A middle-aged couple were seated kerbside, holding hands.

Then there was the teenage girl, arms wrapped around herself as she shivered against a wall. Beyond her the crowd of onlookers was starting to shuffle forward again, warnings forgotten.

'Best thing you can do,' Rebus offered, 'is hold that lot back till we can secure the scene. Doctor should be here in a couple of lutes.'

He's not got a pulse,' Goodyear said. 'I checked.'

Rebus glowered at him.

Told you they wouldn't like it,' Goodyear's partner said with ler chuckle.

I'XJontaminates the locus,' Clarke told the young constable, show[him her gloved hands and overshoes. He looked embarrassed.

f'Doctor still has to confirm death,' Rebus added. 'Meantime, you.start persuading that rabble to get themselves home.'

jrlorified bouncers, that's us,' the older cop told his partner as ¦ moved off.

'Which would make this the VIP enclosure,' Clarke said quietly.

She was checking the corpse again. 'He's well enough dressed; probably not homeless.'

'Want to look for ID?'

She took a couple of steps forward and crouched beside the body, pressing a gloved hand against the man's trouser and jacket pockets. 'Can't feel anything,' she said.

'Not even sympathy?'

She glanced up at Rebus. 'Does the suit of armour come off when you collect the gold watch?'

Rebus managed to mouth the word 'ouch'. Reason they'd been staying late at the office so often – Rebus only ten days from retirement, wanting loose ends tied.

'A mugging gone wrong?' Clarke suggested into the silence.

Rebus just shrugged, meaning he didn't think so. He asked Clarke to shine the torch down the body: black leather jacket, an open-necked patterned shirt which had probably started out blue, faded denims held up with a black leather belt, black suede shoes. As far as Rebus could tell, the man's face was lined, the hair greying. Early fifties? Around five feet nine or ten. No jewellery, no wristwatch. Bringing Rebus's personal body-count to… what?