‘Tea?’ Sean was across one side of the room by a small open-plan kitchen area. He’d made an effort, Silva could see. There was a plate of pastries, some fresh bread and a selection of cheeses. ‘There’s a buffet tonight, but I thought you might be hungry after the journey.’

‘Great,’ she said.

She moved from the window, determined to put Milligan, Fairchild, and Hope to the back of her mind for the rest of the day.

Chapter Thirteen

Cornish was standing near a white forensic shelter a good way across the heath, so Holm and Javed had to plough through the heather. As they approached, she looked up, her face quizzical.

‘You’re back,’ she said.

‘The Western missing person case,’ Holm said. ‘Our crime, apparently.’

‘What?’ Cornish scowled. ‘Ben Western’s got nothing to do with animal rights.’

‘You look as surprised as your officer did.’

‘What the hell’s going on here, Stephen?’ Cornish was spitting angry. Holm hadn’t remembered her as having a temper, but perhaps that was what you needed to get on these days. Perhaps that was why he was stuck in a cupboard back at JTAC, pushing sixty, with nothing much to look forward to but a meagre pension and a cold empty flat.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you’d better fill us in on who this Western fellow is.’

‘Was – he’s dead.’ Cornish jabbed a finger at Holm, the anger back. ‘And yet you don’t know who the hell he is?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Holm felt a tingle on the back of his right hand. He balled his fist to conceal his excitement. ‘Maybe you could start at the beginning?’

‘No, let’s start in here.’ Cornish lifted the flap on the forensic tent. ‘I hope all that paper-pushing analysis work for JTAC hasn’t weakened your stomach. Mind you, it’s not as bad as the Teddington girl.’

Holm ducked at the entrance and followed Cornish inside.

‘Shit.’ He turned away for a moment and swallowed. ‘What did you say about this being no worse than the Teddington girl?’

The man lay on his side, his face towards them. There was a large area of scorched heather surrounding the head and upper torso. The fire had consumed the hair, and the face was seared like a rasher of bacon left too long in the frying pan. The lips had burned back revealing white teeth and blackened bone, and the eye sockets were dark holes surrounded by carbonised flesh. Farther down, where the fire hadn’t reached, the clothing hung loose. As Holm looked closer he could see a rippling as something moved beneath the material. Maggots, Holm thought, eating the parts of the body that hadn’t been fried to a hard crust.