‘I don’t suppose you fancy going for a drink tomorrow night?’ said Murfin.

‘Don’t you have to be at home with the family, Gavin?’

‘Jean’s taking the kids out ice skating. I’ll be on my own.’

‘No, I’m sorry. Not tomorrow.’

‘You’re turning down beer? Well, I could offer food as well. We could have pie and chips at the pub, or go for an Indian. The Raj Mahal is open Wednesdays.’

‘No, I can’t, Gavin,’ said Cooper. ‘I’ve got a date.’

‘A what?’

‘A date.’

‘With a woman?’

‘Could be.’

At last, Cooper was able to take his exit, turning right by the Safeway supermarket and the old brewery into Ecclesall Road. Ahead of him lay a land of espresso bars, Aga shops and the offices of independent financial advisors. In the leafy outer suburbs of Whirlow and Dore, the houses would get bigger and further away from the road as he drove into AB country.

‘Are you still there, Gavin?’

Murfin’s voice was quieter when he came back on the phone.

‘I’m going to have to go. Miss has come out of her meeting, and she doesn’t look happy. Her nose has gone all tight. You know what I mean? As though she’s just smelled something really bad.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘So it looks as though I’ve blown it. I just wasn’t quick enough.’

‘Good luck, then. Speak to you in the morning.’

Cooper smiled as he ended the call. Murfin’s comment about Diane Fry had reminded him of the forensic anthropologist’s report on the human remains from Ravensdale. The details in the document had been sparse. Like so many experts’ reports, it had seemed to raise more questions than it answered. But he’d made a call to Dr Jamieson anyway, mostly out of optimism. In the end, there was only one person whose job it was to find the answers.

‘The nasal opening is narrow, the bridge steepled, and the cheekbones tight to the face. Caucasian, probably European. An adult.’

‘Yes, you said that in your report, sir.’

‘Beyond that, it’s a bit more difficult. We have to look for alterations in the skeleton that occur at a predictable rate – changes in the ribs where they attach to the sternum, or the parts of the pelvis where they meet in front. We can age adults to within five years if we’re lucky, or maybe ten. So you’ll have to take the age of forty to forty-five as a best guess.’

‘And the chances of an ID?’ Cooper had asked.

‘To a specific individual? None.’

Dr Jamieson had sounded impatient. Probably he had a thousand other things to do, like everyone else.

‘Look, all I can give you is a general biological profile – it’s up to you to match it to your missing persons register. I’m just offering clues here. I don’t work miracles.’

‘But it’s definitely a woman?’ Cooper persisted.

‘Yes, definitely. That should narrow it down a bit, surely? You don’t have all that many missing women on the books in Derbyshire, do you?’