Cooper dug into an inside pocket for one of his cards.

‘If you do happen to remember anyone, sir – I mean if the facial reconstruction rings any bells later on – you will let us know, won’t you? The photographs should be in the papers in a day or so, too. You can contact me at the office on this number, or leave a message.’

Jarvis took the card and glanced at it before tucking it away somewhere in his clothes.

‘Cooper. That’s you, is it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cooper braced himself for the inevitable question. Tom Jarvis was local. He would surely know all about Cooper’s father and how he’d met his death. Memories were long in these parts, and he didn’t expect he would ever escape it, no matter how long he lived.

But Jarvis just gave him a quizzical look, no more than the lifting of an eyebrow and a momentary understanding in his dark eyes. And Cooper suddenly found himself liking the man much more.

He walked back through the overgrown garden, the only sounds the swish of his own footsteps in the wet grass and the rattling of raindrops on rusted metal. The place had an air of dereliction, a sense of things that had been left to rot in peace.

Tom Jarvis didn’t come with him to the gate but stood and watched him from the top of the porch steps, with the dogs sprawled at his feet. When Cooper reached his car, he turned to say goodbye.

‘Well, Graceless hasn’t bothered me at all while I’ve been here,’ he said.

‘No, you’re right,’ said Jarvis. ‘The old bitch must not fancy you, then.’

Diane Fry watched DI Hitchens tapping a pen against his teeth and swivelling in his chair. Some of his mannerisms were starting to annoy her, but she tried not to show it too much.

‘The two calls weren’t linked straight away,’ said Hitchens. ‘I didn’t know about the second one myself until this morning, and there was no chance to tell you about it.’

Fry hadn’t bothered looking at the transcript yet. She felt too angry. ‘Where was the call made from? Wardlow again?’

‘We don’t know, Diane. It was too brief to be traced. But they were only a few minutes apart, so it’s a good bet.’

She looked up at the map, finding Wardlow easily this time. ‘It’s an entirely different kind of message, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. The similarities between them are the voice distortion and the timing, otherwise the connection might not have been made at all.’

‘He’s being very specific: “a cemetery six miles wide.” And what does he mean by “the dead place”? Or “a flesh eater”?’

‘We’ll analyse it later,’ said Hitchens. ‘Was your funeral director any use?’

‘Mr Hudson did manage to remember who a few of the mourners were at Wardlow. There’s the family, of course. And they had some local dignitaries and business types in the congregation, people who’d worked with the deceased councillor, so I’ve got a decent list to be going on with. And when we talk to the family, we can get more names. That would be a good start.’