‘I know. But I’m almost certain that Owen goes down to the farm on his own sometimes, when he should be somewhere else. I think that might have been where he was when I found the woman on Ringham Moor. It was the TIP that made contact with him in the end, you know. I couldn’t get through to him. I think he was away from his radio.’

‘I can’t see it. Not Owen.’

Mark looked at him. ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You want to defend him, like everyone else. You think Owen’s a good bloke. They all say that – Owen Fox is a good bloke. Well, he is. But I think he’s got mixed up in something he shouldn’t have done, and now he’s frightened and he can’t see any way out. I don’t like the way he’s been talking these last few days. He is a good bloke. And he’s done a lot for me. I want to save him.’

‘And how exactly are you going to do that?’ asked Cooper.

The young Ranger wound the window down a few inches, just enough to let the cool wind in and blow away the fug they had built up in the car.

‘I want you to arrest him,’ said Mark, ‘before he ends up here. I want you to keep Owen away from Suicide Corner.’

Diane Fry jumped up from the cushion, banging her head on the metal roof as a burst of flame lit up the quarry. A small explosion rocked the van and the blast echoed backwards and forwards off the rock walls.

‘What the hell was that?’

She pulled the sheet aside to look through the cab. Black smoke poured into the sky, and the air was filled with an acrid smell and the sound of sizzling, like a huge barbecue. The blaze was clearly petrol-assisted, and it flared dramatically for a few moments before dying to a hiss.

In the light from the flames, she saw something begin to creep over the quarry edge. Whatever it was, it slid in a slow liquid movement. Fry turned on her torch and shone it through the windscreen. She saw a series of small rivulets running free, breaking apart, then slowing and congealing, until they had stopped, frozen on the rock. More rivulets followed, their bright colours twisting and mingling until the quarry face looked like psychedelic curtains picked out by the light of her torch. She remembered the phallus farm that Cal and Stride had created on the cliff edge, and she realized that she was seeing the multi-coloured wax melting in the flames.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

There was a thump on the back of the van, and the vehicle jerked as if it had been hit by a heavy object.

‘Oh Jesus,’ said Cal.