It turned out to be large shabby hardback book with Folklore of Herefordshire picked out in gilt on a burgundy cloth cover. It was Ella Mary Leather’s classic 1912 work and I had a copy of it on my tablet – after a recommendation by Nightingale. I was about to politely refuse on the basis that it was obviously a valuable antique, when I opened it up to find that the inside pages were covered in handwritten annotations, some in pencil, many in a spiky cursive hand. There was also a stamp that indicated that the volume had been nicked from Gloucester City Library.

‘When I first moved up here my doctor encouraged me to go for long walks,’ said Hugh. ‘But I’ve always been a bit of an explorer rather than a traveller.’

I wanted to ask more, but I could tell that I’d worn him out. I gathered up the tea things and took them downstairs leaving Hugh alone to ‘rest his eyes for a moment’.

There was no sign of either Beverley or Mellissa in the kitchen or in the garden, so I texted Beverley that it was time for us to go. I let myself out the front door just in case she’d gone back the car, and heard her voice from the other side of the hedge.

I looked over to see Beverley and Mellissa emerge from the cottage next door. The older man with the Australian accent and his sons followed them out to say goodbye. As they did so I got a sense of intimacy between Mellissa and the men – nothing overtly sexual, but a lingering touch on the arm of one of the younger ones, the brush of her shoulder against the older man’s chest. Beverley saw me and waved, then she turned back to Mellissa and they had a quick exchange. One of the men was sent back inside for a pen and Beverley wrote a number on the palm of her own hand. Then there was another round of goodbyes and Beverley joined me by the Asbo. We paused for a bit with the doors open to let the inside temperature fall below the boiling point of lead.

‘Is she . . .?’ I nodded back towards the cottage.

‘None of your business,’ said Beverley.

‘What, all three?’

‘Like I said,’ said Beverley, ‘none of your business.’

‘Damn,’ I said.

‘You should be so lucky,’ said Beverley.

I realised that Dr Walid was going to want a full report on Mellissa Oswald when I got home. He’d probably like me to get a tissue sample or lure her down to the UCH in London so he could get one himself. I wondered what possible conversational gambit I could slip that into – Are you certain you’re completely human? Would you like to find out for sure? Then come on down to Dr Walid’s crypto-pathology lab where we put the ‘frank’ back into Frankenstein!