Rainsford was knotting his tie in front of the bedroom mirror when he took the call on his mobile. The dispatcher from Portishead explained that she’d been contacted by the governor of Whitmarsh Prison. He’d left a number and a request that Rainsford ring him back urgently. Hair wet, Rainsford wrote down the number and dialled. He stood at the window watching the grey shapes in his garden develop in front of his eyes as morning light leeched into the day.

‘Thanks for ringing. Sorry about the early hour,’ said the voice that answered. Rainsford recognised it. They’d spoken previously when they’d laid the ground for Shipwright and Gwynne’s visit after Shaw’s DNA lit up on the national DNA database. George Calhoun had a Scottish burr and a no-nonsense attitude. Even so, anxiety gnawed at the superintendent. A seven-thirty call hardly ever meant good news.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Shaw,’ Calhoun said. ‘His lawyers have been in and out the last couple of days. This morning I found out why.’

Rainsford waited, his pulse thick in his throat. He hoped this was not another complaint. Something Gwynne or Shipwright had said or done. The usual BS, no doubt. But he was not prepared for what Calhoun said next.

‘Shaw wants to show you where he buried the body.’

Rainsford sank heavily on to the edge of the bed as Calhoun’s words thudded home. ‘What?’

‘Exactly. But don’t crack open the champagne yet. This is Shaw we’re talking about. There are caveats.’

‘What does he want?’

‘Seems he’s taken a shine to your girl Gwynne. He’ll only do this if she’s there.’

Rainsford was silent. There was no denying that this was a real coup. He was also very aware that allowing Shaw to manipulate the situation carried risks. But assessing risk against benefit was why he was in the job.

‘You still there, Superintendent?’ Calhoun’s voice broke the silence.

‘Yes, still here. And she’s Inspector Gwynne now.’

‘At this rate, she’ll be in your job before you turn around twice.’

Rainsford laughed politely at Calhoun’s stab at humour. But it felt hollow. He’d already made his mind up. They had no choice but to comply with Shaw’s demands and there was nothing at all funny about that.

‘Oh, and he’ll only do it if it can be done today.’

‘What? We’ll never get the paperwork done in time.’

Rainsford knew that the police had no right to have prisoners transported from prisons to external locations, though this was commonly done in order to take part in identity parades, further lengthy interviews, or to identify premises or deposition sites in connection with investigations. But such requests were normally done on Ministry of Justice CID 25 forms at least seven days in advance.

Calhoun was ahead of the game. ‘I’ve already spoken to the Home Office. They’re prepared to give special dispensation under the circumstances, if you think we should go ahead.’

‘Do we have any choice?’

There were always choices, of course, but both men knew that for the relatives of missing victims these choices were few and far between. If there was an opportunity for Shaw to cooperate, it needed to be seized with both hands.

‘No,’ said Calhoun. ‘None that I can see. Shaw says this is a one-time offer. It’s this or nothing.’

Rainsford looked in the mirror and the face that stared back knew that Calhoun was right. ‘I’ll get it set up.’

---

Anna took Holder and made him drive. She wanted time to think. Rainsford’s call had taken her completely by surprise. She was annoyed that this was taking her away from the Risman case, but she also acknowledged that she needed to put all that aside temporarily. Ideally, she would have wanted to involve Shipwright. Talk the scenario through with him. But he was still in intensive care. A difficult-to-control heart arrhythmia was delaying his recovery and his advice was still very much off limits. That left only one other person she could think of to contact for advice. She put the call in at five minutes before nine and got through after three rings.

‘Professor Jane Markham.’

‘Jane, this is Anna. Anna Gwynne.’

‘I take it this is not a social call?’ A background hum suggested to Anna that she too was using a hands-free system and was probably also driving.

Quickly, Anna explained the circumstances. The static hum diminished and Jane Markham’s voice became steady and clearer. ‘You realise that by pandering to his demands you are reinforcing his belief that he is in control?’

‘What choice do we have?’

‘None. But be warned. He’ll be getting a huge kick out of this. He’s been prevented from doing whatever he wants to do in prison. Now he’s trying the next best thing by invoking uncertainty and anxiety in others. Specifically, you.’

‘You mentioned his serotonin levels. I presume he’ll be having treatment.’

‘SSRIs—’

‘Jane, I’m not a doctor.’

