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Clarke and Morales climbed out of the Audi into the yellow glow of suburban streetlight. They ducked under the police tape cordoning off the house and showed their badges to the CSO. His name was Waters, a stocky, mixed-race man Clarke had met in passing.
"You guys NCA?" Waters asked.
"Uh-huh," Morales said.
"We've got your man inside," Waters said, leading them in through the front of the house. He showed them to an open door: a private garage inside.
Forensics officers combed the scene. They dusted the house for prints, the chatter of a camera shutter in the background.
Clarke stepped inside the garage, his breath fogging the air. He took an A4 print and held it up alongside the figure hanging from a beam in the roof. He compared the picture to the body.
"This the guy?" Waters
