The SES were setting up lights when I got there. A bunch of kids were huddled together up the beach a short distance away. Randall and Jane were with them, taking statements. In the opposite direction, Wozza and a couple of uniforms were standing by a large bank of seaweed.

As I got closer, Wozza saw me and hurried my way. He was a bit breathless by the time he closed the gap. ‘You shouldn’t go over there,’ he said. ‘We haven’t identified the body—it’ll be a job for dental records.’

‘Woz—’

‘Pollard, you know if it’s Jack, you’re going to be a suspect.’

‘Yes, but if it isn’t, then I’ll be investigating it with you.’

He looked at me stubbornly. He was about to pull the cop card. But I beat him to it.

‘Compromise?’

‘What?’

‘I will approach the remains and view them from a distance. If anything suggests itself to me that it might be Jack, I will walk away.’

Wozza considered this then nodded. We walked together silently. I admired him for putting his duties first. He wasn’t prepared to bend the rules for mates. We stopped at the scene perimeter. Chequered crime scene tape had been tied around broken tree branches marking the body find. The wind direction was in our favour and the blustery salty sea air only occasionally wafted with the smell of putrefaction.

Half hidden among the clumps of seaweed was the body. Twisted, broken, gnawed at.

‘Anything look familiar?’ asked Wozza.

In my mind, I saw a picture of Jack on the cliff. Standing on the edge. Holding his bleeding arm against his white singlet with the Bintang logo. I nodded.

‘Bintang,’ I said, pointing to the logo visible on the corpse’s torn singlet.

I turned and walked away.

Daniel was surprised to see me back so soon. He’d settled in front of the TV with a cup of tea.

‘I’m pretty sure the body on the beach is Jack Barratt,’ I said, dropping into the chair opposite.

Daniel turned the TV off and the room became silent aside from the ticking of the grandfather clock and the snap-crackle of the fireplace. Then, the detective in him kicked in, replacing the ex-boyfriend. ‘Take me through that afternoon,’ he said. ‘Step by step.’

I told him about getting to the car park with Waffles and taking the cliff path. Our game of fetch in the clearing at the top. Jack Barratt’s arrival. The taunt. The throat grabbing. The bite. His dash to the cliff top. The bleeding arm. The edge of the cliff. And then, ultimately, my retreat. The call to Pip. The visit to Doc Caldicott.

‘Not long ago, you would have called me, not Pip,’ he said.