The last time they’d seen such a large contingent of police officers in the village, tempers had also flared. The result had been a few tyres let down, but nothing more serious than that. Hence DI Snyder’s decision to house all his personnel in the heart of the village.

However, many locals were openly asking why, when the law could turn up for a single dead body, they hadn’t been remotely interested in the rich folk who’d broken lockdown and caused six deaths during the pandemic.

Might the fire be a protest about that? If so, it was a pretty stupid and dangerous one, Greg decided.

On reaching the village, he quickly parked up and followed the track the fire truck had taken into the woods.

Folk were watching what was happening from the back of the village hall. Spotting the fire truck parked up, its hoses already in action, Greg threaded his way through the crowd to join his fellow firefighters.

The area was being drenched, the air filled with a fine spray like the rain they kept praying for. The acrid smell of burning was present but, thankfully, there was none of the dreaded sound of crackling flames. It looked as though they’d already been doused, although a large mound of pine needles, beneath a tall pine, was still smoking.

He found Malcolm there, alongside two local kids, Kirsty MacKenzie and Ivan McAlister.

‘An attempt at setting a giant wood ant hill aflame,’ Malcolm told him on approach. ‘Using lighter fluid. These two found it and tried to smother it with their hoodies. So no need for you to kit up.’

‘Apologies, I was just coming off the hill when I spotted the smoke.’

‘No worries, although it could have been much worse.’ Malcolm gestured to a nearby semi-cleared area. ‘Plenty of dry kindling there, and,’ he said, looking upwards at the swaying pine branches, ‘those needles are tinder dry. We’ve had a lucky escape, thanks to this pair.’

Glancing at the two youngsters, Greg thought they looked embarrassed, and perhaps a little guilty.

‘Any rain forecast?’ Greg said.

‘Rory, our eminent local weatherman, says it’s on its way, although he fears we might end up the dry spot in the centre of the storm.’

Greg groaned. To smell the approaching rain and have it miss them would be tragic in possibly more ways than one.

‘Okay, you two. Thanks to your quick thinking, the woods were saved,’ Malcolm said. ‘Go tell everyone.’

They left speedily as though they’d expected an interrogation rather than a dismissal.

Malcolm watched them go, then said, ‘More than one kid in this village has tried to set fire to a giant ant hill in these woods. It’s almost a rite of passage.’

‘You think it was one of them?’