“That’s all right. Not your fault.”

“I just felt…well, anyway, I’m surprised he’s taking such an interest. It’s not even his case. I had him marked down as just putting in time till his retirement; now he’s all over me like a dirty shirt.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Are you going home?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. This afternoon. This evening. No point hanging around where I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself. It doesn’t suit you. Only I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for a chat before you go, if you’re not in a hurry?”

“Any particular reason?”

“Perhaps because I didn’t treat you like an undesirable alien, despite your less than polite introduction.”

“Yes, okay. Why not?”

“Shall we say half past five in Starbucks, Cathedral Square?”

“There’s a Starbucks? In Peterborough?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. We’re very with-it these days. There’s a McDonald’s, too, if you’d prefer?”

“No. Starbucks will do fine. Half-five it is. That’ll give me plenty of time to pack and say my good-byes. See you there.”

Annie and Gristhorpe arrived at Hallam Tarn in time to see two police frogmen haul up the body and pull it back to shore with them. Peter Darby, crime scene photographer, sat in a dinghy nearby and videotaped everything. He had already taken several stills and Polaroids of the spot where the body had been first seen by Andrew Naylor. One of the lads at Helmthorpe had found a dry set of clothes for Naylor, and he stood with the small group, chewing his fingernails as the frogmen edged closer to shore.

Once on shore, they laid the body on the grass at the feet of Dr. Burns, the police surgeon. Dr. Glendenning, the Home Office pathologist, was unavailable that day, as he had been called in to help a colleague with a difficult case in Scarborough. Detective Sergeant Stefan Nowak, crime scene coordinator, and his scene-of-crime officers were on their way.

Well, Annie thought with some relief, at least it wasn’t a floater. She had been at the scene of more than one bloated, misshapen lump pulled from the water, and she didn’t relish another. But when she saw the face, she would gladly have accepted an anonymous floater any day. The body was Luke Armitage’s. No doubt about it. He was wearing the black T-shirt and jeans that Robin said he had on when he went to Eastvale, and he hadn’t been in the water long enough for his features to become unrecognizable, though the skin was white and there were signs of cutis anserina, more commonly known as gooseflesh. The once dark curls were straight now and stuck to his head and face like seaweed.

Annie stood aside and let Dr. Burns perform his in situ examination. “This is going to be difficult,” he told Annie. “In general, bodies decompose twice as fast in air as in water, but there are so many variables to take into account.”