‘I get that. From the way she was found she must have been kind of troubled. But if we’re going to make this work we’ve just got to treat it like any other dig. What happened here was real sad. Worse than sad. Beth must have been desperate to take her own life. But it’s our job to pick up the pieces and make sure the job she started here gets finished.’

‘You mean we should think of this as some kind of tribute to her.’

‘I guess, if that’s the way you want to look at it. But either way there’s a site here that deserves to be given our full attention and we’re kind of running behind schedule.’

Clare nodded, gesticulating towards the trays full of small plastic bags and mud-smeared ring binders. ‘And our best hope of getting to grips with this lot is if I can somehow persuade Neil Fuller that it’s in his best interests to come and work for us.’

‘Honestly, David, it will be cheaper. If Jo and I have to keep commuting up from Salisbury every day the fuel bill alone will blow the budget.’ And Clare could have added, I’m not sure I’m up to a four-hour commute to Bailsgrove and back every day. But thankfully he conceded the point quickly enough and she shoved her mobile back into her bag.

What she hadn’t told him was that she had in fact already booked the only two single rooms that the King’s Arms in Bailsgrove possessed for what she hoped would be the duration of the dig. As her mum would say, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And she found herself rather looking forward to spending a few weeks in the Cotswolds with Jo for company.

But as she climbed out of Little Blue, her trusty but aged Fiesta, and scanned up and down the tightly packed row of Victorian terraced houses, she knew that if she was unsuccessful in her mission today they might as well pack up and leave Gloucestershire now. And that would mean saying goodbye to the Hart Unit. She was in search of number 46 – home to Neil Fuller. It didn’t take her long to find it. From somewhere behind the peeling paint of the once pillar-box red front door she could hear a baby wailing.

He must have been waiting for her, because almost the instant she knocked, the door opened. She was greeted by the man himself, one arm shoved into a battered denim jacket and the other thrust towards her in a handshake. ‘Hiya, you must be Clare. Sorry about the racket. She’s teething.’ He turned and yelled behind him, ‘See you later, Sadie. Not sure how long I’ll be,’ before swinging the door to behind him.