Feeling a rush of blood to his head, he raised his fork, determined to confront the hooligan who had trampled on his dahlias. Lowering the fork slowly, he tensed to leap backwards if the man sat up suddenly and grabbed the prongs, but the man did not move. Roger poked him, tentatively, on his back, but still the man did not stir. Trembling, Roger raised the fork again, clutching the handle tightly in case the man leapt to his feet and tried to attack him. If necessary, Roger was prepared to bring his weapon down with all the force he could muster, heedless of the consequences. He was not a young man, but he wasn’t old, and all the gardening he did kept him fit. Besides, his antagonist was trespassing. Roger had every right to defend himself from an intruder. He prodded the man’s back again, but still the intruder did not react. Only then did it occur to Roger that something was seriously wrong.

The man was lying face down on the flower bed, and could be suffocating as Roger stood there shouting at him. Concern overcame his curiosity and he crouched down and hesitated, noticing a putrid smell, like a foul drain. Reaching out with one hand, he took hold of the man’s arm. It felt soft and flabby under the sleeve of his jacket. With a grunt, Roger heaved the man on to his side, and drew back as the fetid stench intensified. The man’s face was bloated, the skin greenish and blistered. His swollen tongue stuck out and his eyes stared at Roger, glassy and clouded. Stumbling backwards, Roger nearly tripped over the handle of the fork which had fallen from his grasp.

Afterwards Roger could not have said how long he stood staring down in shock, before he heard a siren. A moment later someone pounded on his front door. As though recalled from a nightmare, he turned and stumbled across the grass, yelling in a panic.

‘I’m here! I’m here! Don’t go away. For God’s sake, don’t leave! I’m coming!’

Two uniformed police officers stood on the doorstep. It crossed Roger’s mind that they looked no older than his teenage grandchildren. He wished the police had sent someone more experienced to deal with the situation.

‘Good morning, sir. We received a report of an intruder on the premises here,’ one of the officers said pleasantly. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’

‘Yes, yes, that is no, no.’ Roger stopped, aware that he was babbling. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. ‘The fact is, there’s a dead body at the bottom of my garden,’ he blurted out.

The two police officers exchanged a rapid glance.

‘Very good, sir,’ one of them said, with exaggerated patience.

‘Oh please, don’t take my word for it,’ Roger replied, miffed at their evident scepticism. ‘Come and see for yourselves.’