“And the way he died.” He looked down. “It’s macabre. It’s almost like black magic or something – voodoo.”

“Yes,” I said quietly, surprised that now he was here, in the spot where his brother had died, he was prepared to acknowledge that someone must have wanted to hurt him. I supposed he didn’t have much choice.

“What the hell had you got yourself involved in, Bob?” he said, almost under his breath.

“Do you think that’s what happened?” I asked curiously.

He looked over at me as if he’d briefly forgotten I was there. “What do you mean?”

“That he might have become involved with the wrong people?” Then: “Sorry. It sounded like that’s what you meant.”

Derek shook his head. His eyes were narrowed against the wind and rain and it was hard to see his expression under the hood. “I don’t know. He knew a lot of people, so maybe he made a few enemies. But what normal person would do something like this? Kill him somewhere like this?” He let his arms hang helplessly by his sides. “God knows when he might have been found.”

We looked around us. The nearest house was at the bottom of the hill, probably only a few miles away, but I knew what he meant; this place did seem so much wilder than that. And Bob’s body hadn’t been visible. At least not until the weather dislodged it from wherever it had lain.

“I expect there would have been a search when he didn’t come back to the guesthouse,” I said.

“Yes, but even then, who the hell would have known to look here?” He looked around at the desolate, sodden ground, heather and rocks and waterlogged mud, the grey sea visible in the distance.

For the first time, it occurred to me that maybe that was the killer’s intention, that Bob Jameson’s body should not be found for some time.

Derek kept staring at the ground; his hiking boots were soaked. “And I suppose the rain has washed away any evidence.”

“I expect so.” I didn’t mention Bob’s shoe. “The guards were up here searching but they had very little backup, no Technical Bureau. I guess they can’t block off the whole area. Apart from anything else they wouldn’t be able to keep the sheep out.”

Derek strode about in circles as if trying to work something out, while I stood watching him impotently. Suddenly he squatted down on his hunkers. He’d spotted something.

I walked over. “What is it?”

He picked it up and showed it to me and his voice quivered. “It’s his watch. Bob’s watch. I’d know it anywhere. Clasp is broken.”

It was a large silver watch with a black leather strap. Scratched and worn, it struck me as a surprising watch for a man who liked expensive things in life.