A body had been found floating not far off the coast, and towed in to shore by a fishing boat. Jo hiked over to where it lay, spread-eagled facedown on the sand, surrounded by the fishermen who had found it, the scene lit red and orange by the dawn.

Two of them turned the body on its back, one arm flopping wetly and splashing her shoes. “This him?” asked one of the fishermen.

“Yes,” said Joanna. Jo felt nothing that he was dead, except frustration. In the hospital she’d spent too long staring at this same slack face and wondering. So many unanswered questions. Now, not only would she never have the chance to question him, he would never face justice for what he’d done. Not in this life at least.

The fishermen shuffled their feet. “Right then, lads,” said a big bearded one, who appeared to be the skipper. “We’ll be off.” Waders squeaking, all four men started for the rowboat they’d pulled into the shallows. The fishing vessel was anchored a little way offshore.

“Hang on,” said Joanna, “You’re still going to help search, right?”

“Search for what?” said the skipper, continuing to walk away. “We found your man.”

“There’s another body to find. The woman, Constance.”

They stopped walking. One exchanged a glance with another. “Ah, but she’s Roane, isn’t she?” said the youngest of the group. The bearded one punched him on the upper arm; the others shushed him.

“Whoever she is, she’s still missing. We can’t call off the search yet.”

The skipper stared at her, his face unreadable. “You won’t find that one, Detective. Be a waste of our time and yours.” He turned and waded into the surf, the other three men following.

She turned to the local sergeant. “You just going to let them all go home?”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “They’re volunteers. And fishermen, you know. A law unto themselves.”

“But what about the rest of the search? What about Constance?”

They both looked out to sea, where the coastguard’s boat was no more than a speck on the horizon. “She’s dead, Harper. We can’t spend any more money looking for a body, not when there are live cases to deal with.”

She stared at him. “I can’t believe—”

“I’ve seen a lot of these,” said the sergeant. “When the sea’s done with her, she’ll give her back. It’s just a case of waiting.”

Joanna thought of the little girl, not even two years old, now an orphan. Her parents had plunged to their deaths together in this bleakly beautiful place, right in front of her. That kind of thing left a mark, even if Leonie might not remember it consciously. Echoes of trauma would cascade down the generations, seeping into corners that love should have filled. Unless of course she was lucky, and the love got there first.