And here she was, back in the force, and senior to him.

‘I was recruited three years ago. I normally specialise in fraud, given that I’ve been working in forensic accountancy in the intervening years.’

‘Ah, that’s why then.’ He had wondered why she had been parachuted back in at such a senior level. There was a well-established level of resentment amongst detectives working their way up through the ranks at those who got brought in without having to pass the exams, or suffer the tedium of day-to-day work such as checking CCTV and the car licensing databases.

‘So this is a little outside your bailiwick,’ Gillard said, indicating the excavator behind him.

‘Don’t worry, Craig, I’m not planning to pinch the case from you. I’m just curious about what you’ve found.’ Her smile was the same broad grin he had found attractive all those years ago. Her eyes were hazel, with just the traces of laughter lines.

‘So am I.’ Knowing her sharp mind, Gillard felt that this would be anything but idle curiosity. He led her around, first to the watery hole and then to the digger’s bucket, while the CSI team were marking up posts from which to hang blue and white crime scene tape. ‘I’ll happily keep you in the loop for any developments, ma’am,’ he said.

‘Yes please,’ she said crisply, glancing down at her spattered shoes. ‘When there’s a positive ID.’

‘Not much call for wellies in fraud, is there?’ Gillard said, following her gaze.

She smiled again. ‘I’m not so sure. There’s nothing muddier than dodgy accounts. So just blind copy me in on everything you find, okay?’ She began to make her way back, watched by the various contractors.

‘Is that your boss?’ asked Aidan, leaning on his spade.

‘Thankfully, no,’ Gillard said. ‘We’re Surrey, she’s Hampshire.’

‘Territorial, like magpies, is it?’ He looked amused.

‘More like reverse territorial. Given the current resource problems we have, every force tries to dump work on its neighbour. Especially when it’s arguable which side of the border the crime scene is.’

‘I’ve seen her before,’ he said. ‘Poking about in the village a few months ago. Asking questions in the pub.’

‘What kind of questions?’

‘About the missing water guy, as I recall,’ he said.

‘Ozzy Blanchard?’ Trevor Collier had mentioned to Gillard that his predecessor as regional surveyor had crashed a company car in the area six months ago and then disappeared.

‘That’s him. It was just before lockdown began, and it was so obvious she was a cop.’

‘Do tell,’ Gillard asked, intrigued.