A scorching August day, and a handsome young man is found dead in his bath. Suicide is not a detective inspector’s business, but Bill Slider’s colleague takes one look at the body and calls in his boss: 'It don’t look right to me, guv.'
Slider has to agree. There’s the method of death, a single slash to the jugular; men don’t usually cut. And his wallet and keys are missing. Either this was suicide with concealment in mind - or murder. But first Slider has to identify the victim, and as the trail leads through tattoo parlours and porn studios to Soho, Tin Pan Alley and Canary Wharf, it seems that the more he finds out, the less he really knows....
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