Collier sighed. ‘We’ve been trying to stop sewer overflow into the river with some bigger pipes and a protective embankment. It’s a joint operation with the Environment Agency. It actually should have been done when the link road was put in,’ he said, pointing half a mile downriver, past Bourne Lane where Gillard had driven in.

‘You’ll have to stop work until CSI has finished, and that could take a while,’ Gillard said.

The sound of vehicles arriving made them both look up. Two CSI vans were making their way carefully across the marshy meadow, and pulled up next to Gillard’s car. They were followed by a Hampshire Constabulary patrol car. Gillard smiled to himself. The county boundary ran right through Rissington Common, so he wasn’t surprised that Hampshire was showing an interest in a Surrey case. A male uniform emerged followed by a fit-looking woman in her late forties wearing a grey trouser suit and mask, who immediately began speaking to the CSI team.

Oh no, Gillard thought, it’s her. Just my luck.

Detective Chief Superintendent Stella Anderson made her way across the muddy meadow and up the embankment towards Gillard. Her hair was quite different from the long ponytail he had known. Now it was silvery blonde, shorter and shaped, with highlights. It suited her. She held out her arms for balance as she picked where to put her feet amongst the sloppy cowpats and rutted mud behind the striding uniformed officer. Unexpectedly needing wellingtons was always a danger for detectives. Particularly when you didn’t bring your own vehicle but had hitched a ride in a patrol car. That showed some inexperience. Gillard couldn’t help noticing that she’d already got muddy splashes at the bottom of her trousers, and on her highly polished black shoes. His mask hid an uncharitable smile.

‘Craig, how are you?’ she asked. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘I’m fine, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’d heard that you were in the Hampshire force.’ Stella, then under her maiden name Taylor, had trained with him years ago in the Met Police, and was quickly promoted to sergeant when they were both in uniform. She was smart, perceptive and adventurous, having hiked the entire Andes from Colombia to Tierra del Fuego when she was twenty-three. They had worked together happily for three months and become friends until an unexpected Friday evening and night in a Basildon hotel after a training course, which in the morning felt more than a little awkward. She cut contact with him soon after and a few months later left the police. At the time he had no idea what he had done wrong, although in those days his behaviour with women had often been cavalier. It had taken him years, and the prodding of some of his remaining female friends, to realise that. He probably owed Stella an apology.