She walked down the grass track and through the big stone pillars. Wide flagstone steps led to the shore. The man was crying. His back was turned to her and he was quite silent, but she could tell from the movement of his shoulders. An oystercatcher called from the sandy grass as she disturbed it by walking to the beach. She’d known as soon as she’d left the garden that this wasn’t Perez. This man was older and his hair was shorter, lighter. She hesitated for a moment, reluctant to intrude on his private grief. He must have sensed her watching him, because he turned suddenly and stood quite still until she reached him. It was David Gordon, tears and mucus streaming down his face. He’d always been so private and dignified that the sight was shocking. She supposed that Charles had left him. Nothing else would account for such disorder, the filthy face and dishevelled clothes.

‘Chief Inspector.’

‘Mr Gordon, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize at first that it was you. Would you rather that I left you alone?’ She was tempted to mention the possibility of breakfast – yoga always left her feeling hungry – but decided that might be insensitive.

‘No! Come with me!’ He sounded completely distraught and she wondered if he was having some sort of breakdown, thought this was the very last complication that she needed.

She saw a line of his footprints in the sand. He was wearing rubber clogs and the prints were quite distinctive. He’d obviously come from further along the shore and now he set off back in that direction quickly, like a dog following a scent. She followed, stopping briefly when the sand was very wet, to take off her own shoes.

Charles Hillier was lying on his back, staring up at the sky, close to the tideline. It was not long after high water. His hair and his clothes were dripping. He was fully dressed in the trousers and shirt he’d been wearing the evening before. There was no immediate sign of injury, but he was clearly dead.

‘You see!’ David cried. ‘I was coming to tell you, and then suddenly it hit me that I’d be alone for the rest of my life and I broke down. So selfish. So dreadfully selfish. Not to be crying for Charles, but for myself.’