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Donna lying face up in the mortuary. The pathologist had yet to make the ‘Y’ incision that would further violate her young body. Apart from the appalling crimson slash across her neck, some smaller, shallower cuts were just visible on her lower arms and shoulders.
    â€˜The pathologist thinks there was a struggle,’ said Leverton. ‘The smaller cuts were made by a knife, he reckons, so it looks as if Donna tried to fend off her attacker before he finally cut her throat. There were no fibres in the wounds, so she was naked or partially clothed when the attack began. The fibres on the heels and the backs of the legs suggest that she was dragged across a carpet before being transported to the dump site.’
    â€˜What about her fingernails?’ Megan asked. ‘If there was a struggle she might have scratched him – was there any blood there?’
    â€˜No, there was nothing under the nails at all – they were as clean as if she’d just stepped out of the bath.’
    Megan tried to imagine how it had happened. Maybe Donna had been in the bath or shower. She pictured the naked girl, her wet curls clinging to her head as she reached for a towel. Was it someone she knew, then? Someone with whom she’d willingly had sex before he turned on her?
    Leverton picked up the post mortem file on Natalie Bailey and handed Megan a second batch of photographs. The first picture simply showed a black bundle lying beside a grass verge.
    â€˜As you know, Natalie was found in a layby off the M6. It was about five miles south of Stafford and roughly fifteen miles north of Wolverhampton. She was wrapped in a couple of black binliners, but again, no real effort to conceal the body. She’d been dead for approximately twelve hours when she was discovered.’
    Megan stared at the photograph. What sort of person had done this? Two girls, hardly more than children, dumped like so much rubbish. ‘What about the cause of death?’ she asked. ‘It was different to Donna, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes. Strangulation this time – manual, not with a ligature. The pattern of the bruises on the throat suggests that she was strangled from behind.’
    Megan studied the second photograph. Natalie looked like a naked white angel, her spiky blonde hair a halo around the lifeless head. The photograph had been taken before the bruising had come out. The third photo, taken the following day, showed purple marks like lovebites on her throat.
    A fourth photo showed a close-up of Natalie’s wrists, both of which bore red weals. ‘What are these marks on her wrists?’ Megan looked up at Leverton, who was leaning across the desk, peering at the upside-down image.
    â€˜Handcuffs or wire, the pathologist says. The marks are very recent, so he reckons Natalie was restrained shortly before she died or while she was being killed.’
    Megan shuffled through the photographs. ‘Donna didn’t have marks like this, did she?’
    â€˜No – just the cuts on the shoulders and arms, which were made by a knife.’
    â€˜You know, if you hadn’t told me about the DNA match between those two semen samples I would have sworn these girls were killed by two different men.’ She tried to think through the possibilities, resisting jumping to conclusions. She laid the photos down on the desk and stared at Leverton for a few moments before continuing, but he stayed quiet, eager to hear what she had to say.
    â€˜To me, the motivation for Donna’s murder is very different from Natalie’s.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The way Donna died suggests a straightforward fight. Maybe with a pimp. We know she was a crack addict, so the chances are he was too, and we both know how aggressive crack-addicted males can get. Perhaps they had a row that went to far.’ Megan frowned. ‘She was pregnant. Maybe he’d just found out and didn’t like it.’
    Leverton