‘We’ll probably get another call from him, Diane. He’s obviously an attention seeker, so he’ll want us to know this is him. No doubt he’ll think he’s being very clever.’

‘What did the psychologist say?’ asked Kessen.

‘She told us to listen to the phone calls,’ said Fry.

Hitchens scowled. ‘Actually, that wasn’t quite all Dr Kane said. She gave us some useful ideas about what the caller is trying to tell us.’

‘Are we expecting miracles from her?’ asked Fry.

Kessen looked at her for the first time that day. And Fry knew that he’d seen everything, heard everything, and taken it all in. She found herself fooled by his manner every time.

‘We can always hope, DS Fry,’ he said.

Then the DCI turned back to Hitchens.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘let me make one thing clear. Nothing goes from us to the media about these phone calls. Not a word. Otherwise we’ll have every lunatic in the country calling in. And one lunatic at a time is quite enough.’

A few minutes later, Cooper knocked on the door of the DI’s office to explain his problem. With the briefing over, Hitchens was already getting ready to go home. Cooper caught the chink of bottles, and saw that the DI was checking the contents of a carrier bag. From the frown on his face, he was wondering whether he’d bought the right wine for dinner tonight.

‘I could use some advice on the Ravensdale human remains case, sir,’ said Cooper. ‘If I might be allowed to consult –’

The DI held up a hand. ‘If you’re going to mention anybody who charges for their services, Ben, the answer is “no”. We’ve already met the cost of a facial reconstruction on your case. Forensic artists don’t come cheap, you know. Unless you can come up with enough evidence to turn the case into a murder enquiry, you’re on your own.’

‘But, sir, there could be unusual areas of significance – subjects I don’t know anything about.’

‘I’m sure everyone understands that, Ben. But you’ll have to cope for a while. We have other priorities at the moment.’

‘Well, mightn’t there be …?’

But the DI shook his head. He tucked the bag under his arm and rattled his car keys impatiently.

Cooper went back to his desk. He separated one of the photographs of the facial reconstruction from its stack and clipped it on to the copy holder attached to his PC screen. The room was emptying, and no one paid any attention to him, or noticed that Ben Cooper was talking to himself again. It was just one sentence anyway, spoken resignedly to the photograph next to his screen.

‘It’s just you and me then, Jane,’ he said.

The face of Jane Raven Lee gazed back at him silently – the muddy brown flesh, the random streaks against her skull, the blank eyes awaiting an identity.

Chapter Eight

When Cooper got back to his flat that night, the light on the answering machine was flashing and the cats were demanding to be fed. One was always more urgent than the other, so it was a few minutes before he pressed the button to play back his messages. There were three of them.