‘OK, serotonin modifies aggression. It’s a neurotransmitter, but it doesn’t hang around once it’s done its job. It’s reabsorbed by the nerve cells. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors work by slowing down that reabsorption, allowing serotonin to stay around for longer and elevating levels. They are widely used as standard antidepressants but also to reinforce cognitive behavioural therapy.’

‘So, in Shaw’s case, they would help?’

‘Undoubtedly. Though he’d need a hefty dose, given the very low baseline levels he demonstrated. Why are you asking?’

‘I’m wondering if he’s stabilised enough to genuinely want to cooperate,’ Anna tried for reassurance.

‘I doubt it. Don’t forget, you are also a woman and, like it or not, his next victim.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’

‘It already has. You’re already doing something you do not want to do.’

‘I’m a police officer, Jane.’

‘He won’t see it like that. Do not underestimate this man. Even if his aggression is lowered, his needle’s hovering just a notch below red.’ She let out a small, harsh laugh. ‘His programming skills were phenomenal. His supervisor in GCHQ was genuinely sorry to lose him.’

‘But he has given me something already. He thinks he’s come across the perpetrator in a case I’m working on while he was hunting for his daughter’s killers.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘It checked out so, yes, I do. But I don’t know what he wants in return.’

‘He knows even if he hasn’t told you yet. Shaw lives mostly inside his own head and is more than happy to be there. Whatever script he’s written here it will be calculated.’

‘You make him sound like some all-seeing monster.’

‘My impression of him hasn’t changed since I first came across him. And it won’t until the day he dies. My advice would be not to go anywhere near him, but I know that’s impractical. Instead, go with your guard up and be very careful.’

‘We’ll have armed support.’

‘I know. But you’re on Shaw’s radar now. You need to tread carefully wherever you walk. And any time you need to talk I’m more than happy.’

Anna ended the call with thanks.

Holder had been listening and now he turned to speak with a disbelieving frown. ‘She’s a bit dramatic, isn’t she, ma’am?’

‘Professor Markham’s an expert, Justin. And she knows Shaw’s mind better than most.’

‘Even so,’ Holder scoffed.

But Anna wouldn’t yield, and Holder’s frown, as he turned back to monitor the road ahead, deepened.

---

Shaw was already in the interview room at Whitmarsh when Anna and Holder arrived.

‘You could save us all a journey and tell us where to go, Mr Shaw,’ Anna said.

‘Please, Anna. Call me Hector.’

‘You could save us all a journey and tell us where to go, Hector.’

‘What, and ruin a good day out? I hope you’ve brought the boiled sweets.’

Three prison guards hovered, keen to get on. ‘The escort’s waiting downstairs. We’ll take him down.’

‘So, what are we waiting for?’ Shaw asked. He turned to Holder. ‘New gorilla. Rangy fucker, aren’t you? I expect labouring is in your genes, right?’

Anna touched Holder’s arm before he could say anything.

‘That’s good,’ said Shaw to Holder’s departing back. ‘Because we’re going to need a shovel.’

The address he eventually gave Anna, written on a piece of paper, was North Wales County Asylum in Denbighshire. She passed it on immediately and Rainsford arranged for some local uniforms to secure the area and for a cadaver sniffer-dog unit to meet them there as well as a local plant-hire company to provide a mini digger. Shaw was in a police van, handcuffed, with two armed officers as escorts. Anna and Holder followed, with Anna driving. They took A roads and the journey seemed never-ending. Two and half hours after leaving Worcester they arrived.

‘Jesus,’ Holder said as they approached the long and winding drive up to the hulking building. Built of pale sandstone in a Tudorbethan style, what little glass the mullioned windows contained looked like broken teeth in the battered, Gothic façade. The asylum had stood on this site for almost two hundred years. At the time of its construction, it took only two doctors’ signatures to have an inconvenient wife confined. A place where the unwelcome, or the different, or the simply unwanted were dumped. Where the vulnerable faced unimaginable treatments in the name of ignorant science. Toxic mercury for the hysterical, antimony for the uncontrollable, designed to induce constant nausea to keep the worst of their insanity subdued. Lobotomies and electro-convulsive therapy followed. This place was no stranger to misery and horror. It came as no surprise to Anna that Shaw might have chosen such a place to bury a body.

