‘Does he think Clayton was behind Dan’s death?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Nelson sounds rather put out. ‘He doesn’t confide in me.’

‘I’m seeing Clayton Henry today,’ says Ruth. ‘He’s going to show me some artefacts found at the site.’

‘Jesus, Ruth.’ Nelson’s voice is sharp. ‘Be careful. Man sounds like a nutter. Katie’s not going with you, is she?’

Kate’s the one he’s worried about, thinks Ruth. She can have a breakfast meeting with Jack the Ripper as long as Kate is safe.

‘Cathbad’s taking her to Nickelodeon World.’

‘Well, she can’t come to any harm there.’

*

Nelson puts down the phone feeling frustrated. He wishes he could ask Ruth not to go to her meeting, he wishes he could haul Elaine Morgan in for questioning. But he’s not Ruth’s husband and he’s not the officer in charge of this enquiry. And even if he was her husband, he reflects gloomily, he doubts if she’d listen to him. Over the last few days Michelle has been pleasant but detached. She and her mother are always whisking off to places, ostensibly leaving him free to relax, in reality to fret about the case and wish that he could do more than just attend interviews ‘as an observer’. Sandy’s warning had disconcerted him too. On the one hand, the idea of old Sandy as a marriage counsellor is laughable. On the other, if Sandy has noticed something between him and Ruth, who else might become suspicious? His sisters? His mother? Michelle’s mother?

He doesn’t like all this stuff about Arch Wizards and King Arthur. In his experience, when people start dressing up they lose track of what is real and what is make-believe. Maybe whoever killed Dan Golding thought that they were preparing a sacrificial victim, atoning for some ancient wrong. In reality, a man was burnt to death in his own home. He can’t bear the thought of Katie (or Ruth) mixing with these people. At least they’re going home this afternoon. Katie can have a nice morning at the Pleasure Beach with Cathbad, then back to Norfolk and safety. Jesus, it’s come to something when he thinks of Cathbad as the perfect babysitter.

He knows that Sandy and Tim have gone to Lancaster on the trail of some suspected White Hand members. Nevertheless, he leaves a message for Sandy, saying that he has some new information and asking him to ring as soon as possible. Then, on impulse, he dials a more familiar number.

‘Detective Sergeant Dave Clough.’

‘Hi, Cloughie.’

‘Boss! How are you? Is it grim up north?’

‘You don’t know the half of it, Cloughie. What’s it like being in charge?’

Clough is nominally in charge of the department, but with Nelson and Judy away his team consists of only three people: a frighteningly simple PC called Rocky Taylor, a grizzled old hand called Tom Henty and an extremely keen WPC, Tanya Fuller.

Nevertheless Nelson can almost hear Clough expanding his chest. ‘Not too bad. Think I’m running a pretty tight ship. Everything’s under control.’

‘That’s good to hear. Listen, I need a favour. Could you check the files for anything on a woman called Elaine Morgan.’ He spells it out.

‘What’s this about? Thought you were on holiday.’

‘It’s a long story. I’m almost looking forward to coming back to Norfolk.’

Clough laughs. ‘As bad as that? Leave it to me, boss.’

Nelson switches off his phone feeling slightly better. He trusts Clough to find the information, and though he hates to admit it, it feels good to be called ‘boss’ again and to have someone jump to do his bidding. He paces Louise’s spotless front room, wishing there was some more action that he could take, the more forceful the better. One of his abrupt turns brings him into collision with a small table bearing a bowl full of pot-pourri. Nelson scoops up the mess, cursing under his breath. Louise’s house is full of such things. Normally, he gets some pleasure from staying in such a pretty, well-ordered home but now, somehow, it gets on his nerves. How many fragrant leaves and sea shells does one house need, for God’s sake?

‘What are you doing, Harry?’ Michelle is standing in the doorway. He can see her feet, which are clad in unusually low-heeled shoes. She must be going out for a walk.

‘Knocked something over.’

‘Do try and be careful. Mum keeps the house so nice.’

Nelson ignores this. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Pendleton. For a walk and a pub lunch. Are you coming?’

Pendleton. That must be near Pendle Hill and that awful, spooky witch’s house. Nelson never wants to see the place again. He thinks of searching the house with Cathbad, neither of them knowing that its owner was hanging, lifeless, in one of the outhouses. He thinks of the garden and the raven in the tree, of the twinkling dream-catchers and the herbs brewing on the range.

‘I’d better stay here,’ he says. ‘Sandy might call.’

‘Honestly, Harry.’ Michelle tosses her blonde pony tail. ‘This isn’t your case, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘You’ve been so funny this holiday. Even mum has noticed it.’

‘I’m useless at holidays. You know that.’

‘You might try, Harry.’ Michelle gives him a significant look, eyelashes lowered. ‘For my sake.’

‘All right,’ says Nelson. ‘I’ll get my hiking boots.’

*

Ruth parks outside the cigarette factory. As it is now August, there will be no one at reception and Clayton has told her to come straight up to his office. Standing outside the building, looking up at its grim grey industrial walls, she feels an odd disinclination to go inside. Come on, Ruth, she tells herself, best foot forward. Jesus, even the voice in her head is sounding like her mother now. She squares her shoulders and climbs the steps to the main entrance.

As she passes through the atrium full of pictures of scientists, Ruth thinks about Dan, who must have walked past these dusty display cases every day. She feels that she hasn’t really justified Dan’s faith in her. True, she spotted the trick with the switched skeletons but she hasn’t managed to track down the original bones and now fears that they have been burnt on some pseudo-Arthurian funeral pyre. She hasn’t made any archaeological breakthroughs herself though she now understands the nature of Dan’s great discovery. The trouble is, without evidence, she might well be the only person who ever knows the truth about the Raven King. Still, it will be interesting to see the artefacts today, and the tomb itself may be worth a paper or two. She dismisses this ignoble thought as she starts to climb the metal stairs.

She doesn’t really feel any closer to Dan, even though she is in his university, working with his colleagues. In some ways he seems further away than ever. He was sleeping with several women but didn’t love any of them. He had friends but didn’t seem to take any of them into his confidence. He felt an outsider, as indeed he was. The only emotions with which Ruth can completely empathise are the professional feelings – the sense that his career has stalled and then the incredible excitement of a new discovery. She can imagine the febrile, intense atmosphere of the days surrounding the excavation. It must have been something like the henge dig all those years ago when she was falling in love with Peter. Although she hadn’t known it at the time, Erik, Cathbad and Shona had also all been conducting clandestine business of their own. Strange how a dry academic exercise like an archaeological dig can arouse such violent human emotions. Both excavations, in their way, led to murder.

She is out of breath by the time she reaches the fourth floor. She should have started going to the gym again after Kate was born. Oh well, plenty of time for that when the new term starts. She takes a deep breath and heads for the door marked Prof. C. Henry.

Clayton Henry is sitting at his desk. It is some moments before Ruth notices the silver paper knife protruding from his chest.