‘You and me. We’re just going to cruise along like estranged housemates for the rest of eternity?’

She shifted in her seat.

‘I’m sorry, I know I’ve been …’ She let the words drift off, hoping he would step in to fill the silence. When he didn’t she continued hesitantly, ‘I just … It’s weird, being back. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t say that, but – well, that’s just how I feel.’

He nodded, grateful for her honesty.

‘I get that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But, Gabriela, it’s just me. It’s just Tom, you know you can talk to me …’

She shook her head. ‘I know. I know I can.’ She reached her hand to him. ‘I want to, it’s just there are so many things that I can’t …’

‘I don’t give a shit about that stuff, Gabriela.’ His voice suddenly rose. ‘I’m not interested in your work stuff. Whatever is going on with that, I don’t need to know. I just … I mean where did you stay? What did you eat?’ He was fumbling around for words. ‘Bloody hell, I don’t know. We don’t even have to talk about Moscow, I just want words, Gabriela. Anything.’ His voice fell quieter. ‘I just want you.’

Chapter 66

Isobel

Silence has descended by the time we arrive on the Heath, Oscar having driven me to the police station first, leaving me nursing a cup of strong sweet tea while he filled in the necessary paperwork. While he’d had his back turned, I’d returned the badge he must have already noticed was missing, though he hadn’t mentioned it, slipping it under a pile of papers so that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious.

Dusk is settling as we pass the duck ponds on Millfield Lane where huddles of fishermen in camo-trousers and fleece sweaters are lined up like oversized gnomes at the edge of the water, their rods stretched out in front of them.

Walking in silence a metre apart from one another, we follow the path round towards Kenwood House, turning right as the ground becomes hard and cracked, broken with thick roots which twist under our feet.

From here I can already see the forensics with their white boiler suits and their tents pitched against the light wind which whistles across folds of green and brown.

‘She buried him there,’ Oscar says, filling the silence as we approach, pointing to the shaded patch of land a couple of metres from the thicket where I saw the attack take place.