The thick iron sheet welded over the entrance looked to have failed completely as an anti-vandal measure. Many of the windows were boarded up, fires had gutted whole wings. Unkempt lawns had given way to bracken, and moss was reclaiming the tarmac drive. The building and its surroundings exuded a dank foreboding that seemed to suck the joy from the air.

‘Held two hundred patients at one time, apparently,’ Anna said.

‘It looks like Arkham. When did it shut?’ replied Holder.

‘In 1995.’

The police van drove around the rear and parked. The building was dilapidated and its outbuildings in an even worse state.

Shaw got out of the van and made a show of stretching his legs. He was still handcuffed. The police officers with him asked him something, but Shaw shook his head and nodded towards Anna’s car.

‘What does he want?’ Holder asked.

‘Me, I expect.’

‘Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘I’m not going to hold his bloody hand, Justin,’ she snapped. ‘But if there is even the slightest chance that he’s brought us here for a reason, and not just to go up some blind alley, then I will happily walk with him.’

‘Then I will, too.’

‘You’ll walk behind, as we agreed. He’ll be flanked by the two uniforms, both of them armed, and I’ll be next to them.’

Holder shook his head and exhaled. ‘Sorry, but this is fucked up, ma’am.’

The day was blustery and grey but there was, thank God, no rain. They’d given Shaw a padded jacket to wear and he stood, sniffing the air as if it were a fine perfume.

‘Smell the snow from Snowdonia here,’ he said, as Anna approached.

‘Come on, Hector. We’ve done our bit.’

‘Yeah, you have. Trouble is, this place has gone to the dogs. It’s been a long time.’

‘If you can’t remember, just say and we’ll all go home.’

‘Home?’ Shaw repeated the word.

‘You reap what you sow, Hector.’

Shaw nodded. ‘Very poetic. And ironic coming from you, Anna.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Having your picture in the paper means lots of people see it. People like the Woodsman… and people who think they have a connection. They like to touch the flame.’

‘Hector, we need to get on—’

‘Did you know your ex-boyfriend was inside?’

Anna stopped walking. The wind was bitter, but Shaw seemed not to notice.

‘Ah, a surprise. Tim Lambert is doing a four-year stretch for intent to supply. He’s not with us monsters in Whitmarsh. Nah, they put him in Chelmsford. But he’s been telling everyone about your… connection. The story is that he’s swapping details for a pinch of Spice.’

It took two thrumming beats of her heart before she could answer. Should she be surprised that Shaw knew? Lambert was the skeleton in Anna’s cupboard that would not stop rattling. Her mother and now Shaw. Worse was that Shaw’s barbs had the sting of truth attached.

‘Tim Lambert has nothing to do with being here and you know it.’ The wind whipped her words, weak as they were, away into the ether.

‘He almost cost you your career, didn’t he? Storing gear in your flat when you were applying to the force. You did the right, thing, Anna. To get rid of him.’

‘Hector, we’ve come a long way for Tanya—’

‘I’ve seen Spice dropped from drones over the prison wall. Seen it arrive between the pages of Men’s Health. I thought that was funny. You know about Spice and Black Mamba, Anna?’

She knew. The synthetic cannabinoids were highly potent and a curse of prisons. Addictive, constantly modified, and difficult to trace in the blood stream.

‘I’ve seen men killed because of it, and for it. Some people say it would be safer to supply cannabis.’

‘Hector—’

‘I wouldn’t want him sharing those details. Not if you were my daughter.’

‘I’m not your daughter, Hector.’

Shaw turned his face to the wind. ‘Did you know that when they built this place infidelity was considered a mental illness? You could lock your wife up here if you caught her giving the gardener a blow job. Or, in Edwardian times, even a steamy glance.’

Anna looked back at Holder. He wore a grim, sceptical expression.

Shaw continued, ‘Maybe this is where they should have put your ex.’

Anna dragged her mind back to the moment. ‘We could get a search team in if you can’t remember.’

Still Shaw kept his face up to the elements. ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t remember, I said this place had changed. Look at all these crumbling buildings.’

He turned, orientating himself, and nodded towards what looked like a small chapel with boarded-up windows and a roof in dire need of some slate.

‘Thing is, I reckon they used to bury their patients here. That’s why it was chosen for Tanya.’ He began walking.

The two armed police officers exchanged a look and followed, keeping Shaw between them.

‘Now, if I remember rightly, it was west-facing. So that she could feel the sun in the afternoon.’

