That was my role. But there was the other huge problem -the disposal of two bodies, and also the ditching somewhere of the girl's rucksack. Why we didn't decide to dump the rucksack with Myton's suitcases, I just don't know. And what a tragic mistake that proved. The bodies were eventually loaded into the back of McBryde's van which drove off under the darkness of that night – this is what I understand – first to Wytham, where after Michaels had unlocked the gate leading to the woods the two foresters had transferred Myton's body to the Land-rover, and then driven out to dispose of the body in the heart of the woods somewhere – I never knew where.

Then the same men drove out to Blenheim where Daley, naturally, had easy access to any part of the Great Park, and where Karin Eriksson's body, wrapped in a blanket and weighed down with stones, was pushed into the lake there – again I never knew where.

Looking back, the whole thing seems so very crude and cruel. But some people act strangely when they are under stress – and we were all under tremendous stress that terrible day. Whether the others involved will be willing to corroborate this sequence of events, I don't know. What is to be believed is that this statement has been made of my own free will with no coercion or promptings, and that it is true.

The statement was dated i.viii.1992, and signed by Dr Alan Hardinge, Fellow of Lonsdale College, Oxford, in the presence of Detective Chief Inspector Morse, Detective Sergeant Lewis, and WPC Wright – no solicitor being present, at Dr Hardinge's request.

Whilst Hardinge was still only some halfway through his statement, George Daley, eager as ever to take advantage of overtime, was boxing some petunias in the walled garden at Blenheim Garden Centre. He had not heard the footsteps; but he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder, and jerked nervously.

'Christ! You got 'ere quick.'

'You said it was urgent.'

'It is bloody urgent.'

'What is?'

'Now look-!'

'No, you look! The police'll have that statement some time this morning – probably got it already. And we've agreed – you've agreed – remember that!'

Daley took off the ever-present hat, and wiped the back of his right wrist across his sweaty forehead.

'Not any longer I haven't bloody agreed, mate. Look at this!' Daley took a letter from his pocket. 'Came in the post this morning, dinnit? That's why I rang. See what I could get done for? Me! Just for that fuckin' twerp o' mine. No, mate! What we agreed's no good no longer. We double it – or else no deal. Four, that's what I want. Not two. Four!'

"Four? Where the hell do you reckon that's coming from?'

'Your problem, innit?'

'If I could find it,' said the other slowly, 'how do I know you're not going-'

'You don't. Trust, innit? I shan't ask nothin' more never though – not if we make it four.'

'I can't get anything, you know that – not till the bank opens Monday.'

There was a silence between them.

'You won't regret it, mate,' said Daley finally.

'You will, though, if you ever come this sort of thing again.'

'Don't you threaten me!'

‘I’m not just threatening you, Daley – I'll bloody kill you if you try it on again.' There was a menace and a power now in his quiet voice, and he turned to go. 'Better if you come to me – fewer people about.'

'Don't mind.'

'About ten – no good any earlier. In my office, OK?'

'Make it outside your office.'

The other shrugged. 'Makes no difference to me.'

an hour after Hardinge had left – had been allowed to leave -Lewis came back into Morse's office with three photocopies of the document.

Morse picked up one set of the sheets and looked fairly cursorily, – appeared, at the transcript of Hardinge's statement. 'What did you make of things?'

'One or two things a bit odd, sir.'

'Only one or two?'

'Well, there's two things, really. I mean, there's this fellow Daley, isn't there? He's at Park Town that afternoon and that night he shoves the girl's body into the lake at Blenheim.'

‘Yes?'

'Well, then he leaves the girl's rucksack in a hedge-bottom at Begbroke. I mean-'

'I wish you'd stop saying "I mean", Lewis.'

‘Well, you'd think he'd have left it miles away, wouldn't you? He could easily have dumped it out at Burford or Bicester or somewhere. I me – '

'Why not put it in the blanket? With the body?'

'Well, yes. Anywhere – except where he left it.'

'I think you're right.'

'Why don't we ask him then?'

'All in good time, Lewis! You just said two things, didn't you?'

'Ah, well. It's the same sort of thing, really. They decided to put Myton's body in Wytham Woods, agreed? And they did put it there, because we've found it. What I can't understand is why Michaels told you where it was. I mean- Sorry, sir!'

'But he didn't, did he? He didn't exactly give us a six-figure grid-reference.'

'He told you about Pasticks, though.'

'Among other places, yes.' For a while Morse looked out across the tarmac yard, unseeing it seemed, though nodding gravely. 'Ye-es! Very good, Lewis! You've put your finger – two fingers -on the parts of that statement that would worry anyone; anyone even half as intelligent as you are.'

Lewis was unsure whether this was exactly the compliment that Morse had intended; but the master was beginning his own analysis:

'You see – ask yourself this. Why did Daley have to dump the rucksack, and then find it himself? As you rightly say, why so close to the place they'd just dumped her body? What's the reason? What could be the reason? Any reason? Then, again just as you say, why was Michaels prepared to be so helpful to us? Crackers, isn't it – if he didn't want anyone to find the body? So why? Why give us any chance of finding it? Why not give us a duff list of utterly improbable sites? God! Wytham's as big as…' (Morse had difficulty with the simile) 'as the pond out at Blenheim.'

' "Lake", sir – about two hundred acres of it. Take a bit of dragging, that.'

'Take a lot of dragging.'

'Forget it, then?'

'Yes, forget it! I think so. As I told you yesterday, Lewis…’

'You still think you were right about that?'

'Oh, yes! No doubt about it. All we've got to do is to sit back and wait. We're going to have people come to us, Lewis. We're losing nothing. You can take it from me there'll be no more casualties in this case unless… unless it's that silly young sod, Philip Daley.'

'We might as well take a bit of a breather then, sir.'

'Why not? Just one thing you can do on your way home, though.’

Look in at Lonsdale, will you? See who was on duty at the Porters' Lodge last night, and try to find out if our friend Hardinge had any visitors in his rooms. And if so, how many, and who they were.

For the moment, however, Lewis seemed reluctant to leave.

'You sure you don't want me to go and pick up Daley and Michaels?'

'I just told you. They'll be coming to us. One of 'em will, anyway, unless I'm very much mistaken.'

'Which you seldom are.'

‘Which I seldom am.'

'You don't want to tell me which one?'

‘Why shouldn't I want to tell you which one?'

‘Well?'

'All right. I'll bet you a fiver to a cracked piss-pot that the Head Warden, the Lone Ranger, or whatever his name is, will call here – in person or on the phone – before you sit watching the six o'clock news on the telly.'