Rethink: maybe this was self-defence. The killer was attacked first by Graves, and knocked to the ground, the rain falling – no, no, it wasn’t raining at eight – knocked to the ground and the fingers grabbing blindly at whatever they could find … a rock … fighting back, the two people rolling over until the killer had the upper hand …

‘Guv, we’re getting soaked through out here.’

Hobbes ignored Latimer’s voice. Let them wait. He shifted his focus from the victim’s head, down to his right hand, to the object gripped in the fingers, clenched tight.

All that remains, nothing more.

It was a fragment of cloth, coloured blue with yellow flowers.

That pattern, that same pattern.

Hobbes stood up. He took one last look around, and muttered a few words to himself. It was a habit he had, a prayer, a promise made. He spoke the last sentences directly to the corpse: ‘Nicholas Graves, I will find out who killed you. I will bring them to justice.’

And then he noticed Latimer peeping in at the tent flap. For a moment he looked embarrassed, but threw it off quickly and said, ‘Can you hear that, Meg?’ His voice was a whisper.

She was wet through and tired and it showed in her face.

But Hobbes carried on: ‘The words, the story in the air. The murderer knows more than we do. It’s a story. A long, twisted tale.’

Now she was worried. ‘You OK?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think … you’ve been through a lot lately.’

There was no response.

‘I need to know that you’re going to be all right, Guv, that you’ll do the job well, no mistakes, no messing about.’

He stared at her.

Shrines

More than an hour later, Hobbes was ringing the bell of 17 Palliser Road, the house called Bridlemere. Police Constable Barlow was with him. They waited for a moment, then used Nicholas Graves’s key to let themselves in. It was dark inside, every light switched off, and the long hallway was quiet but for the ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Nobody home,’ Barlow said. ‘Looks like.’

Hobbes shrugged. ‘Yes. I thought one of the sisters might be staying here. I saw her at the funeral.’

‘You went to the funeral? Of the man’s father?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Why, sir? That was before anything bad had happened.’

‘Oh, there’s been bad things happening in this family for a long time now, years of it. Can’t you feel it in the house?’

They were both standing in the hallway, near the closed door to the living room.

Barlow looked hesitant. ‘I’m not sure …’

‘I’m not talking about ghosts or anything. So don’t give me that look.’

But they were both whispering.

‘Come on, let’s begin. Every room, mind, every drawer and cubbyhole.’ He handed Barlow a photograph. ‘I’m looking for this item in particular. It’s a jewellery box, a distinctive design. Made of copper. Do you see?’

Barlow nodded.