Cooper was already starting to find this place depressing. Parts of Bridge End Farm might be deteriorating because there was no money for maintenance and repairs. But Bridge End was a model of modernity, compared to Pity Wood.

He turned his attention to the house itself. Limestone, with those distinctive gritstone corners called quoins. Some of the walls had been rendered with cement to combat the effects of the weather. But, judging from the scabrous patches where the render had flaked off, the weather was winning. In fact, it had been winning for some time. This farmhouse had thrown in the towel.

If there were any answers to how the body had ended up in that shallow grave a few yards away, they would most likely be found inside the house. Cooper enquired who’d taken possession of the keys, and he eased open the back door.

In the hallway, the first thing he saw was a huge, black family Bible, laid out on a table like a warning.

Fry knew she had to get control of the scene and protect any forensic evidence – though what kind of evidence might have survived the slow decay and partial demolition of Pity Wood Farm she couldn’t imagine.

These were the critical hours. If any evidence did turn up, she had to be able to demonstrate chain of custody. It was so important to look ahead to the possibility of a trial some time in the future. If the prosecution didn’t have chain of custody, it presented a gift to the defence. No matter what happened between now and that hypothetical date, her present actions could cast doubt on an entire investigation or provide it with a solid foundation.

The SOCOs had a rule of thumb. If an item of potential evidence was vulnerable, if everyone was going to walk over it on the way in and out of the scene, it should be removed or protected. If it was out of the way, it could be left in place. There could be evidence that had already been walked over several times on the way in and out.

So those builders had to be kept clear, to minimize any contamination to that they’d already caused. The digging operations had to be done in a controlled manner – someone would have to keep an eye on the diggers and stop them wandering around the farm.

And those vehicles parked up on the muddy track and in the entrance to the yard … well, it was already too late, probably. No matter what action she took now, there was no way she could turn back time.

‘Sutton,’ said Murfin breathlessly, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Sutton.’

‘What?’