The police tape across Shaft Road thirty yards either side of Beth Farlow’s cottage bowed alarmingly in the wind screaming in off the estuary. They’d sent some uniforms to check on Beth’s housemate, Dee. She expressed utter astonishment on hearing what had happened and had never heard of Norcott. She’d wanted to come back and help search. But the cottage was a crime scene. Dee would have to stay with her boyfriend until this was all over.

Khosa parked behind a big police Transit and she and Anna got out to be met by a gale. Rain whipped at Anna’s face and she pulled her coat about her and ran, head down, towards the cottage. Dawes and Holder suggested calling in the few shops on Beach Road to talk to shopkeepers. On a day like today it was unlikely they’d get much from passers-by, but shopkeepers were fixed assets when it came to regular foot traffic past the door. And Norcott had to have been in their vicinity on his way to the train station.

Inside the cottage, they were still searching. Tyvek-clad CSI had taken over the lounge where King was found but they’d cleared the tiny kitchen. Khosa’s phone rang and she stepped back out to take the call in the hallway. In the kitchen, Anna spoke to Chris Bradley, the same CSM who’d run the initial investigation at the burial site. It was no surprise to find him there. She’d asked for him.

‘Anything?’

‘We have found more blood and it isn’t King’s. We’re running a match for Beth Farlow as we speak.’

The back door opened and another man entered, shrugging off a heavy jacket soaked from the rain. He hung it over the sink and blew into his hands. Jerry Lambton was the duty POLSA and Anna had never seen him look so unhappy.

‘You know they’ve shut both bridges,’ he said by way of introduction.

Anna didn’t but was well aware of its significance. Highways England often shut the old Severn Bridge to high-sided vehicles when the weather got rough, but she couldn’t remember the last time the Second Severn Crossing had been closed as well.

‘To all traffic?’ Bradley asked.

Lambton nodded and wiped rain from his face. ‘It’s crap out there. Visibility is terrible. The wind drives the rain like needles into your face. And there’s a high risk of falling trees. My people don’t want to stop, but I’m giving it another hour maximum. If it stays like this, I’m calling it off.’

Anna didn’t protest. She knew the searchers needed no motivation to do their job, and any whining from her would just seem churlish.

Someone called to Bradley and he turned away to speak.

‘They’ve seen no sign of any kind of occupation in the woods?’ Anna asked Lambton.

The POLSA shook his head. ‘Anything not bolted down has been ripped to shreds in this wind. There’s a denser copse to the east. My guess is stuff’ll get piled up there for inspection when this thing finally dies out.’

Anna stared at him.

Lambton sighed. ‘You don’t need to say it. I know. Sod’s effing law.’

Bradley came back to her elbow. ‘That was Ryegrove. They have Farlow’s blood type on record.’

‘And?’

‘The samples we found in the lounge aren’t King’s or Farlow’s.’

‘What?’

Bradley nodded. ‘We’re trying to get them to dig into Norcott’s file now.’

‘Why would it be Norcott’s blood?’

Bradley shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Anna blew out air. Something clattered over the roof outside. Two seconds later the sound of smashing stone met their ears. ‘Another tile,’ Bradley said. ‘They’ve been coming off all morning in dribs and drabs.’

‘They said there might be some structural damage.’ Lambton turned and reached for his coat. He pulled his sleeve up to look at his watch. ‘We were hoping to keep going until dark, but I can’t see it happening. I’ll keep them at it as long as I can but, like I say, I give it an hour tops.’

‘Thanks,’ Anna said.

Khosa joined Anna in the kitchen. ‘Justin sent me a video, ma’am. They’re standing just off the high street looking towards the beach.’ She held out the phone and played the footage. The noise was a clattering mix of flapping clothes and howling wind. But the film showed waves crashing over a wall and cascading down an access road. Two cars parked on that road had seawater covering their bumpers.

‘He says they’re trying to speak to people but most of the shopkeepers are too busy piling up sandbags to care.’

‘Shit,’ said Anna. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

An hour crawled by. Then another. Anna shadowed Bradley, letting him show her where they’d found the extra blood next to the sofa, not far from where King was lying when they found him.

‘Maybe Farlow panicked when she saw what happened to King. Maybe she and Norcott fought.’

Anna nodded. But it did not sit comfortably with her.

When confirmation came through that the blood was indeed the same type as Norcott’s, Anna grabbed her coat and walked outside into the small garden behind the cottage, much to Khosa’s alarm. ‘Stay here,’ Anna ordered. ‘Get the others back here. See if they can pick up something for us to eat. I’m just going across the road.’

