The Restless Dead

16

I caught a taxi back to Willets Point. Lundy told me he could arrange for me to be given a lift but I preferred to make my own way. One thing I hadn’t thought through was having to give the taxi driver directions. He was a young man, and grew increasingly unhappy as civilization gave way to the Gordian knot of waterways that carved their way through the flat marshland.

‘You sure you know where we’re going, mate? There’s nothing out here,’ he said nervously, as the single lane road doubled back on itself before passing over a small, hump-backed bridge.

I hoped I did. I recognized some parts, but this was a different route from the one I’d taken from London, and I’d not been paying much attention when the police officers had driven me earlier. The light was failing now besides, and with the creeks and channels swollen with the returning tide the landscape looked completely different.

In the end I decided it would be easier for me to make my own way for the last half-mile or so and told the driver I’d walk. His mood improved even more after a healthy tip. He gave me a cheery wave as he turned the cab around awkwardly in the cramped lane before disappearing back the way we came. I stood for a moment as the sound of the car’s engine faded, listening to the gentle lapping of the waters in the marsh, then set off along the empty road.

Clarke had asked me to stay at the mortuary after I’d established that the detached foot belonged to the remains from the Barrows.

‘If this isn’t Leo Villiers then I want to know who the hell it is,’ she’d said before she and Lundy left. ‘Age, ancestry, anything to help us narrow down the ID or time-since-death. Can you help with that, Dr Hunter?’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I told her, and turned to Frears. ‘Did you find any blowfly pupae or casings trapped in the clothes?’

‘No, but if it’s been in water I wouldn’t expect any.’

Neither would I, but that was the point. Blowflies are incredibly persistent. Even in winter, a small amount of sunshine can raise the temperature enough to bring them out. But they can’t lay eggs underwater, and although the body had been exposed during low tide, no eggs laid then would have survived the subsequent immersion. So if there had been any sign of blowfly activity, it would have meant the remains had been on the surface for longer than the interval between tides. That would significantly skew the rate of decomposition, and therefore the length of time-since-death.

If there were no blowflies, at least we could rule that out.

While Frears went to carry out the post-mortem on the remains from the barbed wire, I set about the grisly task of my own. I don’t think any of us seriously doubted any more that Villiers had faked his own death. What had started out looking like a suicide had suddenly turned into a murder inquiry, and this time there was a body tying him to it.

Not even his father’s lawyers could argue that away.

I was optimistic that I’d be able to provide Clarke with more information about the unknown man found in Leo Villiers’ clothes. I started by looking at the X-rays taken before the post-mortem. The hammertoes of the foot from the training shoe had suggested this was an older individual, but what I could see of the body’s joints on the X-rays told a different story. They looked in good condition, with virtually no age-related degradation.

I thought about that as I studied the X-ray of the foot. The second toe in particular was badly deformed, and if age wasn’t a factor that meant the cause must be either congenital or occupational. Looking at that second toe, I thought it was probably the latter. But to find out more would involve examining the bones themselves, and there was only one way of doing that.

Denuding a decaying human body of any remaining soft tissue was never pleasant. Wearing a rubber apron and thick rubber gloves, I removed as much of it as I could with a knife and scissors, cutting it away as close to the bone as I could without touching it. It would be stored with the organs and rest of the body for later burial or cremation, once we’d extracted as much information as we could.

What remained on the examination table was a grisly stick-figure, more anatomical caricature than human being. Even then I hadn’t finished. I carefully cut through the cartilage at the joints, gradually disassembling the remains like the carcass of a chicken. The disarticulated body parts went into large pans of weak detergent solution, which I left to simmer overnight in a fume cupboard. Sometimes stripping the skeleton in this way could be a time-consuming business, involving repeated soakings in warm detergent and then a degreasing agent before it was ready to be examined. But that wasn’t necessary when the remains were as decomposed as these had been, especially since their long immersion in the creek had started the process anyway. By morning the bones should be clean enough for me to examine, and hopefully give Clarke more information.

Once the pans were gently simmering away, there was nothing more I could do. I’d gone to find Frears but Lan, the young APT, told me he’d already left. Evidently the post-mortem hadn’t taken long, but that was no surprise. A pathologist would struggle to learn much from a body as badly decomposed as the one from the creek had been.

That was my job.

