Earlier today, Melvyn Hudson had talked about performing miracles in a funeral parlour. And, in a way, it was true. They took in a dead body, with its sunken face and wrinkled fingers, and they pumped in a pink liquid that mixed with the remaining body fluids, like a shot of champagne in a cocktail. And gradually they transformed a shrivelled corpse back into someone’s granny. A miracle.

In the mortuary, too, the pathologist could restore the fingertips of corpses by injecting tissue builder, allowing the dead to be fingerprinted. You could even buy a ready-made kit for the job, complete with syringes, needles and tissue builder. Who said the dead couldn’t communicate from beyond the grave?

Then Cooper thought of Audrey Steele. Audrey had surely been trying to communicate from beyond the grave. Somewhere, she’d be getting annoyed that he still wasn’t listening.

We turn away and close our eyes as the gates swing open on a whole new world – the scented, carnal gardens of decomposition. We refuse to admire those flowing juices, the flowering bacteria, the dark, bloated blooms of putrefaction. This is the true nature of death. We should open our eyes and learn.

Diane Fry looked up at the sudden noise. She’d hardly been listening to the recording, had been miles away, carried by her memories, out of Edendale and way beyond Derbyshire. She realized that the room had gone dark. There was just a desk lamp still burning as the voice played over and over. Killing is our natural impulse. Fry hit the ‘pause’ button, and the voice died.

‘Diane, are you OK?’

It was Liz Petty, passing CID on her way out of the building from the scenes of crime department. It was an odd direction to take. But Fry did that herself at night sometimes, choosing the route that felt safe rather than the logical one.

‘I’m just on my way home,’ said Petty.

‘Working late?’

‘I couldn’t leave the evidence until morning. But it’s all logged in and securely stored now.’

‘Good.’

Petty looked at the single lamp and the tape player.

‘You’re working a bit late, aren’t you?’

‘Like you, there were just a few things I had to do.’

She hoped the SOCO would leave, but instead she came closer, letting her bag rest on the floor.

‘You were listening to the recordings of his phone calls again, weren’t you? I recognized the sound of the voice changer.’

‘So?’

Petty didn’t seem to notice her tone, but kept moving closer. Fry felt herself being observed. Too close, she was. Too close.

‘Diane, why do these calls upset you so much?’ asked Petty.

‘Upset me? They don’t upset me. What do you mean?’

‘Well… disturb you, then. They disturb you, don’t they? More than they do anybody else here.’