He studied Fairfax’s face.

There was no expression.

‘And there’s nothing further I can do. There’s no crime, no corpse. I’ve spent funds on this, for God’s sake! Man-hours galore. The super’s going crazy. And all for no good purpose. I’m at a loss, I really am. I mean, why would anyone do this? Why would they go to all that trouble of digging down into solid concrete just to bury a dress?’ He swore. ‘I just don’t get it.’

Fairfax licked his lips. He looked like he might speak, but he shook his head.

Hobbes added, ‘But there’s a couple of variations this time. First of all, these …’

His finger pointed to a photograph of a pile of small off-white objects. ‘Bones. Probably from some bird.’ He breathed in. ‘A set of bones wrapped up inside the dress.’

Fairfax leaned forward slightly. His eyes searched the image.

‘So, what do you think?’

Silence. Then a murmur. Hobbes asked him to speak up.

Fairfax looked at Hobbes. ‘Which kind of bird was it?’

‘What? I don’t know.’

‘If it’s a chicken, that’s one thing. You can buy that at the butcher’s. If it’s a canary or a budgerigar, that’s easy as well. Just reach into the cage. It’s pretty gruesome, though.’

‘There was a cat’s skeleton in the cellar as well.’

‘Right, right.’

‘But we think that was killed for the blood, to mark the dresses.’

Fairfax nodded. For the first time his eyes had taken on light. He continued with his thoughts: ‘If it’s a pigeon, that’s more difficult. If it’s a blackbird or a sparrow or a crow, that’s fuckin’ serious. You need some real time and effort to catch it. And a lot of luck.’

Hobbes nodded. He was pleased with the response.

Fairfax picked up the photograph and stared at it once more. ‘The bird represents the body, the missing flesh and blood.’

‘So you think someone was murdered? That’s your opinion?’

Fairfax stared at the inspector. ‘A woman,’ he said. ‘It has to be. And she’s out there somewhere. Hidden in the dark. Buried deep.’

Hobbes had to agree. But how would he ever locate her? He added, ‘We found something else in the grave.’ He made no excuse for the word. ‘It was laid next to the dress, where the tear in the cloth was.’ He placed another photograph on the table. The object depicted was a small container of some kind. Fairfax studied the image. For the moment, at least, he had lost all interest in booze and chat shows.

‘It’s a decorative box. A jewellery box, I think.’

Fairfax looked up at his boss. ‘And there’s something inside? What is it?’

Hobbes smiled. ‘Well, now, that is a puzzle.’

He handed another five photographs to Fairfax.

Object of Desire

Hobbes woke up in the kitchen, standing at the sink, his hand on the cold tap, the water running. The sound of it, bouncing off the dirty dishes, had stirred him awake. The moonlight cast the room in a cold shiver of light. Oh, God. He couldn’t remember how he’d got here, the steps taken. His head ached. It had been a while since his last bout of sleepwalking. Really, he’d thought it a thing of the past. He cursed out loud. And once the anger had passed, he felt drained of all feeling. Emptiness. And then a memory … yes, that was it: he’d been dreaming of the hole in the cellar floor, and what they had found there, the senseless nature of it. Literally: it was without sense. He abhorred the very idea of an object devoid of meaning. Nothing should be left uncovered, nothing at all.