It takes me barely a second to come back to reality. ‘I found something,’ I say, weak, strained and croaking, as if I’ve survived something awful, and I feel like I have. ‘I found something.’

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 25

THURSDAY 10 JUNE

Booker and I travel to the No-Names in his squad car. The mood is unexpectedly sombre. Not that I’d thought this would be an especially joyous occasion, but I’d imagined more verve, more excitement. To fill the silence I ask him about the concern I originally had yesterday, which is now largely overshadowed by this more pressing one.

‘Did you tell Frank?’ I ask. ‘What Ellis and I said to you?’

He doesn’t look away from the road.

‘I’ve been fired. He came into work yesterday and told Mary Anne and she fired me.’

Booker is silent. ‘Well, no, I don’t know anything about that.’

When we arrive at the forest, I walk Booker to the gap in the fence, show him the part that I suspect has been purposely cut away. ‘How hasn’t anyone noticed this?’ I ask as I slink my way under, and he follows.

He kneads the back of his neck. ‘These woods – the city won’t do anything with them. Nobody comes out this way. Except, I guess, for you.’

I explain to him what happened – that I’d got spooked and run, and had accidentally come across a ribbon on one of the trees, which led me to my discovery.

The woods are huge.

The woods are as big as the ones Celeste disappeared into.

I’m leading the Sandown Bay police force to the unmarked grave I dug up with my hands and I cannot believe I got here. I can, but still can’t. What would I have said a week ago, if I’d known this was going to happen? Everything came about so quickly. I feel like I haven’t even had enough time to think about any of it.

I worry for a moment that I won’t be able to find the precise location again – the only reason I was able to find it in the first place was because the ribbons reflected the flashlight, but now, in the day, they’re not registering. But I remember landmarks, the dips in the earth – it’s all inexplicably branded on to my brain, and we’re back.

‘I dug it up,’ I say, watching Booker regard the ravaged plot, as if something new might still crawl from inside. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I’m worried I’ve ruined everything by touching it. But it’s probably been buried so long, I don’t know how much evidence there would even have been on it in the first place.’

Booker’s face is unreadable.