‘Leave him alone, Ver,’ said Peter, but Mrs Timms came bustling in with the tea and toast and there was an awkward pause while Verity poured tea. Arthur buttered the toast and spread marmalade and thanked Mrs Timms and them all.

‘Hasn’t anyone told you, though, old boy?’ asked Peter finally. ‘Because I’ve heard they’re going to do a post-mortem.’

‘How do you know that?’ Verity asked, and at the same time, Arthur spat, ‘What?’

‘One of the nobs at the police told Father, who let it slip,’ said Peter hotly, as if how he knew a thing was none of their business. ‘The Air Force have been nosing around since the body was found. But funnily enough, it’s the junior chap at Wells who’s asked for an autopsy.’

Verity tried to block it out but the image of Jack’s sodden, misshapen body hanging down from the tree rose in her mind again. She saw his body on a marble slab being cut. The pale, freckled skin she had touched and kissed, sliced open with a blade like paring the rubbery skin of a fig to reveal the soft pulp inside. A sound came from her and she felt herself the object of both Peter’s and Arthur’s gaze.

‘Why do they need to do a post-mortem if he drowned?’ she said, seeing the purple bloom on his forehead.

‘Yes, it is rather fishy,’ said Peter. ‘I did have half a thought that he might have been up to something somewhat clandestine. That might explain it. He was always disappearing to God-knows-where. Maybe they suspect murder.’

A knife jabbed behind her eye sockets. Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of which, do either of you know anything about a box or a trunk that Jack had? Something with a small lock. He said something about a locked box the night of the flood and he made it sound quite important. I wondered if he’d mentioned anything like that to you, just in case you had any idea where it might be. We could help the Air Force if they’re after it. That is, if it’s important.’

Verity’s heart was beating hard. The pain in her head intensified. Was there a box? And again, she thought of the briefcase and its secret contents. Of their shack on the marsh and what it had meant to her. She’d thought it had meant the same for him. Their place, just theirs. What were you hiding, Jack?

‘No clue whatsoever,’ said Peter, ‘though you might want to mention it to one of the military types. I heard they’d been in touch with the local plod, you know. Ver – are you all right?’