‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s my patch, and official procedure is that cases are only handed over on my say-so. And I’m not saying so.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. It’d probably be good to come down and have a look first, then we can decide what to do.’

‘Dex, I’m not handing it over. Text me the postcode, will you?’

There was another moment of silence. ‘Well, it’s Normanton Church. You’ve heard of it, right?’

‘Yeah, course. But I don’t want to get lost on the way. Just easier to stick it into the satnav, isn’t it? What’s the postcode?’

‘Uh, I’m not really sure it has one. I can look.’

Caroline sighed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find it. Meet me there.’

3

Just over a quarter of an hour later, Caroline had parked up in the nearest access car park to the church. It would leave her with a short walk along the front of the water, from the fishing lodge where she’d parked, to the Normanton Church causeway. Although she was a city girl at heart, she could see the appeal of being down here early on a Sunday morning.

DS Antoine was waiting for her at the end of the causeway that led to Normanton Church.

‘Morning, Dex,’ she said, as if she’d just walked into the office to find him at his desk. ‘Not a bad little spot, this. I never knew it was here.’

‘You do surprise me,’ Dexter replied with a wry smile.

‘Detective Inspector Hills,’ she said, flashing her ID badge at the uniformed constables who were manning the outer cordon. ‘So what have we got?’

‘Down here,’ Dexter said, leading Caroline towards the church. As they approached, she noticed that something didn’t quite look right. The church was low, almost as if half of it was underground. It appeared to be floating on the water. ‘Over here on the rocks. Ligature marks on the neck, possibly consistent with strangulation, and some sort of blunt force wound on the back of his head. I reckon that’s what finished him off. But look how he’s laid out. Bizarre, eh?’

Caroline took in the scene in front of her. The church jutted out onto Rutland Water on its own private stone jetty, surrounded on all sides by huge boulders, which sloped down towards the lapping water. The body — that of a man — lay face down on the rocks, his arms outstretched, legs straight.

‘What you thinking?’ Dexter asked.

‘Probably what you’re thinking, I imagine. There’s no way the water’s washed him up here. It’s too neat. He’s been laid out in a crucifixion pose. Besides which, he’s almost bone dry, apart from his legs.’

The man’s feet were under the water, which lapped up at his lower legs, the bottom half of his trousers sodden.