I’d been disappointed not to have a chance to hear what Frears had found. Even though the circumstances were different this time, it was the second post-mortem I’d missed. But the day’s events caught up with me as I stripped off my scrubs and cleaned up in the changing room. It didn’t seem possible it was only that morning I’d had coffee with Rachel in Cruckhaven. It had been a long day, and the leadenness of my limbs as I trudged along the empty road reminded me I still wasn’t entirely recovered from the infection.

I was glad when I reached the turn-off for Creek House, although the thought of seeing Rachel again brought nervousness as well as anticipation. I told myself there was no call for either as I approached the house. The battered white Defender was parked by the copse of trees, but there was no sign of Trask’s grey Land Rover. My own car stood a little way off to one side, an odd note of familiarity in that setting.

I made my way through the trees and up the steps to the front door. I could see a light through the frosted glass panel, a warm, homely glow I knew was illusory given what the family had been through. Then the door was opened and Rachel was standing in front of me.

She looked tired herself but gave me a smile. ‘Hi.’

Without asking, she stood back to let me in. I’d been inside the house earlier to change out of my wet clothes, but I’d not taken much notice then. It was a reverse-level design, with a family bathroom on the ground floor. Other doors led to what I presumed were bedrooms off the hallway. The place had a Scandinavian feel, though it was too lived in to call minimalist. The white walls were scuffed with marks from boots and bike tyres, and an assortment of shoes and wellingtons was clustered untidily on the polished floorboards. A flight of wooden stairs ran up to the first floor, from which I could hear music playing quietly in the background.

‘How’s Fay?’ I asked as Rachel closed the door behind me. I could smell a faint scent of sandalwood. Too light to be perfume, more likely soap or shampoo.

‘Protesting about the injections, which is a good sign,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’re keeping her in overnight as a precaution. None of the cuts are serious but they gave her a blood transfusion, and she had mild hypothermia as well. But Andrew thinks she’ll be home tomorrow. Can I get you a coffee or something?’

‘That’s OK, I only came to collect my things. And to return these.’

I indicated Trask’s jacket, and also the old wellingtons I was still wearing. Rachel saw them and laughed. ‘Yeah, I can see why you’d want to get rid of them. Look, why don’t you take them off and come upstairs for a drink? Andrew’s still at the hospital and Jamie’s gone to a friend’s so there’s no one else here. I’d be glad of the company.’

The hallway was lit only by the glow from upstairs. Rachel wore a short black T-shirt that just came to the top of her jeans, displaying slim, toned arms. There was a tentative smile on her mouth, and her eyes held a trace of uncertainty that mirrored my own. The tension I’d been feeling vanished.

‘Sounds good,’ I said.

I’d expected the living area of the house to be impressive, but Trask had excelled himself. The whole of the upstairs looked to be open plan, sections of it partitioned off with bookshelves to create an illusion of privacy. The slate floor was dotted with an assortment of rugs, and comfortable-looking sofas and chairs were arranged around a wood-burning stove. The largest part of the room was taken up by a sleekly modern kitchen, a low wooden cabinet dividing it from a rosewood dining table with bentwood chairs.

But the most impressive feature was the glass wall that ran along the entire front. Dwarfing the arched window in the cabin, it faced directly over the creek, with floor-to-ceiling panels opening on to a long balcony. Beyond that there was nothing except the darkening sky above a marsh and creek almost lost in twilight.

‘That’s some view,’ I said.

Rachel gave it a cursory glance, as though the huge curtain wall were something she no longer noticed.

‘Andrew wanted it to be the main feature of the house. He designed it all himself, when he first met Emma. I don’t think she was quite as keen as he was, though.’ She seemed to regret the admission. ‘So how are you? No ill-effects from getting soaked again?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘I washed your clothes, by the way. Your jacket’s still damp, so you might as well hang on to Andrew’s until it dries out.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, surprised. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’

‘You didn’t need to go with Andrew, but you did.’ She gave a quick smile. ‘You might have to invest in a new pair of boots. I cleaned them as best I could but they’ve seen better days.’

That was hardly surprising: this was their second soaking in the space of three days. ‘Is Fay’s dog OK?’ I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen the little mongrel.

‘Cassie? She should be. The vet had to knock her out to sew her up, so she’s being kept overnight as well.’ Rachel went to a large island in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Oh, and before I forget, your car’s ready. Jamie’s replaced the spark plugs.’

