But a body was a body: somebody’s husband, somebody’s son. Someone, somewhere, would be missing the poor sod. Hopefully. There was always the possibility that nobody was, a prospect so depressing Ellie never cared to contemplate it for long. Either way the body would be retrieved, but not just yet. Ellie had no intention of risking a Christmas in hospital by trying to shift the body single-handed. Tom was en route, with Milly Emmanuel; Milly would help her move the body and cast an eye over the scene besides.

Ellie tramped back over to her vehicle. She was a small, sturdy woman in her forties, her dark hair salted grey, and there were days where she felt every one of her years and every degree of cold. This was one of them.

In the Land Rover, the boy was crying, the girl hugging him. Ellie softened a little: they were kids, after all. Seventeen, maybe eighteen at the outside: Richard would be that old now, if he’d lived. Better she was called out for them because of this than because they were injured or dying.

Ellie opened the Land Rover’s tailgate, making the kids start at the sudden sound. Knowing she’d be out for a while, she’d filled two flasks before setting off and stowed them in the back; she took them out and shut the tailgate, then opened the driver’s door. “Hot chocolate?”

“Please,” the girl said.

Ellie handed her a cup. “Careful,” she added. “Hot.” Which should have been obvious, but she’d learned long ago never to take the general public’s intelligence for granted.

The girl cradled the cup and sipped. The boy, wiping his eyes, eyed it with some envy, so Ellie sighed, took the cup from the other flask and poured out a measure for him. “Let’s go over it again,” she said.

“We weren’t going far,” said the girl. “I just wanted to show Rick the Height.”

Rick: an unwelcome jolt passed through Ellie at the name. Just coincidence, but still unpleasant, after the similarity in the boy’s age. The moment passed, and Ellie was glad to see it gone; she leant against the doorframe and breathed out.

“Are you okay?” said the girl.

“Fine,” grunted Ellie. The wind was blowing hard along the hill road and making a low, dull moan. She climbed into the front seat and shut the door. “So,” she said, “the Height.”

“Yeah. You know –” The girl gestured up the road.

“Yeah, I know where it is.” Ellie tried not to sound snappish. “Where were you coming from?”

“Wakeman Farm,” said the girl, now gesturing down the road.

“Grant and Sally Beck?” said Ellie, then remembered they had a girl away at university. “You’re the daughter?”

“Kathleen Beck. Kate.” The girl took the boy’s arm. “Rick came up to stay. I wanted him to see it.”