‘A year?’ Tom parroted. He went through a list of names in his head. Who’d gone missing this time last year? He couldn’t recall any cases last summer that had dominated the news headlines for more than a day or two, enough to make them memorable. ‘Will you need a post-mortem to determine cause of death?’

‘Definitely, but she doesn’t appear to have been stabbed or shot. By the looks of it, though, you won’t need to worry too much about getting an ID on this one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s wearing the clothes she went missing in. Well, what’s left of them. We think it’s Una Dolan.’

‘Una Dolan,’ Ray repeated. ‘Una … that was spring of last year, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Tom said. ‘I remember. Twenty-four, never made it home from a nightclub. But you’re saying she was only murdered last summer, maybe later? Does that mean …?’

‘He kept her?’ Moya finished the sentence. ‘Possibly. I won’t be able to give you a definite date but I’ll be closer to the exact period of death when I’ve done a full examination.’

‘Can we take a look?’ The inspector indicated the ground. Emmet’s uncharacteristic silence was putting Tom on edge.

The two experts stood clear and the detectives crouched down beside the small tent. They unzipped one of the flaps and took in the sight of the woman’s remains.

The body lay on top of plastic sheeting. The tattered remnants of tight blue jeans and a black velvet hoodie clung to its frame, clothing immortalised in the last CCTV footage of Una Dolan – the still image that had been used by all the media outlets for weeks. She was recognisably female, some long black strands of hair still evident on her scalp. But no – they wouldn’t be asking the family to identify her. DNA analysis would confirm if this was indeed Una.

‘She’d been disturbed,’ Emmet said, breaking the silence. ‘Prior to being found by the dog and the kids, I mean. If she’d been buried originally that close to the surface she’d have been discovered before now, and there’d have been little left after the wildlife was done. I’d guess she was dug up and reburied, but in a shallower grave the second time.’

That was enough for Ray. He rose abruptly, hand across his mouth, and turned away from the tent.

‘Do not vomit!’ Emmet barked at the detective.

Tom stood up to offer some moral support to his infamously weak-stomached deputy.

‘Give the man a break,’ he said. ‘It’s not a pretty sight. And you’re looking a little peaky yourself, truth be told. What’s on your mind?’

‘There’s somebody I want you to talk to. Mark!’