He pointed with both hands to a spot ten yards from a corner of the building.

They signalled the digger and waited for it to trundle across and bury its bucket into the hard earth.

Shaw watched impassively for several minutes until he frowned. ‘Wait. That is west, isn’t it?’ He looked up at the horizon. ‘Anyone got a compass?’

Holder had one on his phone. He turned to face the direction Shaw was indicating. ‘No, it’s north.’

Shaw made some reprimanding clicking noises with his tongue. ‘Wrong corner.’ He began to walk anticlockwise around the chapel and then stopped. ‘Mind you, shame to waste the hole. Looks about your size, Justin.’

Holder, to his credit didn’t lose it. Instead he said, ‘Maybe we could cuddle in there together, Hector.’

Shaw smiled. He looked as terrifying as the buildings. When they arrived at the western elevation, he paced out ten yards and nodded. The digger driver repeated the performance. All through it, Shaw kept his eyes on Anna, barely blinking. The sniffer dog and his handler stood closest and, after the fifth scoop, the dog became agitated, barking and straining at the leash. The handler considered the hole and waved at them. Anna and Holder walked across as a very pale and very human-looking bone poked through the black earth.

‘Hello, Tanya,’ said Shaw. ‘I see the diet’s worked.’

Anna knew she wanted nothing more than to set the big German shepherd on Shaw, as he watched all this, orchestrated all of this, but she stepped on her anger and spoke in a flat tone. ‘Get a forensic team out here. It’s North Wales’ patch. Let them do the donkey work.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Holder said. He didn’t look up from the grave as he put his phone to his ear.

Anna turned and walked back to Shaw. ‘Something tells me that you think I should be thanking you, but I’m worried that if I do that, I’ll throw up.’

Shaw nodded. ‘Tough gig, this. But you’re tough, Anna. Or at least you think you are.’

‘What I can do, and with the utmost pleasure, is to ask my colleagues to throw you back in the van and take you back to Whitmarsh.’

‘But if I leave now, you won’t get the bonus ball.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I didn’t put Tanya here, Anna. Someone else did.’

For a moment, the wind whipping the long grass was all that Anna could hear. Eventually, she found her voice. ‘Who?’

Shaw tilted his head, looked at the chapel and walked around to the eastern side. Anna nodded at the armed officers and they followed once more. Rubble from a crumbling storage shed spilled over the earth, but Shaw walked to the corner and counted out eight steps, before he came to a standstill looking down into the ground beneath his feet.

‘You could ask him, but I don’t think he’ll answer. Though he made enough noise when I put him in there.’

Anna’s pulse hammered at her skull. ‘Him? Are you saying there’s another body here? Who is he?’

Shaw looked up and gave one of his slow blinks. ‘You can find out, Anna. You already have his DNA.’

Quickly, Anna made a cairn out of the rubble to mark the spot. Despite her persistent questioning, Shaw would say no more. They put him back in the police van while the digger continued. This time the body was wrapped in black plastic. There would be more remains. More for forensics to deal with.

An hour later, tents were set up around the crime scene. Anna decided to try one last time to get Shaw to talk. She spoke to him through the window of the police van. It was cold in there and they’d left the window open a crack and hadn’t turned the heater on for him. Like they might with a dog. He looked pale, the dark stubble on his head almost blue.

‘Whose is the second body, Hector? Did you do this to Tanya together?’

‘I can see how you might think that, Anna. That’s why I’m not angry. But I’ll let you think it through. It’ll be something for us to talk about.’ It was then that she registered the change in his face. No, not his face, his eyes. Something flared there. An animal intelligence that had no right to be there. ‘I’ve enjoyed our day out, Anna. Next time we’ll make it summer so you can wear something nice.’

‘We won’t be meeting again. There won’t be a next time,’ Anna said.

‘No? Not even if I tell you where I’ve hidden another body?’

His words, so nonchalant in their delivery, jolted her like a blow to the solar plexus. She took a stuttering step back to steady herself.

‘Yeah,’ said Shaw, ‘there’s more buried treasure. So, I get to come out to play, and we get to be pals all over again. But, I want it to be warm. I want to be able to smell your perfume, or your nervous musky sweat.’ He paused, still grinning. ‘That is, of course, if you pass your test.’ He delivered the last word with slow emphasis, letting the sibilant ‘s’ linger. He moved back into his seat, allowing the darkness of the van’s interior to swallow him up. It left Anna looking at nothing but two pinprick reflections of light on his corneas. It made him look like he was made of smoke.

