No reply. Gillard decided to press the nuclear button: ‘Aidan Tickett, I am charging you with the murder of Tomas Valdovas. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘You bastards. You’ve got nothing on me.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Gillard said. ‘Why on earth would you have impersonated him, used his coach ticket and his phone, if you didn’t want to cover up the fact that he had died by your hand in Dove Cottage? Even if you didn’t kill him yourself, you know who did, so do yourself a favour and tell us.’

Aidan merely examined his fingernails, and began to chew at the already bitten tips. Gillard tried a few more questions, but there was no reply. He wrapped up the interview formalities, and watched as Aidan was taken back to his cell by two prison officers.

In the car park outside, Rainy asked: ‘We cannae put him at the Dove Cottage crime scene, can we?’

‘Forensically, no. I’ve tightened the screws on all of the Ticketts. They’re all on a murder charge now. We just have to wait to see which one cracks first.’

‘I wouldnae reckon they’ll ever crack, sir. That wee bunch are as hard as nails.’

Chapter Twenty-six

On Saturday, Dr Clive Hancock and his volunteers opened the dig to the public, to see how much progress had been made on the Anglo-Saxon site. Trestle tables were laid out with glass display cases showing some of the coins and shards of crockery that had been recovered, along with interpretation boards which explained the process of dating the various artefacts found. The weather was fine, and by ten o’clock there were about fifty people present. Hancock sat in a central tent, running something of an Antiques Roadshow for residents and visitors who brought in their own finds to be evaluated. So far that day he had identified a few Roman-era coins, some Victorian glassware and a rusted pin with a mount for a gem, which he was convinced was a genuine Anglo-Saxon item. Sadly, the mount no longer had the gem in it.

Next in line was Sheila Ransome and her son. Stewie was quite excited, because he had with him a late-Victorian metal biscuit tin given to him by his grandmother, and in which he kept his other precious oddments. Eventually called forward to sit opposite the archaeologist, he wasted no time opening the tin, which was jam-packed with rusty items.

Hancock peered into the box and immediately spotted the largest item, a purple plastic handle, into which a piece of rusty metal had been jammed. ‘Aha, what’s this?’ Hancock asked.

‘It’s my lightsabre,’ Stewie replied. ‘It’s broken.’

‘May I?’ Hancock said, lifting up the item. ‘Is this how you found it?’