‘A confirmation would be good. We have a witness hearing a gunshot at around three p.m. close to the site of the car fire. If your tests indicate anything much different from that I would be interested to know.’

She nodded. ‘Prima facie cause of death is clearly the single gunshot to the head, and we already have DNA confirmation of identity. What else are you looking for?’

‘The bullet, if you can extract it, for ballistic tests.’

‘If not, we’ll get the best information from a CT scan,’ she said.

Gillard watched as the burned body was gradually dismantled, the scalp slit and rolled forward ready for the cut into the skull. Poor Ozzy Blanchard had spent the last six months running away. Everybody had wanted to know where he was: not only the police, but Aqua Western, the Ticketts, Kelvin Arrowsmith and of course Ozzy’s long-suffering wife Angela. Fate had caught up with him, and the tale he had to tell would not now be told.

Once the pathologist began revving up the electric saw, Gillard waved his goodbyes to Dr Robinson and turned away. The sound and smell of scorched bone accompanied him to the exit.

News that Ray Slater’s car had been at Chieveley terrified Carl Hoskins. He’d overheard Gillard and Rainy discussing the mysterious man Crystal Willow had seen at the motorway services who smelled of bonfires, and called up the woman’s statement. The description was imprecise, but the height and build would have matched Slater. Hoskins knew where his loyalties should lie. Slater might be his ex-brother-in-law, but he’d have to let Gillard know. The trouble was that Slater would undoubtedly pull Hoskins down with him. That was just the kind of guy he was. He wouldn’t hesitate to mention who had been supplying him with ANPR matches. If that came out he’d be fired. No question. Gillard was not the kind of guy who would tolerate officers doing favours. It was well known within any police service that officers would be deluged with requests from mates who’d had some kind of road rage run-in to use the DVLA database to get addresses. Surrey Police had always made absolutely clear that abusing police resources like the vehicle licensing authority to allow personal scores to be settled was a dismissal offence.

Hoskins stroked his chin. His inclination was to simply supply his boss with the relevant information without comment but, knowing Gillard, he would either find out the family relationship or, more straightforwardly, Slater would tell him. Slater’s mobile would be packed with calls to Hoskins’ direct line. So the best course of action was one which included the truth; at least most of it. He waited until Gillard was in his glass box office, and had just finished a phone call. Hoskins approached, his armpits already sweaty. Gillard looked up and Hoskins felt his boss could read his mind.