Another fifteen minutes or so and it would be pitch black—no street light of any kind out here. He could already pick out a few stars in the sky, and the temperature was dropping. He sounded his horn three times, in the hope that the dog handler would get the message. When he heard a whistle, he reckoned it was in response, but it came again, and again after that—more urgently. It wasn’t the sort of sound you made when you were communicating with your dog, and it was followed by a shout from somewhere the other side of the field. Rebus couldn’t see anything. He knew from the search team’s footwear that the field was far from dry. No torch in his Saab, meaning he’d only have the light from his phone’s screen if he happened to get lost.

Another cry.

“Bollocks,” Rebus said to himself, setting out through the gate.

The field contained dips and shallow hollows, and this was where it was most treacherous. Rebus felt himself sink up to his ankles. He cursed again but kept moving, breathing heavily. A fence separated the field from the trees beyond. It was the best part of four feet in height, topped with a strand of barbed wire. Rebus peered beyond it.

“You there?” he called out.

“Here,” the dog handler said.

“Where?”

A thin beam of light appeared. The woods were deeper than Rebus had expected. Ruby and her master were somewhere within. Rebus looked at the fence, then to left and right, seeking a stile or another gate. Seeing neither, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the barbed wire, easing one leg over the fence, then the other. His trousers snagged on something and he heard them tear. One jagged tine had pierced coat and trouser leg both.

“Bastard,” he said under his breath. He sank up to his ankles again, almost losing a shoe as he pulled himself up a low bank and into the woods.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Here,” the dog handler said, shining the small torch again. “Can you go fetch a team?”

“They’ve all gone.” Rebus could see both dog and man. Ruby was seated on the damp ground, tail wagging, tongue lolling. “What is it?” Rebus asked, trying to catch his breath. In answer, the handler directed the torch to a spot just beyond Ruby. The dog turned her head in the same direction, licking her chops. The earth had been disturbed, and Rebus knew what it was he was being shown.

An all-too-human hand, jutting up from the makeshift grave.

“Christ,” he hissed.

“Thing is,” the officer said, playing the torch over the clearing, “I don’t think Ruby’s done yet—not by a long chalk.”

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