He thought of the tiny room he had shared with his brothers and sisters in the kampong. His parents still lived in the same house near Kajang, but now, because of the erosion of the forest, the life of the river had changed, and each year when the rains came the kampong would be flooded and swirl round those little atap houses on stilts. His brother’s children would gaze down at the muddied water and fish with bamboo rods and hurl down objects with glee to watch them float away.

The sun came now, edging up over the water, bringing with it the heat of a new day. His mobile telephone rang suddenly, jarring the peace, making him jump. He answered it abruptly.

‘Alamak! Ya?’

Mrs Campbell had been found. She had apparently stayed the night in Port Dickson and had risen early and got a taxi, but they had not located the taxi driver yet to find out where he had taken her.

‘Okay,’ Mohktar said. ‘Tidak apa-apa. Never mind. I stay here. Selamat tinggal.’

The sun touched his hands through the trees. The clearing in the stillness of early morning had a pervasive and lingering aura. Not so much evil intent as a thing unfinished. James Mohktar thought about his small son. He could not bring himself to imagine evil coming to him. Could not bear to think either of his death or of a world in which he would have to live without his child.

Instinct had made him come here and instinct made him wait. It would have been easier for Mrs Campbell to go to the police, to ask exactly where the small body had been found and if it was European, but he did not think she would. In her place he would come here. She would come here first. Mohktar was sure of it.

He saw her alone in a foreign city staring down at the photograph of the grave and believing with absolute clarity that her small daughter had been found.

Far away down on the road he heard the faint sound of a car, possibly making for the lighthouse. Fleur asked the taxi driver to wait or come back in an hour. She turned and climbed down the steep steps to the beach. She felt breathless and heady. The sun flaming across the sea warmed her cold limbs. At the bottom she turned left and walked slowly, looking up at the new red-tiled houses on stilts where she was sure the government rest houses had once perched on the hillside. Because of the steps she could just about work out where they had stayed that last time in Malaysia. There had been five rest houses along this stretch of coast and over the years she and David had stayed in all of them.

After David died, she had stayed with Peter and Laura in the one nearest to the beach. There had been only a few steps down to the long stretch of sand, much easier for the twins to play there.