Lestrade was accustomed to crying children; he played Caring Father when it seemed expedient, and handed off the angry ones to Donovan. But the crying from the vic's back bedroom worried him; he wasn't sure what he would do about a baby.
The door squeaked as he pushed it open, and the crying stopped. He stepped cautiously into the room.
A brush at his ankle sent him whirling. The first thing he saw was Donovan behind him, laughing; the next was the orange kitten by his feet.
"Need some backup, sir?" Donovan asked.
Lestrade scooped up the kitten. "Sorted, thanks."