‘Oh, sorry, Lucas, yes … at the crime scene now, actually …’

‘Just got back from a call-out, as it happened. Rather hoped you might have waved. An update would be nice.’

‘What was the call-out?’ asks McAvoy, unthinkingly, as he tries to come up with something that will placate the nice young man who has told the other crewmen that his ‘friend’ will pull some strings.

‘Pleasure cruiser, heading for Rotterdam with a road map,’ says Barrington, tiredly. ‘Bought it last Thursday and figured he could pick up the basics on the way. Silly sod got about as far as the Forts before he overcooked it. Anyway, all safe and sound. RNLI lads were busy down Mablethorpe way. Anyway, do you have anything for us?’

‘Not right now, Lucas,’ says McAvoy, tactfully. ‘As I say, the CCTV footage picked up nothing at all – the equipment is all marked with your infra-red so if it’s recovered we can match it to you, but I’m afraid it may be that the Uniforms were right when they said it was just bad luck.’

‘Happened again, Aector,’ says Barrington, brusquely. ‘Got back from the call and the door’s been jimmied again. Some sod’s helped himself. Food from the fridge, been through the cupboards, took themselves a first aid kit and an oilskin. We’re doing an inventory. Shall I see you here? Fifteen minutes, twenty …’

McAvoy pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Lucas, I’m at a crime scene right now. Can I give you a call back when I’ve got my thoughts together …’

‘Sarge, the boss said you were phoning the estate agent – wants to know if you’ve done it already – anyway, I just called him myself, no answer, I’ll ask him to ring you not me, yeah … is that OK … sorry about the “fucker” thing, like I said …’

McAvoy holds up a hand. His brain feels as though it’s exploding. ‘Me, you, whoever you like,’ he mutters.

‘Sorry, Aector?’ asks Barrington, in his ear.

‘I can’t deal with this,’ says McAvoy, to himself. He feels as though his brain is pouring out of his ears.

‘I’ve got to go …’ he says.

‘Sarge?’

‘Aector!’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ he shouts, and throws the phone like a weapon. White-faced, he spins around, faces Daniells, who’s recoiling in surprise. Perhaps even in fright.

‘Sarge, what’s wrong?’

McAvoy shakes his head. Turns his back. Stomps away in the direction he had flung the phone, collar up over his ears. He runs his hands through his hair. When he examines his palms, he sees a dozen grey hairs, each wrenched free at the root.

‘You’re losing your fucking mind,’ he hisses at himself, as he bends down and starts rummaging in the grass. Finds the phone and picks it up. Is unsurprised to learn that Barrington is still talking.

‘Go on,’ he says, with a sigh. ‘I’m listening.’

FIFTEEN

He moves quickly. Wriggles from the little pocket of fallen trees and moves through the dead leaves with barely a sound.