‘What’s going on with the feathers?’

‘I don’t know,’ Perez said. ‘They must have been arranged after death, I think. But I haven’t a clue why.’

‘It makes her look like a child who’s been dressing up.’

‘Do you think so?’ Perez seemed surprised. ‘The first thought that came into my head was that they look like those silly hats smart women wear to Ascot. Then I wondered if they might be sending a message. Something about cowardice, maybe? Didn’t women hand out white feathers to men who wouldn’t sign up to fight in the First World War?’

Fran thought that seemed too elaborate. Too preachy. This was about decoration. ‘Were the feathers already in the room?’

‘I don’t know,’ Perez said. ‘Something else to check.’

‘What about the knife?’

‘It was hers. Maurice said she brought it back from one of her trips abroad. India, I think. Apparently she used it to cut a net if a bird got caught while she was trapping. She kept it in her belt when she was out, otherwise here in the bird room. The assistant warden said it was always very sharp.’

‘She bit her nails,’ Fran said. ‘Strange, you expect nervous people to bite their nails and she didn’t come across that way at all.’ She looked up at him. ‘Does that mean they won’t find anything under them?’

He shrugged. ‘They’ll take samples at the p-m. We don’t have the facilities to do it here and we can’t leave the body here in the centre for another night. It would mean me camping out outside the door to make sure no one tampers with her. Besides, I need to get her somewhere a bit cooler. The radiator’s switched off here now but it was on all night – Angela would have been the person to switch off the generator before she went to bed – and the room’s still quite warm.’

‘What would you like me to do?’ She refused to play the little woman and go all squeamish on him, but suddenly she imagined the stink of decomposition and felt faint. She needed to concentrate on the practical.

‘Take photographs,’ he said. ‘Loads of photographs. Of everything here. The whole room from as many angles as you can and then everything in detail. Have you got gloves?’

She grinned and took a thin woollen pair from her jacket pocket. ‘Just call me Dr Watson.’

‘Mm?’ He looked at her and she saw he was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he hadn’t understood the bad joke.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ She took her camera from its case and positioned herself to take the first photograph.

‘I don’t have a fingerprinting kit,’ he said, ‘but I don’t suppose it’s important. Everyone staying in the lighthouse would have been in here at some point. It’s where Angela ringed the birds and apparently the visitors are invited to watch.’

Through the camera lens she looked at the room in detail. There was the ringing equipment, a shelf of bird books, a PC and printer. There was dust on the shelf and the floor was mucky.