‘When?’ With everything that had happened I was surprised he’d found the time.

‘This afternoon after he came back from the hospital. I think he was glad of something to do, to be honest.’

I supposed it was good news, but there was none of the relief I’d have expected. The journey would take longer, but there was no longer any reason to stay in the Backwaters.

‘What would you like to drink? Tea, coffee, or something stronger?’ Rachel asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, just coffee, thanks.’

‘Have you eaten? I could make you a sandwich,’ she offered. I hadn’t had anything since that morning, and the reminder made me aware of my empty stomach. Rachel smiled when I hesitated. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

I sat down on a stool at the island. On the wall opposite was a photograph, of Emma Trask with Fay and Jamie. The London Eye was in the background, and Fay and Jamie appeared much younger. The two of them were laughing, Jamie looking across at their stepmother as she smiled at the camera. It seemed to be a natural moment, but Emma’s smile had the same posed quality as it did in the self-portrait in the boathouse.

Rachel had busied herself filling the kettle and taking food from the fridge. There was a tension about her as she cut slices from a loaf of bread. Abruptly, she stopped and set down the bread knife.

‘I’ve got to ask. Andrew said you told him that… that it was a man you found today. Not a woman. Is that true?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘So it’s definitely not Emma?’

‘No, it’s definitely not.’

She breathed out, her shoulders losing some of their rigidity. ‘OK. Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just… I mean, now they’ve found two bodies? What the hell’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. Which was also true.

Rachel nodded, then gave a rueful smile. ‘Screw it, I’m having a glass of wine. How about you? It’d be rude to make me drink on my own.’

I thought about the antibiotics, but only briefly. ‘Well, I’d hate to be rude.’

She laughed, a good, full-throated chuckle that sounded like a release. I poured the wine while she buttered the bread. We chinked glasses before taking a drink.

‘God, that’s welcome,’ she said with a sigh. Setting her glass down on the granite-topped island, she went back to making the sandwiches. ‘So will you go back to London now?’

‘I expect so.’

‘But you’re still working with the police? Out here, I mean?’

‘Probably more in Chelmsford, but yes.’

She kept her attention on the sandwiches. ‘You could still stay at the boathouse, if you like.’

That was so unexpected I didn’t know how to respond. ‘Uh, I don’t…’

‘No, of course,’ she rushed on. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to get home. I just thought, you know, it’d save you time. Seems pointless having to drive all that way.’

It did. I thought of all the reasons I shouldn’t, not least of which would be what Clarke and Lundy would say. But we’d gone past the stage where it could really matter any more. And it would make more sense for me to stay somewhere local. I knew I was rationalizing a decision that I’d already made, but all the arguments against seemed less compelling than the flush I could see spreading up Rachel’s throat.

‘Are you sure it’ll be OK?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’ She gave me a quick smile, and I felt something tighten in my chest. Rachel busied herself setting out plates. ‘Anyway, tell me a bit about yourself. You didn’t want me to call anyone when you were ill, so I know you’re not married. Are you separated, divorced…?’

I felt I’d walked off a too-high step. ‘Widowed. My wife and daughter died in a car accident a few years ago.’

I kept my voice even. The words had lost much of their impact by now, repetition numbing the old wound. Surprise widened Rachel’s eyes, then she reached out and rested her hand on my arm.

‘I’m sorry.’ There was sympathy but none of the awkwardness or embarrassment I’d come to expect. She left her hand where it was for a second longer, then let it fall. ‘How old was your daughter?’

‘She was six. Alice.’ I smiled.

‘That’s a nice name.’

We thought so. I nodded, suddenly not trusting my voice. Rachel’s face had softened.

‘Is that why you try so hard?’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Your work. It’s not just a job for you, is it? You really care.’

I struggled for a moment, then shrugged. ‘No, it’s not just a job.’

There was a silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Rachel slid the plate of sandwiches across to me. ‘You should eat,’ she smiled.

The sky was still darkening outside, giving the room a dusky, intimate feel. It would soon be time to turn on the lights, but Rachel seemed content to sit in the gathering twilight. She looked younger, more relaxed, and I didn’t think that was just the light.

She glanced up and caught me looking. ‘What?’ she asked, smiling quizzically.

