James Mohktar opened his palms. ‘Inshallah. We must investigate. It is what we must do. A small child died long ago. No one has paid for that crime. We must do our best for the family, lah?’

Blythe looked at Mohktar startled. It seemed they had the same opinion of their chances of success.

‘If I could meet Mrs Campbell and her daughter…Is it her husband with her?’

Mohktar looked disapproving. ‘They do not marry and she has a child on the way. But he is a nice man, I think.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will now go and see how they are, and to arrange a time for them to meet you.’

Blythe nodded. ‘I will make a start on these reports.’

As the Malay sergeant left, Blythe thought he seemed efficient but rather too sensitive to be a policeman. He opened the first report, trying not to feel he was on a wild goose chase, which is what Mrs Blythe had called his sudden departure as she crossly cancelled their weekend in Brighton.

It was almost worth having jetlag to get out of Brighton.

He looked down at the Military Police report with the names of the forces families staying on this coastline twenty-eight years ago. He had been unable to gather any information from the army. Two of the army detectives were now dead, one played a minor role and the last could not be found.

How this small piece of Malaysian coastline had changed. He got up and went to the window of the basic office. He looked out on the dusty street where market traders called out in front of their fruit stalls piled spectacularly high with colourful fruit. Durians, water and honey melons, oranges and limes, small sweet bananas and papaya. Bicycle bells rang, taxis hooted at pedestrians and a small child sat on a wall playing with or tormenting a thin, hungry-looking kitten.

Chinese and Malay voices, shrill and high, echoed into the square, mingling with Indian music playing from one of the dusty shops selling rubber flip-flops and cheap tee shirts and skirts.

Heat and dust and a life where all the days inexorably melt into the next, Inshallah, as the Malay policeman would say.

He could hear the noise of the small police station around him and away from the ceiling fan sweat began to gather under his armpits and over his chest and across his back. The morning had hardly started. Hastily he went back to the desk and looked down at the names on the first page.

Rest House 1

Sqn Ldr Richard Allis. Mrs Barbara Allis. Grp Capt. Andrew Morris. Mrs Alison Morris.

Rest House 2

Colonel Bill Dury. Mrs Christine Dury. Saul aged four. Susan aged six months. Amah Ah Ming.

Rest House 3

Four teachers: Miss Tessa Brown, Miss Natalie Clarke, Miss Anna Wilson, Miss Daphne Broadbent.

Rest House 4

Capt. Alex Addison. Mrs Beatrice Addison (pregnant).

Major Gardam. Mrs Elizabeth Gardam. (British High Commission.)

Mr Andrew Right. Mrs Paula Right. (Civilian friends living in Singapore.)

Rest House 5

Brigadier Peter Llewellyn. Mrs Laura Llewellyn.

Mrs Fleur Montrose.

Twin girls: Saffron and Nikki Montrose.