Driscoll had said she should go up on to the headland above the western end of the beach. According to the large-scale map of the area helpfully displayed on the wall of Mrs Griffiths’ guests’ lounge, there was a lane leading up it, which Wada followed past cottages and holiday chalets whose occupants weren’t up and about yet. The beach revealed itself in stages as she climbed, smooth sand lapped by lazy, white-crested breakers. There was virtually no wind at all. There was a stillness everywhere around her – a stillness of waiting.

She reached the summit, where the lane ended. There was no view from there of the beach directly beneath the headland. For that she had to follow a footpath off to the right. A fence had been erected across it with a sign attached: Path closed due to cliff instability. She ignored that, rounded the fence and moved up to the overhanging edge of the cliff, where she knelt down.

Immediately beneath her was an open stretch of sand, dotted with rocks. Away to her right was the main apron of the beach, the sand there furrowed by the rivulets of a brook flowing down the valley in which Porthtowan sat. At the other end of the beach was a cluster of buildings reached by the main road through the village. A black four-wheel-drive was parked at the extreme end of the road, where the land began to climb towards the eastern headland. Closer to her there was a lifeguard station, with a car park behind it, backing on to a bank of dunes. The only vehicle in the car park was a big silver-grey SUV. It looked like the kind of vehicle Nishizaki might have travelled there in.

Wada studied the 4WD and the people-carrier through Mrs Griffiths’ binoculars. The 4WD appeared to be empty, while the windows of the people-carrier were tinted and reflective, so there was no way to tell if there was anyone inside.

The sound of a car engine caught her ear. Lowering the binoculars, she saw a black Transit van driving along the road towards the other end of the beach. It slowed as she watched, pitching and rolling through potholes and over humps of sand.

The van pulled up some metres short of the 4WD. Its engine died. Silence was restored. Nothing moved.

Wada checked her watch. It was a few minutes to six. The sun had strengthened in the short time she’d been there. It was casting weak shadows now, including one of herself, zigzagging behind her across the tussocky grass of the clifftop.