As he led the two police officers round the back of the house and across the lawn to the back of the garden, Roger had a wild hope that he had imagined the body with its horribly decomposed face. Perhaps the man’s skin had been discoloured with grass and leaves and mud, and he had recovered consciousness and done a runner, escaping over the fence, while Roger had been at the front door speaking to the police. But as they approached the flower bed he saw the body was still there, lying on its side, just where Roger had left it. He screwed up his eyes to avoid looking directly at the hideous sight of a dead body rotting into his carefully treated soil.

‘Oh, heavens above,’ one of the police officers said, backing away. ‘What a sight!’

The officer who had spoken turned pale, and Roger was afraid he was going to throw up on the carefully manicured lawn. Meanwhile the other police officer was on his phone, talking snappily about what had happened. Roger paid little attention to what he was saying.

Having finished on the phone, the policeman turned to Roger. ‘Now sir,’ he said. ‘Let’s go inside and you can tell us exactly what happened here.’

Roger shook his head helplessly. ‘Nothing happened. That is, what I mean is, I just found him lying here, dead. I don’t know who he is – or was – or what he was doing here. How did the body even get here?’

The police officer looked around, taking in the fig tree and the spindly conifer.

‘He must have climbed over the fence and then…’ He looked back down at the body and frowned. ‘And then… Mr Dexter, when was the last time you were in the garden?’

Roger frowned too. ‘I came out about, I don’t know, about half an hour ago, I guess. Maybe longer. I phoned you as soon as I saw the body, as soon as I realised he was dead. I saw it – him – almost straight away.’

‘And before that? How long is it since you were out here before today?’

‘I’m out here most days.’

‘Were you out here yesterday?’

‘Yes,’ Roger replied. ‘Like I said, I’m out here almost every day. Weather permitting, that is. Although if it’s just drizzling I come out. There’s always something to do,’ he said, almost shamefaced about his dedication to his plants. Catching the drift of the constable’s questioning, he added, ‘The dead body wasn’t here yesterday. It only turned up today.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘I’m positive. He – it’s lying on my dahlias. There’s absolutely no way I could have missed it. I’d have spotted it – him – straight away.’

Just then they heard knocking at the door, and the constable’s phone buzzed.