‘Nothing. I was just wondering about you. Are you planning to stay over here or will you be going back to Australia?’

It was the wrong thing to ask. She lowered her sandwich.

‘I don’t know. I was at a bit of a crossroads, I suppose, even before Emma disappeared. I’d just broken up from a seven-year relationship. He was a marine biologist as well. And my boss, which made things… awkward.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, the usual. A twenty-two-year-old post-grad who looked better in a bikini.’

‘I doubt that,’ I said without thinking.

I could see the white teeth of her smile in the dim light. ‘Thanks, but I’d have to give her that. I’ve met squid with more morals, but she did look good in a two-piece. Anyway, I’d come back to the UK to think things through. Clear my head, work out what I was going to do. The only good thing that came of it, if you could call it that, was that it meant I was here when Emma went missing.’

The mood changed as though a cold draught had brushed over us. ‘You were staying with them?’

‘No, I was over for a wedding in Poole. An old friend from uni, hadn’t seen her for years, but at least it meant I was back in the country. Our parents are dead, so there wasn’t any reason to come back very often. Emma and I had talked about meeting up while I was over, but we never got round to it. We’d both got our own lives, and there didn’t seem to be any rush.’

There never does. ‘You said she was younger than you?’

‘By five years. We were never that close, to be honest. Too different. She was always the confident and outgoing one. And Emma had this knack of making people like her. When she paid anyone attention she’d make it feel like the sun was shining on them. It just didn’t tend to last very long.’

She gave a self-conscious laugh.

‘Wow. I don’t know where that came from. I must sound like a real cow.’

‘You sound like a sister.’

‘Now you’re being diplomatic.’ She reached for the wine bottle and topped up our glasses. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. Emma could be lovely. She was great with Fay, even though she wasn’t what you’d call the maternal type. She didn’t really “do” kids, so she treated Fay more like a teenager. A kid sister. Fay worshipped her. That’s why this past year’s been so hard on her. Probably harder on her than anyone.’

I thought about the shadows under the little girl’s eyes, the too-thin arms. Trask’s daughter would have been too young to remember her mother, but at her age losing her stepmother as well must have been a cruel blow. ‘Is that why you stayed?’

I thought I’d overstepped. Rachel didn’t answer at first, watching her fingers slowly twirl the stem of her wine glass.

‘One of the reasons, yeah,’ she said at last. ‘To start with it didn’t seem right to leave, not without knowing what had happened to Emma. We all thought there’d be news fairly soon. Every day you expect the police to call and say they’ve found something, but they never did. And the longer it went on, the harder it was to just say, OK, I’ve waited long enough, I’m leaving. I know Emma was only their stepmum, and that Fay and Jamie aren’t really my family. Except they sort of are now. Does that make sense?’

She was looking at me for reassurance. The light had faded so that her green eyes looked luminous in the dim room. ‘I think so,’ I said.

‘It’s not Andrew and Jamie so much, although God knows it’s bad enough for them. I didn’t know either of them very well before, but by all accounts Jamie used to be cheerful and outgoing before all this. You wouldn’t know it now, and between him and Andrew it can be like walking on eggshells at times. But they’re old enough to cope. It’s Fay who worries me. Maybe if they lived in a city, where there were other people and she had friends around, it’d be different. But out here… there’s nothing for her.’

I looked out through the huge windows at the shadowed landscape. The sky had lost most of its light, and only the rippling glints of the water distinguished the black creek from the surrounding marsh.

‘It doesn’t seem like your sister’s sort of place either,’ I said.

She gave a lopsided smile. ‘That’s an understatement.’

‘How did they meet?’ I waved the question away. ‘Sorry, I’m prying.’

‘No, that’s all right. To be honest it’s good to be able to talk about it.’ Rachel stared down at her glass. ‘A friend of hers was building a new house, and Andrew was the architect. Emma used to dabble in interior design as well as photography, so she wound up doing the interiors. She was always good at that sort of thing, and this wasn’t long after she’d split up with her long-term boyfriend. One of those uber-confident types, into martial arts and self-help. Fancied himself as a musician and a film-maker because he used to make pretentious music videos. He was a real dickhead.’

‘You liked him, then?’

‘Can you tell?’ Her smile quickly faded. ‘In a lot of ways they were very alike. Both extroverted, full of big schemes that never happened. It was always an on-off relationship, and she met Andrew during one of the off times. Six months later they got married.’

