‘So it was an opportunist call? Do you think our man was simply driving around looking for a situation like that to exploit and took the chance?’

‘Could be.’

Fry shook her head. ‘But he had the speech all prepared, didn’t he? That didn’t sound like an off-the-cuff call. He either had a script right there in front of him in the phone box, or he’d practised it until he was word perfect.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right.’

‘Either way, this man is badly disturbed,’ she said.

‘That doesn’t mean he isn’t serious about what he says, Diane.’

Fry didn’t answer. She was trying to picture the caller cruising the area, passing through the outskirts of Edendale and the villages beyond. Then driving through Wardlow and spotting the funeral. She could almost imagine the smile on his face as he pulled in among the mourners’ cars and the black limousines. No one would think to question who he was or why he was there, as he entered the phone box and made his call. Meanwhile, mourners would have been gathering in the church behind him, and the funeral service would be about to get under way.

‘The recording,’ said Fry. ‘Have Forensics been asked to analyse the background noise?’

‘We’ll make sure they do that,’ said Hitchens. ‘But why do you ask?’

‘I wondered what music was playing. “Abide With Me”, perhaps. Or “The Lord’s My Shepherd”. We might be able to tell what stage the funeral service had reached, whether he was already in the phone box as the mourners were going in, or waited until the service had started to make the call. Maybe there were some late arrivals who noticed him. We’ll have to check all that. If we can narrow it down, we might be able to trace the people who were most likely to have seen him.’

‘That’s good.’

‘And another thing –’

‘Yes?’

‘I wonder if he just drove away again as soon as he’d finished the call.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, that would make him stand out, wouldn’t it? Someone might have wondered why he left without attending the service. If he was really so clever, I’m guessing he’ll have stayed on.’

‘Stayed on?’

‘Joined the congregation. Stood at the back of the church and sung the hymns. He might have hung around the graveside to see the first spadeful of dirt fall on the coffin. He probably smiled at the bereaved family and admired the floral tributes. He’d be one of the crowd then.’

‘Just another anonymous mourner. Yes, I can see that.’

‘One of the crowd,’ repeated Fry, struck by her own idea. ‘And all thinking about the same thing.’

‘What do you mean, Diane?’

‘Well, we know nothing about him yet, but I bet he’s the sort of person who’d love that idea. All those people around him thinking about death while he made his call.’

She paused and looked at Hitchens. He turned on his chair and met her eye, his face clouded by worry. Fry saw that she’d reached him, communicated her own deep uneasiness. The caller’s words in the transcript were bad enough. Now she found herself anticipating the sound of his voice with a mixture of excitement and dread.