Even though I know it has been twenty-five years since Kelly Doherty’s body was found on the muddy riverbank, there is a part of me that feels nervous as we approach the spot. As if she might still be there. Maybe some echo of her is. The wind roars through the trees as if warning us away. The sky seems darker, the clouds heavy with the threat of rain.

‘Did you usually walk this way? Was it not quicker to go back the way you came?’ I ask.

Niall doesn’t answer. He has walked a few steps on, closer to the water. It’s overgrown now, fenced in, but I can still see the muddy bank.

‘She didn’t even look like a person. Just a thing. An object. Like, I don’t know, a doll, or a plastic bag, or rubbish or something. She was face down. You wouldn’t have known her. Her hair was darkened. And her dress was dirty. Even the parts of her legs I could see, they didn’t look like legs, not at first. They were a strange colour. Grey and blue and bloated. Still, I couldn’t really make out what I was seeing, or who she was. I think … well, don’t they say your brain can shut down almost when you experience something like that?’

‘I think so, yes,’ I say, making sure to keep a few steps back from him.

Crouching down, Niall reaches his hand to the wet ground and picks up a leaf, examining it closely. Not quite sure what to do or say next, I stand still, feeling the wind whip my hair around my face. I tuck the loose strands back under my hat.

I think of her body. How small it must’ve been. How fragile, lying there at the water’s edge, her face down, mouth and nose filled with sludge and mud and water. I’ve seen enough. I want to go.

Niall rubs at his face. If I’m not mistaken, and I really don’t think I am mistaken, he is rubbing away tears. My heart aches for him in that moment and trying to push my own fear aside, I reach out and touch his shoulder to guide him back to a safer place.

He lets out a shuddering breath, stands up, and that intense look is back.

‘Ingrid,’ he begins, and his left hand brushes against my right cheek.

His touch, though gloved, is gentle, but my body tenses.

‘Maybe we should head back to the cars,’ I say. ‘I don’t think this weather is getting any better. It might even be worse, if I’m not mistaken.’

I am trying to keep eye contact with him, but it’s hard. It’s intimidating. I remind myself to be professional. To hang in there.