DC Rainy Macintosh had collected a file of year-old press stories from online sources which detailed the ongoing fight between the residents of Rissington Common and Aqua Western Ltd. There were accounts of picketing of the company’s regional office in Windsor, and at least one major demonstration outside Aqua Holdings Plc’s headquarters in London’s Victoria. Gillard clicked on a Channel 4 News video. There, standing on a crate addressing a modest crowd with a loudhailer, was the Rev Matthew Cleaver. He certainly knew how to whip up angry feelings. The newspapers focused on him too. In one photo after another he was the centre of attention: standing impassively in front of a police cordon, with an upraised fist, shouting some slogan. And finally a whole series of pictures of him being bundled away by at least seven policemen. There was something almost magnetic about his presence, which the press could not get enough of. One piece of video footage at the demo a year ago centred on Cleaver quoting scripture. ‘Ezekiel chapter 34, verse 18: Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, that you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture; and to drink of clear water, that you must muddy the rest of the water with your feet?’

Gillard reflected that the Bible could be co-opted to any cause, such was the diversity of its sayings. The only other person arrested was Sheila Ransome, who’d superglued herself to the glass front doors of the corporate HQ. She had been pursuing this fight for years, but Cleaver was a new and powerful recruit to the cause; one with a serious criminal record in his youth. An interview with the Rissington Common vicar seemed long overdue.

It was six p.m. on the Saturday when Gillard reversed his Vauxhall up the drive. It was the only day of the week when he generally managed to get home at a reasonable time. He’d only just put the key in the lock when Sam opened the door from the inside, and greeted him with a hug. ‘I’ve done something a bit special for this evening,’ she said, and it was true there was a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. Tonight was one of their key anniversaries, of the night he proposed to her. She was wearing a pinny, but underneath that a short black lacy dress, and heels. As she clicked back into the kitchen, he saw an open bottle of white wine in a silvery ice bucket. ‘I’ve already started on it, cook’s prerogative,’ she said, handing him a chilled glass and filling it up.

Gillard loosened his tie and exhaled. Getting out of work was one problem, of course, for a busy detective, but getting the work out of his head was sometimes even more intractable. He relayed to her a summary of the day’s investigation.

‘The BBC said the body’s been identified.’