Rain lashed against the Victorian townhouse, each drop a staccato note on the cobblestones below. Detective Inspector Eira Davies pulled her collar tighter, a shiver snaking down her spine despite the heavy wool coat. The iron railing felt cold against her palm as she peered into the gaping maw of the open door. A yellow crime scene tape blocked the way, stark against the gloom. This wasn't her usual stomping ground – the elegant streets of Kensington were a world away from the gritty back alleys of Whitechapel where Eira honed her skills. But tonight, fate, or perhaps a perverse sense of irony, had delivered her here.