‘You any closer to him, Anna? The Woodsman?’

‘We think we are, yes.’

‘Good. I’m glad. Because he’s not going to be happy with you, is he? I reckon he’s going to be mightily pissed off, in fact. Who knows what he might do, eh?’

It was difficult to know if he was smiling or not.

She had to ask. ‘You know the investigation is still ongoing. Why today? Why did we have to do this today?’

His voice came to her out of the shadows. ‘It’s Abbie’s birthday today. I couldn’t give her a present, Anna. But I could give one to you.’

Unnerved, she turned quickly away and walked back to Holder. When she turned back, the van was pulling away.

---

Afterwards, even after several strong drinks, Anna still couldn’t sleep with the light from the sodium lamps in the street outside leeching into her bedroom. She knew why. People aren’t designed to live their nightmares. That’s what the subconscious is for. Experiencing them without the buffer of dreams is like drinking surgical alcohol and tonic. It has the same effect as gin but without the camouflage of flavour. She lay in bed, emotionally raw and mentally discomfited from her little jaunt with Shaw.

They’d taken the corpses to the big forensic unit in Birmingham and were yet to confirm identity. One would not be difficult, since they’d keyed up dental records for Tanya Cromer. If it was a positive match, someone was going to have to speak to her parents. She wondered if that would have to be her. She hoped it would be Rainsford. He’d be good at that with his earnest delivery and eye contact. As for the second corpse, the pathologist could tell her only that it was male, thirties, evidence of significant trauma with leg fractures and facial mutilation. It would take an autopsy to ascertain cause of death.

She got up at 11.45 p.m. and made herself a hot chocolate; she tried to read some pages of a novel by an Icelandic writer that Kate had recommended, but gave up after reading three pages twice. Nothing wrong with the book, this was all about concentration.

A little after midnight, she rang Jane Markham, knowing she was a little drunk, but needing to offload with someone who understood.

‘He actually showed you two bodies?’ Jane didn’t mention the lateness of the hour. Maybe she had demons of her own.

‘I’m sure one of them is Tanya’s.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Filthy. Like I’ve had to lie in a cesspit to hide while the storm troopers pass.’

‘Did you have someone with you?’

‘My DC. But Shaw knew all of the buttons to press with him too.’

‘It’s never easy, Anna.’

‘The other body… Shaw said it wasn’t a body when he buried it. He said it was alive—’ She caught there, unused to the tightness in her chest, conflicted by the relief she felt at feeling something but still not quite understanding what it was and why. It had always been this way with emotions. This struggle to understand them in herself, the irritation of how irrational they were. Her voice, when it spoke next, was more controlled. ‘He wants to do it again. Wants to show me more of his… treasures.’ She snorted. ‘Listen to me. This is so not me.’

‘Anna, it’s OK to feel like this. You’re grieving and you’ve been abused. Just because he didn’t touch you, it doesn’t mean he didn’t harm you. You ought not to be doing this alone. I can help.’

‘No,’ Anna said. ‘He insists on it being just me. And I can do it alone. I’m better alone.’

‘Who told you that?’

Anna didn’t answer. She was angry for letting her emotions trip her up.

Blame the alcohol.

‘Anna?’ Jane’s voice brought her back.

‘I did. I gave myself permission.’

A silent beat followed as both women analysed the lie.

‘Is there anyone there with you?’ Markham asked.

‘No.’

‘Is that by choice?’

‘For now, yes.’

‘You don’t give of yourself very easily, do you, Anna?’

‘I’ve never felt the need.’

‘Some people are like that. But sometimes other people are all that is needed. I’m here if you need me.’

‘Thanks,’ Anna said, ending the call. She sat and finished her hot chocolate, pondering Jane’s words for long minutes. She fetched her iPod from where she kept it next to the turntable and picked a playlist that she found comfort in. Old tracks; the things she’d listened to in the car with her mother and father and Kate; songs to sing on holiday trips. Often this music was as good as having other people around and had the added advantage of never leaving wine stains on the coffee table.

ELO’s ‘Mr Blue Sky’ began and she caught her breath because it was the song she remembered best.