Rachel looked over at the photograph of her sister with Jamie and Fay, as though still trying to work out what had happened.

‘I could have dropped when I got the wedding invitation. Not so much that she was getting married, because Emma was always impulsive. But Andrew didn’t seem her type, and as for coming out here…’ She shook her head. ‘Emma needed people around her, she liked galleries and parties. Not mudflats and marshes.’

‘Did you talk to her about it?’

‘I’m her big sister, of course I did.’ There was a smile in her voice. ‘She told me I was too frightened of change, and that she’d wasted enough of her life on “bastards”. Which I couldn’t argue with. She claimed she was ready to settle down, that this house was going to be a showroom for both her and Andrew. He’d design houses, and she’d do the interior design and fill in with a spot of photography. Everything was going to be perfect. And then Leo Villiers came along.’

She broke off, taking a drink of wine. I waited. The dim room had developed the atmosphere of a confessional, and I sensed Rachel was glad to have someone to talk to.

‘Villiers hired Andrew to do some work,’ she went on. ‘He’s got this lovely old house on the estuary, I think Emma has photographs of it somewhere. Villiers wanted it ripping apart and remodelling, so she persuaded Andrew to let her design the interiors.’

I remembered Lundy pointing out Villiers’ house on the mouth of the estuary. A big Victorian place, with bay windows looking out to sea. ‘Did she tell you she was having an affair?’

‘No, but I knew something was going on. She told me there were problems between her and Andrew, and that she was thinking of leaving him. I guessed she was seeing someone else, but she wouldn’t say who it was. I even wondered if…’ She shook her head abruptly, dismissing some unpalatable thought. ‘Anyway, things got a bit heated. I was having my own relationship problems around that time, so I might have overdone the big sister bit. Emma told me to mind my own business and put the phone down on me. That was the last time I spoke to her.’

I could better understand now why Rachel had felt obliged to stay out here with an extended family she barely knew. Guilt was a powerful motive, particularly when grief was added to the mix.

‘Did Andrew suspect anything?’ I asked. ‘About the affair, I mean?’

‘It’s not something he talks about, least of all to me. He admitted once that he thought Emma was seeing someone else, because she’d been making a lot of trips to London. But it was only afterwards, when the police told him she’d been seen half dressed in Villiers’ bedroom and all the rest of it, that he realized who it was. God, that was awful. Andrew went storming out to Villiers’ house to confront him. There was no one there, thankfully, but it was still a stupid thing to do.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, it was well before Villiers went missing. And yes, the police do know about it.’ There was a wry note to Rachel’s voice that said she knew what I was thinking. ‘Andrew and Jamie had a big row over it. Jamie accused him of being selfish, and that he needed to think about Fay. He was right, and God knows what would’ve happened if Villiers had been home. But it was weeks before they’d even speak to each other again.’

‘This is none of my business,’ I said carefully. ‘But if Emma was talking about leaving anyway, she couldn’t have just left, could she?’

Rachel shook her head.

‘That was my first thought. But somebody would have heard from her by now. Like I said, Emma needed people, and it wasn’t her style to leave quietly. She was a serial door-slammer; she wouldn’t just pack up and leave, not without scenes and tantrums. And no way would she have left all her things behind. All she had with her was her bag and camera. She left her clothes and passport, even her car. It’s the Mini convertible covered up outside. The police found it abandoned at an old oyster factory not far from here. None of us have liked to drive it since.’

I was glad it had grown dark enough to mask my surprise. There was no reason why Lundy should have mentioned it, but that had to be the same quayside where the estuary recovery operation had been launched from.

Rachel absently toyed with her almost-empty glass. ‘Nobody’ll say so officially, but they think she must have gone there to meet Villiers. After that, no one knows. And now we probably never will, because that… that fucking coward killed himself rather than tell us.’

No, I thought, no, he didn’t. He’d killed someone else to make it look that way.

The intimacy I’d felt between us earlier was slipping away. The last of it vanished as a car door slammed outside.

‘That’ll be Andrew,’ Rachel said. She straightened, looking around as though remembering where she was. ‘It’s getting dark in here.’

She got up and switched on the lights. The twilight outside turned black, creek and marsh vanishing as the window’s glass expanse became a mirror that reflected the room back at us. There was the sound of the front door opening, and then Trask’s heavy tread came up the stairs.

