Clare swallowed hard, suddenly realising her error. The last thing she wanted to do was to implicate Crabby in this. ‘Well, the finds were on our site. And I’ve seen evidence – photographs – that the person we met, or his associates, were responsible for removing them from the site. And they were the same objects that were being sold online.’

‘Do you have the photographs with you, Mrs Hills?’

‘Well, no. I don’t actually have any photographs. The dealer showed them to us when we met him. He wouldn’t let us keep them. But they were definitely images of the objects as they were being dug up at the dig site at Bailsgrove.’

He looked at her doubtfully.

‘Look, if you don’t believe me ask Professor’ – she corrected herself – ‘Dame Margaret Bockford. She was with me when I met the dealer. She can corroborate what I’m saying.’

He hesitated for a moment and then his expression hardened. He looked as if he was about to dismiss her again when a thought suddenly struck her. She reached into her bag and, producing her mobile, she found the note she’d made of the GPS coordinates of the finds and the registration number of the van.

She turned the screen around to face him. ‘These are the coordinates I jotted down. They were on the photos of the finds being removed from the site – I checked them out, they’re all spot on for the holes we found on our dig. And that’ – she pointed at the screen – ‘is the registration number of the van the seller turned up in when we met him.’

She was expecting another scornful rebuke. But to her surprise he returned the phone to her and said, ‘Can you email these to me?’

She nodded eagerly. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

‘Do you think you can remember what the person you met with looked like?’

‘I think so. I’ll certainly give it a go.’

He picked up his phone and dialled. ‘Sergeant Hughes. I’ve got a young lady here in my office I’d like you to take a statement from.’

When the sergeant arrived, Stone said, ‘Whatever you may think, Mrs Hills, we do take heritage crime seriously. But we don’t have means without end.’

As she turned to go he smiled and said, ‘Oh, and Clare, I wouldn’t give too much credence to what Mr Crabbs has to say if I were you. I think he inhabits a different world to the rest of us.’

Somehow events had conspired to ensure that Sally had once again ended up in the smallest interview room in the station. The tiny window high up in the wall provided the only natural daylight, and rain battered its frosted surface. A recent overhaul had resulted in the walls being given a fresh lick of paint, the results of which could be seen splattered across the floor.