The evening sun glints across the surface of the huge man-made lake that stretches out before them. Beyond it and all around them, the Y-shaped Derwent Valley is lush with green foliage, and the occasional splash of pink heather. They stand together, looking out across the wide expanse of golden water.

“The body we found,” Tyler begins.

“I know.” Oscar wraps his arms around himself. “I got a call from a reporter at the Star earlier.”

Damn Elliot for letting that out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

Oscar shrugs. “It’s not exactly unexpected, is it?”

The water laps gently at the shore just a few inches from their feet.

“My father used to bring me here,” Oscar says. “With Edna and Lil. They told me the story of how they built the place during the war. Do you know it?”

He does, but he lets Oscar tell it. How they flooded the two villages of Ashopton and Derwent, first demolishing one but leaving the other just as it was.

“When the water level’s low,” he goes on, “you can still see it. Like a drowned world. The clock tower of the church sticking right up out of the water. At least, you used to be able to.”

“I think they blew it up for safety reasons.”

The sun is beginning to drop behind the hills.

“I think about this place sometimes,” Oscar says. “A village frozen in time.” He moves forward, crouches down close to the edge of the water. “I’ve been waiting six years to find out what happened to him, but nothing’s really changed, has it? I thought things might be different now. Knowing for sure that he’s never coming back.”

“It takes time,” says Tyler. But only because it’s what you’re supposed to say, not because he believes it.

There’s a single crystal-clear droplet of water sliding down Oscar’s gaunt cheek. It winks in the dying light of the sun.

“You asked why I joined the police,” Tyler says. Oscar looks up at him. “When I was sixteen my father committed suicide. I joined the force to get closer to him, a man who consistently let me down, right to the end.”

Oscar takes Tyler’s hand and squeezes it. A car speeds past them on the main road, its horn blaring as one of the occupants leans out of the window and shouts some obscenity at them that’s lost in the slipstream.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Sophie,” Oscar says.

“It’s not my business.”

“I hoped it might be.” Oscar looks away again, out over the lake. “I thought maybe afterward, you know, when this is all over . . . ?”

Tyler lets go of Oscar’s hand. “We should get back,” he says, as the last sliver of sun slips behind the hills and dark shadows turn the water to ink.

—