Anna opened the door and stepped out into the tempest, buttoning her coat, feeling her trouser leg cling wetly to the flesh of her shin in an instant. An umbrella was out of the question. She pulled up an ineffective collar and walked around the corner into the full force of the wind. It almost knocked her backwards. Leaning into it, she stepped out into the lane, her foot splashing in two inches of water. Further along, where the lane ended, towards the estuary side, the water was deeper already. Thankfully, Bradley had already moved King’s car back to HQ for further testing.

Anna crossed over to the edge of the open land, bushes and naked branches doing a mad dance as the chaotic wind tried its best to rip them out at the roots. It was impossible to hear anyone speak, almost impossible to think, but think she did as she rocked back and forth, trying to keep her balance, staring off into the undergrowth.

They were assuming that Norcott had come out of this wilderness. Had hidden and probably watched Beth come and go. But something was bothering her. It was February. The frosts had come and gone, and this storm was a wet monster clattering in from the Atlantic. Horrible, but not freezing. Not like the Beast from the East. Nevertheless, camping out at this time of year was asking for trouble. She thought back to Dawes’ report of the smallholding in Wales. Norcott had set up in a barn. He liked structures, four walls.

She’d told Lambton this and they’d noted a couple of abandoned buildings, one an old pumping station, and gone there first to search. But they’d found nothing bar some empty cans and a few condoms. Anna couldn’t quite imagine settling down for a night of passion in a damp and dirty building, but then she wasn’t sixteen and half out of her head on cannabis and cider.

She was still standing there when Holder drove up and parked. He and Dawes got out, waved a plastic bag at her and hurried into the cottage. Anna, wind-assisted, followed them in. The Forensics team was busy packing up.

‘Finished?’ she asked Bradley.

‘Not quite, but we’ve been told to get out, ma’am. They’ve already evacuated a couple of campsites near the beach. Though why the hell anyone would want to be here in a caravan in February astounds me. Anyway, we need to get out and I suggest you do too.’

As if on cue, the door swung open and Lambton appeared, looking like he’d just stepped off a trawler in the North Sea. ‘That’s it, I’m afraid. We’re bailing. See what it’s like tomorrow. We’ve already had a couple of narrow escapes from falling branches and I can’t risk it.’

He stood, seeking approval. Anna nodded, feeling frustrated and empty.

‘Have you eaten?’

Lambton shook his head. Dawes put a selection of sandwiches, some crisps and four bottles of water on the kitchen table. Lambton ran the tap and washed some mugs. They ate and watched the cottage empty around them until, finally, they were the only five left. Anna filled Dawes and Holder in on the blood sample testing, and in return, Dawes told her about their canvassing.

‘One newsagent says he remembered seeing someone who could have been Norcott. The streets were pretty dead, that’s why he remembers – it was New Year’s Day.’

‘But he didn’t see where he came from?’

‘No.’ Dawes bit down on a cheese and tomato sandwich. ‘Just this shape going past the window in a hundred layers of clothes.’

‘I really hope he isn’t out there with her,’ Khosa said. ‘Not in this.’

Holder said, ‘You’d think a storm like this might flush anyone out.’

Dawes sent his mouthful of sandwich down with a swig of water and pushed himself off the sink, where he’d been leaning, swivelled and looked out of the window. ‘It’s gone half three and the light is beginning to fade already. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being stuck here all night. Mrs Dawes might have something to say about that as it’s my turn to take Lucy to football. It’ll be indoors tonight, though it’s more likely to be water polo by the looks of it. And there was a lot of water on Beach Road as we drove out, so I don’t think we should hang about, ma’am.’

‘You’re right,’ Anna said. And he was. There was no point loitering. Whatever secrets this cottage harboured would remain hidden unless the crime lab could tease something out of their samples. But someone in the town had seen Norcott and she couldn’t let it lie. She turned to Lambton. ‘What sort of car have you got?’

‘Long wheelbase Land Rover.’

She looked at the others. ‘You three take the cars back to HQ. Stay away from the beach. Sergeant Lambton can run me back into the village. I’d like a word with your shopkeeper. Which one was it?’

Holder said, ‘McCreedie’s, the mini-market.’

Dawes gave Holder his keys. ‘There you go, Justin.’

Holder frowned. ‘Aren’t you coming, Sarge?’

‘Nah. I’d like another word with the newsagent myself.’

‘What about Lucy’s football?’

‘It’s called off.’

‘But you said—’

Dawes cut Holder off. ‘Executive decision.’

Anna shook her head. ‘There’s no need to chaperone me, Phil.’

Dawes ignored her. ‘Go on, you two, off you go.’

Khosa and Holder left. Dawes finished off the crisps while Lambton put on his coat.

‘Thanks,’ Anna said softly.

‘It’s a bugger of an afternoon to be out alone, ma’am.’

