paul Cooper.’
    ‘What about him?’
    ‘I know where he is. Right now as a matter of fact.’
    Murphy smiled. ‘Well … come ’ead then. Where?’
    ‘Walton Lane nick.’

10
    Five minutes away from Goodison Park, which the blue half of the city calls home, on the main stretch of Walton Lane which leads around Stanley Park and Anfield Cemetery, lies Walton Lane Police Station. The small station was twinned with the larger St Anne Street building which Murphy worked from. It had been a base of sorts until recently, the main traffic going through St Anne Street until the new crime commissioner began delegating more bodies there. The area around had suffered from an influx of professionals in recent years, those looking for cheaper rents and bigger homes,