He looked worn out. The skin of his face was bloodless, the lines in it etched more deeply than ever. With his clothes still crumpled and mud-stained, he seemed ten years older than he had that morning. He paused when he saw me, as though struggling to register why I might be there.

‘How is she?’ Rachel asked as he crossed to the sink.

‘Sleeping. The doctors say she should be OK to come home tomorrow.’ Running the tap, he filled a mug. His Adam’s apple worked as he drained it thirstily, then set it down with a sigh. ‘Where’s Jamie?’

‘Out with Liam and some of the others. He didn’t say where they were going.’

A look of annoyance crossed Trask’s face, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to sustain it. I saw him take in the wine glasses and sandwiches still left on the plate. So did Rachel. I expected her to ask if he wanted a glass, but she didn’t.

‘Do you want me to make you something to eat?’ she asked quickly.

‘I’ll get something later. So is this a social visit, Dr Hunter?’

‘No, I called to collect my things,’ I said, getting to my feet. The last thing Trask looked as though he needed was guests. ‘I’m glad Fay’s all right.’

‘So am I.’

‘David’s going to be here for a few more days,’ Rachel told him. ‘I said it’d be OK for him to stay at the boathouse.’

Something like interest kindled in the bloodshot eyes. ‘Are you working with the police?’

‘Just routine lab work.’

I hoped that was vague enough to put him off. He nodded, his interest already waning. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

There was an awkward moment. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Rachel said as I headed for the stairs. We’d started down them when Trask called.

‘Dr Hunter.’ He came to the top of the stairs as we paused. ‘If you’re around tomorrow evening you can join us for dinner. We eat around seven thirty.’

I could see Rachel was as surprised as I was. I hesitated, quickly weighing up whether or not to accept. But after everything else that had happened I couldn’t see any reason not to. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

My boots had stiffened from their second soaking but they were still serviceable. Rachel gave me my freshly laundered clothes and still-damp jacket as I shucked on Trask’s old one again, insisting I take the replacement groceries I’d bought that morning as well. But she seemed subdued, and as the door closed behind me I hoped she wasn’t regretting opening up as much as she had.

Night was settling on the Backwaters as I set off through the copse of silver birch. The white trunks looked ghostly in the near-dark, and their branches stirred in the wind that carried the faint lapping of the creek. I was halfway back to my car when I realized I didn’t have my key. I turned to head back to the house, but stopped when the front door opened and Rachel emerged.

‘Looking for this?’ she asked, coming down the steps and holding out my car key.

‘It might help. Thanks.’

‘I’ve still got the one for the boathouse, as well. You gave it back to me this morning.’

I’d forgotten all about that. Glad I hadn’t driven there before I’d found out, I waited as Rachel began going through the assortment of keys on the heavy ring.

‘Sorry, it’s on here somewhere. I’ve been using Emma’s spare set, and I still don’t know what half of them are,’ she said, struggling to see in the poor light. ‘OK, here it is.’

Her fingers brushed against mine as she gave me the boathouse key. The contact was fleeting, but I felt a tingle like a tiny electric shock. Rachel stood on the path, looking uneasy.

‘Look, what I was telling you earlier…’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,’ I reassured her, disappointed she felt she had to ask.

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,’ she said quickly, reaching out to touch my arm. ‘I just… well, I wanted to say thanks. I don’t usually moan on like that, but there’s no one out here I can talk to.’

‘You weren’t moaning. And I was glad to listen.’

She was standing close enough for me to feel her body heat in the evening’s chill. The moment stretched on.

‘OK, then,’ she said, giving a quick smile as she stepped away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

OK, then. I watched her go back to the house, waiting until I heard the door close before carrying on to my car. It was still damp inside, with a musty smell I knew would take for ever to fade, but I barely noticed. I realized I was still smiling. The engine started first time, and if anything the car handled more smoothly than it had before. Jamie had done a good job, and I made a note to thank — and pay — him when I came for dinner tomorrow evening.

But it was Rachel I was thinking about as I drove back to the boathouse. She touched your arm a couple of times; let’s not read too much into it. I should be focusing on what I had to do tomorrow at the mortuary. I’d a busy day ahead of me.

As it turned out it was busier than I expected. Next morning the police found a grave at Leo Villiers’ house.