The BMP car pulled up by the entrance, double parking to let two people out. Even from that distance she could see they were women. Carol couldn’t rely on the evidence of her eyes to identify them. But common sense told her the small, dark figure who had been in the front seat could only be DCI Alex Fielding. Her equal in rank, but her opposite in so many other aspects. Fielding was authoritarian and formal where Carol was more relaxed and inclined towards teamwork. Fielding was all about hard facts and never mind the story behind them; Carol loved working with Tony because he helped her to understand why. Fielding was married with a son, a hinterland of emotional connection that Carol had failed to establish. And now it appeared Fielding had a new bagman. Her former sergeant had been a lanky raw-boned Ulsterman who always talked about going home. Wherever he’d gone, the person filling his shoes looked very familiar. Carol couldn’t have sworn to it, but she’d have put serious money on Fielding’s new bagman being Paula McIntyre.

The realisation provoked a confusion of feelings in Carol. Outrage at Paula’s skills being put at the service of so unimaginative a boss; a stab of regret that it wasn’t her down there; an acceptance that that life was behind her; and a benediction to Paula, who could still manage to do what she would not.

Carol stood up, backing into the trees. This was no place for her. She’d turned away from all that was going on down there, and she was slowly growing better for it. Hard physical work, all those books and movies she’d missed out on over the years, a dog for company. Somewhere in the middle of that, she’d finally manage to forgive herself.

Let other people speak for the dead.

When she turned to go, a spasm of shock flashed across her chest, stopping her breath and making her heart clench. A few feet away, a man stood watching her. How could he have come so close without her realising? And why was the dog not reacting? Carol was on the point of making a run for it when her brain clocked on and she understood what she was seeing. The reason for Flash’s passivity was that the man standing in the shelter of the trees was George Nicholas. At his heels, Jess, cheerfully licking her pup’s head.

He held up his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You were so intent on that lot down there —’ He nodded towards the cars and cops in the valley below.

‘What are you doing up here?’ Carol didn’t care how rude she sounded. She was rattled but not so much so that she could let go of instincts honed by years of policing serious crime.