I was still trying to get my breath back. Hadn’t realised how out of shape I was.

‘Fine. Just a bit out of condition.’

‘You were running.’

‘Wanted to catch Ben before he left. And then . . .’ I suddenly realised how foolish it sounded, but I had started the sentence now and had to finish it.

‘And then?’ Naylor repeated, raising an eyebrow.

‘Then I thought he might have been, sort of . . . lying in wait for me, so I legged it back here to get to my car.’

Naylor put his hands in his pockets, regarding me with a quizzical expression.

‘Lying in wait for you? Why do you think he would do that?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘So I’ve heard. But you didn’t actually talk to him?’

I shook my head.

‘Saw him, but not close enough to talk. He was texting me.’

‘You sure you’re all right?’ Naylor said again, indicating my right hand. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It’s fine, it’s nothing.’ A line of blood trickled between my knuckles where I had caught it on a tree branch. The knuckles were barked red raw from where I had lost my balance and almost fallen over, the hand stiffening up already.

‘What’s in the bag?’ Naylor said, indicating the blue sports bag in my other hand.

I’d almost forgotten I was holding it.

‘Oh, this? Nothing. It’s Ben’s, he dropped it back there.’

‘Are you sure it’s his?’

‘He was carrying it earlier. I think it might have had one of his shotguns in it.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘It looked like he had something in it just now. Something long and heavy.’

‘But he left the bag behind?’

‘I found it in the bushes back there.’ I held it out to him. ‘Here, take a look.’

Naylor didn’t take his hands out of his pockets.

‘Rachel, would you mind?’

His colleague was already round the back of their saloon car, opening the boot. Returning with a large, clear Ziploc plastic bag. She opened it and held it out to me, so I could drop the sports bag into it.

As she sealed the bag I realised she had put on white rubber gloves.

Naylor said: ‘Thanks, Mr Lynch. So we just missed him, did we?’

‘By a couple of minutes at most. He left in a white sports car with a personalised plate.’

‘Didn’t see one.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘Did you, Rachel?’

‘Nope,’ she said, writing something on the Ziploc bag in black marker. It was the first word I’d heard her utter.

‘Since we appear to have missed the boat here,’ Naylor said, ‘would you have some time to talk to us now?’

‘Sure.’

‘At the station?’

‘No problem.’

Naylor opened the back door of their saloon car.

‘Great. Shall we?’

‘Can I follow you in my car?’