Anna pulled into a service station and waited impatiently for the image to load, glad of something solid to concentrate on and drag her mind out from the dark alleys she’d been wandering down. She peered at the image as it appeared, hearing her heart beat a little louder in her own ears. Though the lighting in the barn wasn’t brilliant, there was enough for her to see what had animated Dawes and Holder, and the extent of Norcott’s obsession. She rang Dawes back immediately.

‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that this is the perimeter fence at Ryegrove. Is it worth us getting Forensics down to Wales?’

‘Don’t see any point, ma’am. We know it’s him. If you really want to test the matted hair on the sleeping bag to prove it, go for it.’

‘No, you’re right. And he hasn’t done anything wrong.’

‘Yet,’ said Dawes.

‘Have you got some samples of these golems?’

‘A plastic bag full. Thought we’d drop in with the neighbours on the way back. Stop in the local post office, or a shop if there is one. Ask around. See if anyone’s seen him.’

‘Good idea.’

‘I think the answer’ll be no, but no harm in trying since we’re here. Shame the bloody sheep can’t talk. There’s enough of ’em.’

‘OK. It’s well after three now. Don’t bother coming back here. We’ll have a briefing at eight thirty tomorrow morning.’

She sent copies to Trisha and asked her to get some eight by tens printed off as she drove back to HQ on autopilot, her mind elsewhere – peering through the fence in Ryegrove, wondering what it was everyone had seen.

As soon as she got to the office she logged on to her PC, opened a search engine and typed ‘golem’. She got 7.5 million results but opted for a Talmudic legend site to begin her reading.

There was more. A great deal more. Golems appeared in legend and literature over the centuries. The most famous was the Golem of Prague, fashioned from clay and brought to life by a sixteenth-century rabbi to protect his people from anti-Semitic persecution. Yet it was the basic concept that interested Anna. It did go some way to explain how, in his delusional state, Norcott had killed the Morgans and then tried to reanimate them in the form of his own dead father and sister. Explained but in no way excused. Norcott was clearly a troubled individual. But was he capable of the kind of sickening manipulations the Black Squid was using? Or even capable of murdering his nurse therapist, Alison Johnson?

With her computer still open, she began to type up a report on her visit to Shaw. It brought her mind back to trying to answer his questions.

Why those railway tracks? With the discovery of the tunnel under the fence and the fact that it had a view of the railway tracks, the answer to Shaw’s question wasn’t difficult. From those railway tracks, the fence was visible and, more importantly, vice versa. She went out to the office and looked at the images Trisha had now posted of Norcott’s sketch. Three dark figures standing against a fence, their faces blanked out. Why no faces? The answer came to her easily. Because they were facing away from whoever had seen this scene. Facing outwards, towards the two black lines in the sketch representing the railway tracks. She let the natural flow of ideas come, questions searching for answers. Why would anyone want to stand at the fence and look at the railway unless… unless something was happening there. Jamie Carson and Alison Johnson were buried there. There was a strong possibility that they had also died there. Was what Norcott had drawn an interpretation of that? Were these three figures observers? If so, what exactly were they looking at? She peered more closely. One figure was larger, taller than the other two, who looked to be of about the same height. It was nonsense, she realised, to ascribe too much detail to a scrawled sketch on a barn wall and yet the difference was notable. An adult and two children? Anna stood for a while longer and then went back to her office and turned again to her report.

The second of Shaw’s posed questions was much more difficult to answer.

Why had there been such a gap in between the Black Squid killings? She considered this. Perhaps there had been no gap. Perhaps there’d been sporadic deaths that no one had found the link to. All reported as suicides… but then the Squid insisted on a trademark. The tentacled beast drawn somewhere on the person. And the drawings and references to the Squid found in each victim’s belongings were obvious links in retrospect. Surely such a finding would have come to light. The second answer, therefore, was that there had been a hiatus. One which had now come to an end. But if so, why?

The third question was the most difficult of all. What was Krastev hiding? On the surface, not much since Shaw had been able to get the location of Jamie’s body from him. Anna winced at the thought of exactly how this information had been obtained but consoled herself by remembering that Krastev was a killer and did not merit much in the way of sympathy. Was it Alison Johnson he’d been reluctant to give up? Or was there something else, as Shaw seemed so certain of? She sighed. Though Krastev was becoming a major person of interest, they knew so very little about him.

She sat pondering these questions and getting nowhere. It was four thirty when Khosa stuck her head in the door, holding a steaming mug of tea.

‘Thanks, Ryia.’

Khosa put the mug down on the desk. ‘How was it, ma’am? With Shaw, I mean.’

Anna handed over Shaw’s file containing the few thin sheets of paper he’d written addresses on together with her report and the questions he’d posed. She waited while Khosa scanned them.

Why those railway tracks?

Why has there been a gap in the Black Squid killings?

And what was Krastev doing at Ryegrove?

‘Those are three very good questions.’

‘Aren’t they just.’

‘We’ve not got very far searching Krastev in the databases. A couple of force areas, erm, West Mids and the Met, wanted to speak to him about some complaints made. Sexual harassment claims. He’d come on to some girls in pubs and turned nasty. The only other thing of note was a traffic stop. He was picked up by our lot on a routine check while he was working in Ryegrove. The vehicle he was driving was not his, but he claimed to have permission. He had insurance and a licence and nothing came of it, so I presume he did have that permission.’

Anna nodded. ‘Do we know where he lived?’

‘Registered to a house in Bedminster. The landlord let out five rooms. We’re tracing the other names.’

‘Thanks, Ryia.’

Khosa handed back the file. ‘We’ll keep looking, obviously.’

‘We’ll be having an early briefing tomorrow morning. Be nice if we can have it by then.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Anything else?’

Although she thought it, she didn’t add one of her dad’s old sayings that popped unbidden into her head: occasionally, when the water is so muddy you can’t see the bottom, the best thing you can do is walk away and let things settle.