Hot chocolate had been a comfort since childhood and, in combination with the music and Jane’s penetrating insight, she dredged a memory up from the silt in her mind. A birthday party when she was ten. She had not wanted to go. Her mother and sister had wanted to dress her up, but she’d opted for unfussy jeans and a T-shirt, already knowing that after an hour and a half she’d be bored rigid, looking for things to do away from the inane noise, craving a few moments of solitude.

Her father had driven her to the party and, as always, he’d sensed her mood. ‘How many parties is it this year?’ he’d asked.

‘Six,’ she’d said, sighing.

‘But you like Gemma, don’t you?’

‘Ye-es.’

‘And what about your other friends?’

‘I like them too. But it gets weird after a couple of hours.’

‘It?’

‘OK, I get weird. It’s OK at school ’cos there’s lessons and stuff. But after a while it’s like everyone’s talking at once and I can’t shut out the noise. I start to feel really tired and I—’

‘Wish there was a cupboard to hide in?’

She’d looked across. He wasn’t laughing. ‘Sort of,’ she’d said softly. ‘Do you feel that way too, Dad?’

‘Sometimes,’ her father had said. ‘In crowds.’ Recognition and sympathy had registered in equal measure on his face.

‘So, it’s not just me?’

‘No.’

‘So, I’m not weird or anything?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

She’d punched his arm and he’d laughed. ‘Anna, you are the least weird person I know.’

‘Mum and Kate think I’m weird.’

‘Different is a better word.’

She’d stored it all away. But he’d still made her go to the party. Ninety minutes in, she’d been in the garden alone, pretending to look at flowers, when Gemma’s mum had called her. ‘Anna, your dad’s here.’

He was in the hall; Gemma’s mum was holding her coat.

‘I’m so sorry to hear about your Aunty Louisa. I’m sure she’ll be better soon. Do you want to take something from the party for her? Do they even allow sponge cake in hospital?’

Anna had looked confused. Her dad had shaken his head. ‘Best not to.’

And then they were in the car.

‘Are we really going to the hospital?’

‘Waterstones,’ her dad had said, deadpan. ‘Fantasy for you. Detective and crime for me.’ He’d grinned then and relief had flooded through her.

He understood.

‘Does Mum know about Aunty Louisa?’ she’d asked, confused.

‘Good Lord, no. Why should she? She’s my aunty.’

She’d hugged his arm and almost made him swerve. ‘Mr Blue Sky’ was playing in the car and she’d started singing along.

Aunty Louisa became their safe words. Hers and her dad’s secret words. Anna had never told her mother, but she knew now that she’d found out. Secrets were dangerous things. This special thing between her and her dad might even have explained her mother’s unfathomable cattiness. Might even have been the thin end of the wedge that grew between her parents. A wedge that her feckless mother used to push him away, and which Anna found the most difficult thing of all to forgive.

But that all came later.

Her dad, that day, had made it OK for her to need her own space. To deal with crowds on her own terms and, when gatherings became like a roaring waterfall, she knew that it was OK to walk away. OK not to be a part of the herd. Her dad, and later Myers and Briggs, said so.

Shame they hadn’t announced it to the rest of the world.

---

She was up at dawn on Sunday, running through the park, the leaves wet beneath her feet, sucking the ozone-sharp air into her lungs with gusto.

She ran for far longer than usual, twice around Badock’s Wood, craving the endorphins and the immediacy of putting one foot in front of the other so that it became all she needed to think about. By the time she got back to Horfield Common an hour and a half later, the dog walkers and drone flyers had arrived.

When she was a child her father would sometimes take her and Kate to the wide-open moorland on the edge of the Brecon Beacons on Sunday afternoons. There, enthusiasts would fly huge, remote-controlled planes, some with four-foot wingspans. Her dad loved to watch the aerobatics executed by these skilful amateurs. Now, the lovingly crafted Hurricanes and Spitfires had given way to quadcopters and multirotors hovering over the trees, flipping and zooming in and out of the branches. Nothing like as elegant, but much easier to fly. Technology marched ever onwards and yet Anna wasn’t sure her dad would approve.

She did her stretches on a low wall within sight of her front door, accompanied by the barking of dogs and the high-pitched waspish drone of miniature electric motors, then finished the last of her water and, refreshed, put Shaw back in the locked drawer of her mind. Time to go to work once again on the living.