He thought the water was still whispering and then he realised that Stuart was standing behind him and saying his name. He turned and saw the shape of something in Stuart’s hand.

Not a torch, not a bag.

It was like the water was angrier suddenly below them, chucking itself at the shore. It wasn’t quite so warm any more and Simon could feel the spray on the back of his neck. He said, ‘Stu,’ as Stuart raised his hand and then Simon saw what Stuart was holding and knew he’d been really stupid.

He could not call his mum’s face to mind, not clearly anyway, in those fractions of a second before the rock came down.

Twenty-five years on, standing in what was almost the same spot, Nicklin looked at Tom Thorne and quietly answered his question.

‘Because he was needy.’ He smiled, and turned from his handiwork as though he were suddenly bored with it. ‘And like I said, I’m impulsive sometimes.’

Thorne watched as Professor Howell – who was now back working in the grave – plucked something from her sieve. She brushed mud away, then held it up between tightly gloved fingers. Thorne leaned down to get a closer look, before the small object was handed over to be given its place as one more piece of evidence on the plastic sheet. To be photographed and catalogued with everything else.

Left femur (human), right half of pelvic girdle (human), belt buckle…

‘It’s ceramic,’ Howell said. ‘My nan used to collect these things, got them with teabags or something.’ She held it up towards Thorne. ‘It’s a dog, I think. No, a bear.’

TWENTY-NINE

There was not too much discussion about whether work was going to continue at the crime scene after dark. Barber was only too delighted to be earning the overtime and, with so much of the work done already, Howell was keen to press on, rather than leave things as they were overnight and come back again in the morning. As CSM and exhibits officer, Markham and Karim were expected to stay on. Markham seemed to have been prepared for such an eventuality and, if Karim looked less than thrilled at the prospect, he didn’t say as much.

With the light fading fast, Howell and Barber went up to the school and returned with the lights and portable generator. They had it all set up within fifteen minutes. In the gathering dusk, Barber stayed behind to assemble the forensic tent, while everyone else went back to talk through the procedures for those who would be staying on after Thorne and the Long Lartin contingent had left.

Walking back across the field, Fletcher said, ‘I don’t really see why we need to put the tent up at all. I mean, it’s not like there’s anyone around, is it?’

Howell turned to him. ‘It’s not about whether there’s anyone around. It’s about respect as much as anything.’

‘Just saying, it seems a bit daft.’

‘It’s what we do,’ Howell said.

Thorne had already spoken to Robert Burnham, who was waiting for them when they got back to the school and seemed eager to run through the ad hoc arrangements. Thorne could see that he was someone who was very much at home with a clipboard, but only in the absence of a flip-chart or PowerPoint facilities. He would, Thorne decided, have made a very good chief superintendent.

‘I think the Chapel House cottage would be best,’ he said. ‘That one sleeps six, easily. Obviously it’s been shut down for the winter, so there’ll have to be an element of make do and mend, I’m afraid. It’ll be a bit dusty and a few mice might have come in out of the cold, but we’ll do our best to make you comfortable.’

‘Close to the chapel is good,’ Howell said. ‘We can leave the remains in there overnight when we’ve finished at the crime scene.’ She nodded towards Sam Karim. ‘Can we get some kind of a bed set up in there for our exhibits officer? An inflatable mattress or something?’

Burnham looked horrified. ‘What, he’ll be sleeping in there with…?’

‘Has to,’ Thorne said.

‘Can’t be helped, Sam.’ Holland was trying to sound serious, but failed to hide his grin from Karim, who was suddenly looking even less happy about staying on than he had before.

‘All the bedding gets wrapped in plastic at the end of the summer,’ Burnham said. ‘So it should all be perfectly dry. As for food… I’m sure we can rustle you up some soup or something. We weren’t expecting that any of you would be staying over.’

‘Sounds great,’ Howell said. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t suppose you’d have a spare bottle of something?’ Karim asked.

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ Thorne said. ‘Not sure being pissed in charge of the body is a great idea.’

‘Just thinking about keeping warm,’ Karim said.

‘We’ll find you a hot water bottle.’ Thorne turned to Howell. ‘How long are we looking at?’

‘Another five or six hours,’ she said. ‘With a bit of luck we’ll be done down there by midnight.’

‘Sorry it’s worked out like this,’ Thorne said. ‘I sounded out the Morgans about hanging on a bit, but there’s no way they’ll wait until after dark.’

Howell shrugged. ‘I’ve stayed in worse places.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ Burnham said, a little offended. ‘It just might be a little more rough and ready than you’re used to. I’m sure you can make it nice and cosy… get the lanterns lit. I think there’s some books to read in there, puzzles and what have you.’

Markham looked at Thorne. ‘No reason we can’t have a bottle or two of something, is there?’

‘None at all,’ Thorne said. ‘Almost compulsory, I would have thought.’

She smiled nicely at the warden. ‘Any chance of scrounging something?’

‘Wine all right?’

‘God, yes,’ Markham said. ‘Actually, this might be quite an adventure.’ She looked at Thorne. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘You could always keep me company,’ Karim said. ‘Freezing my tits off in the chapel with nothing but a bag of old bones…’

Thorne told them that, weather permitting, the boat would be returning to pick them up first thing in the morning, and that once he was back on the mainland he would make arrangements to have the body of Simon Milner transported back to London. He thanked the warden for his help and Burnham said that it was not a problem. Thorne wondered if the warden was feeling slightly guilty for the earlier delay, even if the hour he had cost them had made little difference in the end.

Burnham held up his satellite phone. ‘Well, you’ve got my number if you think of anything else after you leave. Or if you’d like to come back some time for a break.’

Thorne told Markham and Karim that he would see them both back in London and thanked Bethan Howell for everything she’d done.

She said, ‘The trial then, I suppose.’

‘Sorry?’

‘See you at the trial.’ She nodded at Markham and Karim. ‘We’ll all be there, I imagine.’

‘Sounds like it’ll be quite a reunion,’ Nicklin said. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’

They all turned to look at him.

‘Maybe we should set up a Facebook event or something. I’m happy to do it all… I mean I know you’re all a lot busier than I am.’

Thorne looked at Jenks and Fletcher, but they just seemed bored. He glanced at Batchelor who was sitting next to Nicklin. Batchelor would not meet Thorne’s eye and stared at his feet, like someone keen to avoid any association with an acquaintance who was doing something embarrassing.

Howell said, ‘He’s full of himself, isn’t he?’

‘I’m just happy that everything went well,’ Nicklin said. ‘I’m pleased that you’re pleased, that’s all.’ When he saw Howell’s smile, his own quickly vanished. He sat back, took a few seconds. ‘For obvious reasons, I’ve been up close and personal with a body or two in my time. I’ve got nice and comfy with bones and blood and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t quite like it. As a matter of fact, there’s been more than a few shrinks over the years who’ve listened and scribbled a bit and decided that actually I must be getting off on it. Getting some kind of sexual kick out of it.’ He raised his handcuffed hands, waggled a finger at Howell. ‘So what’s your excuse?’