What if Sorrel is never found? What if she is, but in a shallow grave beside a woodland road? Time will give the answer, but time is running out. Grace has the sinking feeling she is keeping vigil with Eve, that this shared moment might be the first part of a mourning process. In Zimbabwe relatives crouch by the graveside where the spirit of the dead one hovers. They take earth from the grave in small bottles to encourage the spirit to return home with them. These rituals have comfort in them, a community coming together. Eve has no community, just her and Melly. Sorrel’s spirit would only need a small bottle, Ash’s a smaller one still. She moves closer to Eve and puts an arm round her.

The men are coming out of the garage, they confer. The tallest of them shrugs his shoulders, looking round. It’s easy to see the whole plot from here; it seems there is nowhere else to search. The only colour is the vivid green of ivy growing over a trellis at the back that separates this property from the next. The garden itself is made of a series of terraced walls topped by narrow platforms of raked gravel that mount to fencing at the back. Beyond the wire there are leafy branches, brambles and bushes, seething growth that presses at the fence. Grace can just make out the same Keep off notice in faded red she’s glimpsed at the back of Eve’s wood. The old railway comes past here too, a secret leafy way where nature flourishes unchecked. Perhaps Melissa listened to the cry of owls and foxes as she lay in bed at night, perhaps she imagined escape.

‘Eve, I think it’s time to go home. Shall we—’

‘Wait.’

The muscles in Eve’s shoulders have tensed. Her gaze is now focused on the courtyard below. DI Gordon has emerged from the house and is conferring with a little group of policemen, while pointing to the ivy-covered trellis. The men hurry towards it; a second later Grace sees them lift the entire trellis and move it aside. She could laugh if her heart wasn’t pounding; the only green plant in the garden turns out to be artificial, she might have guessed. Now it’s been moved, the door to an old shed is revealed, the kind of dilapidated place you’d want to cover up, if only for appearances’ sake. The shed door is opened and from here they can see a dark interior full of white machines. They watch as a dishwasher is trundled out, a washing machine, a stove. All look new or newish. DI Gordon squeezes inside the shed out of sight, two dogs are let off the leash and follow, barking loudly. The remaining officers in the courtyard move forward as one.