The sparkle in Dr Hewson’s eyes should have been at odds with the nature of his job and what he’d just examined, but Beth knew what caused it. Because as much as he might feel for the victims, he clearly couldn’t help but also feel a thrill in trying to work out the cause of their deaths.

As he stripped off his oversuit, boots and gloves, he nodded at O’Dowd before she could speak. ‘You want time and cause of death for all three. I get that. I’m going to tell you all I can for certain. The man was killed most recently. Judging from the number of bites on him, I’d say he’s only been there a day, two at most. The woman, she’s been there a couple of weeks, perhaps three at the most. As for the skeleton, I’d suggest that’s been there at least three months. Cause of death can’t be formally diagnosed until after the post-mortems, but based on what I’ve seen of the remains, I believe it’d be fair to work on the assumption that they all died the same way as Angus Keane. Both the man and the woman had scorching in their mouths.’ He pulled a disgusted face. ‘From what was left of the skeleton’s internal organs, I may be able to match up what happened to them, but I think the wings fixed to the shoulders say enough. I’ll be able to tell you more when I get them on my table.’

‘What else did you find? Were there any distinguishing marks, something to help identify them? How old were they?’ Beth led the questions to give O’Dowd time to get back to full strength.

Dr Hewson’s smile was benevolent. ‘You’ve trained this one well, Dowdy. She’s proper sharp.’

‘She’s her own woman. And you should know I don’t tolerate idiots on my team.’ O’Dowd jerked her head. ‘How about answering her question instead of trying to charm someone young enough to be your daughter?’

‘Touché.’ A smile caressed the doctor’s lips. ‘The man had the name “Dylan” tattooed onto his right forearm along with two dates connected by a hyphen. The dates were three years apart. I’d put the man in his thirties and the woman in her twenties, but I’m not prepared to guess at the skeleton’s age yet.’

Beth jotted down the dates from the man’s tattoo with a mixture of emotions. She felt for the unidentified man, the dates on his arm suggested that his son Dylan had died at an early age. However, it should make it easier to identify him.

‘What about the skeleton? Can you tell us what sex it was at least?’

‘Good question.’ The doctor’s eyes gave a twinkle. ‘It has a woman’s pelvis.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything we should have asked but haven’t?’

‘Not at the moment. I’ll know more when I get them on my table, but for now, you’ve had all the facts I have and all the educated guesses I’m prepared to make.’

As the pathologist wandered in the direction of his car, Beth was thinking about the interchange between him and O’Dowd. Their mutual animosity almost seemed fake, as if it was for show rather than really felt. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that whatever their differences may be, their squabbling was underpinned with a professional respect for the other’s skills.