‘Apparently Ben used to draw,’ Fleet said. ‘He wanted to be an architect.’

The two men looked at the spot on the floor anew. Neither of them spoke for a moment. There seemed nothing more to be said.

Eventually, Randy turned away. ‘Well, that’s us all done and dusted,’ he said. ‘When Mr Harris holds his memorial service in two days’ time, there’ll be nothing left to show we were ever here. Get the lights on your way out, would you, Detective Inspector?’

Without so much as a glance behind him, the pathologist headed towards the narrow stone staircase, stooping slightly as the ceiling began to slope. Fleet watched until Randy’s feet rose level with his eyeline. He took one final look around, suppressing an involuntary shiver, before picking up the last remaining LED unit and following Randy up towards the daylight.

‘So there’s no doubt?’ Fleet said to Randy once they were back above ground. The clearing was now almost empty, leaving only a muddy mass of footprints among the chipped-teeth gravestones. As Randy had said, by the time the guests started gathering in the chapel for Ben’s memorial service on Sunday morning, there would be no indication that a crime had ever been committed in the building’s shadow. One sharp downpour, and even the footprints would dissolve into the mud. Adrian Harris, it occurred to Fleet, was likely scanning for clouds at that very moment.

‘In terms of Lance Wheeler, you mean?’ said Randy. ‘No, there’s no doubt. My report will conclude that Mr Wheeler died from asphyxiation, and not from the belt around his neck. The man was strangled. The marks on his neck couldn’t have been clearer had his killer dipped their hands in paint.’

So suicide was off the table once and for all. Even though Fleet had known what Randy was going to say, he couldn’t help but feel a measure of frustration. The idea of Lance taking his own life had been the only part of the case that had come close to making sense.

‘And there was a hell of a tussle, by the way,’ said Randy. ‘Lance Wheeler didn’t go quietly. Which is partly what I wanted to talk to you about. As far as murders go, it was messy as hell. There was a struggle, he took a blow to the head, and eventually he was strangled. His hyoid bone was fractured.’ The pathologist looked at Fleet meaningfully. ‘Any of that sound familiar?’

And there, perhaps, went another theory, that Lance’s death was unconnected to Ben’s. The similarity between the two murders was yet another link tying them together.

‘So you think they were killed by the same person?’