The Land Rover smelled of oil and wet clothes. Lambton drove, and at first the road took them away from the beach, but then it turned at forty-five degrees, heading back towards the river. Halfway along Beach Road, there was a foot of water. When they got to the point where the road curved closest to the estuary, Anna could see waves pluming over the sea defences and the water was up to the bonnet.

‘Well over three feet, I reckon,’ Lambton said.

‘It’ll cope, will it?’ Dawes asked.

The look Lambton sent him was answer enough. ‘If it gets any deeper, you better lift your feet. It’ll let water in, but then, when we’re on drier land, just open the doors and it’ll drain away.

Dawes sent Anna a look of great disgust. It made her smile.

Ahead of them, a fire engine was clearly visible where houses began in a strip between the street and the sea. A fireman in full regalia was waving them forward.

‘Keep going,’ Anna said. ‘We’ll plead ignorance.’

Anna watched the sea furiously battering the defences to her right as they drove. To their left, some people outside their red-brick houses were staring nervously up at the grey water spewing up over the walls. They’d piled sandbags against their front doors, where dirty brown water was lapping. The light was fading badly now. The water looked thick and silted. Scummy foam danced on the surface near the low wall of a little park nearby. They neared the junction with Beach Avenue branching east. Anna looked left. The further back up the avenue she looked, the less water there was, but ahead, on Beach Road, the main street leading to the railway station, the houses between road and estuary were under four feet of river. Immediately on her right, a lane ran off to some steps up to the sea wall. Only the top half of a bus stop showed above the lapping water, and a sorry-looking cluster of buildings surrounded by chain-link fencing that had once been Severn Beach’s amusement arcade was now a repository for flotsam. More of the foam she’d noticed earlier had coagulated against the fence. Lapping waves shifted it up and down, lathering it against the wire. And then they were past, and Dawes was pointing towards the blue and yellow McCreedie’s sign.

‘There it is, ma’am.’

Anna didn’t answer.

‘Ma’am?’ Dawes said, noting the thousand-yard stare consuming the inspector. ‘Ma’am, are you all right?’

‘Back up,’ Anna said to Lambton.

‘What?’

‘Back up. Back up to the bus stop!’

Lambton threw the car into gear and began to reverse, sending a wave of water up the road. Anna, in the back seat, craned her neck, staring out into the pelting rain and the afternoon gloom. Lambton stopped ten yards from the stop.

‘There,’ Anna said. ‘Up against the fence. Can you see them?’

‘See what?’ Dawes peered across Lambton’s chest to where Anna was pointing. ‘All I can see is floating rubbish.’

‘Reverse up the avenue,’ she said. ‘Where there’s less water.’

Lambton turned in his seat and manoeuvred the four-by-four up Beach Avenue, slowly at first and then, as the water shallowed, gathering speed. When it was a foot deep, he stopped. ‘This OK for you?’

But Anna didn’t answer. She opened the door and, shoes off, stepped out into the cold and wet storm.

‘Ma’am?’ Dawes said with more than a bit of impatient incredulity in his voice.

‘I need to see it close up. Stay here.’

Ten steps and a foot deeper in, Anna heard the passenger door of the Land Rover open and turned to see Dawes exiting, powerful pencil torch in hand.

‘Don’t say anything,’ he said, shouting over the wind as they waded towards the bus stop.

There were people in the street behind them, staring, wondering, Anna had no doubt, just what the hell these two mad coppers were doing. She could feel the road under her feet, feel the water’s winter cold sucking heat from the skin inside her trousers. By the time they reached the submerged bus stop, the water was up to her waist.

‘Three and a half feet, I reckon,’ Dawes said. Or rather screeched over the howling wind.

But Anna didn’t stop to acknowledge him. She kept walking and almost stumbled against something solid. A kerb in all probability. She would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Dawes’ clutching hand on her forearm. As it was, the lunge she took let the water up to her chest and the wind turned it instantly into a clammy hand over her heart.

‘I bloody well hope this is going to be worth it, ma’am,’ Dawes yelled.

Anna grabbed the torch. The chain-link fence was just yards away and she waded towards it. The white flotsam bobbed and danced in the grey foam. She put her fingers through, trying to catch some of it. It took three attempts before she managed to pull something through with fingers that didn’t want to cooperate and held it up in the fading light. It flapped and jerked in the bitter wind until she put her hand behind it, letting the gale flatten it against her shaky palm, steadying herself with a broad stance. She flicked on the torch and lit up the flimsy scrap.

‘Jesus,’ Dawes said. Not loud, but with such feeling that Anna heard him clearly.

In her palm, wet and mangled though it was, sat one of Norcott’s golems.