Cerys shrugged. ‘There’s always that chance but we won’t know until we start digging. In the meantime there’s something else I’d like you to see.’

Kim followed Cerys into the utility tent. Fold-out tables had been erected and held small Tupperware boxes. A couple were empty but most were filled with varying amounts of soil.

‘We have some small metal fragments that I need to explore further but I thought this might interest you.’

Cerys reached for one of the smaller Tupperware boxes that held fine dirt and what looked like Maltesers.

‘What are they?’

Cerys took one out and held it at Kim's eye line.

It was a perfect pink circle with yellow dots.

Kim tipped her head. ‘A bead?’

Cerys nodded.

‘How many?’

‘Seven, so far.’

‘Bracelet?’

Cerys shrugged and smiled. ‘That’s your job, Detective. Of course, there’s always the possibility that they are totally separate contexts.’

‘Separate what?’

Cerys closed her eyes for a second. ‘Remember what I told you about the wall?'

Yes, Kim recalled something about events happening in layers. ‘So, you’re saying the beads could be completely unrelated to the body?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘When can I have photographs?’

‘Everything taken today will be with you first thing in the morning.’

Kim nodded and headed out of the tent. Yellow paint had been sprayed around the area the machine had indicated.

She turned as Cerys came to stand beside her. ‘Why is no one digging yet?’

‘It’s almost three. We have half an hour of daylight left. Not enough time.’

‘Are you kidding? You’re just going to leave her down there?’

Cerys turned to her, surprised. ‘Firstly, we're not yet sure it isn't a dead dog,’ Cerys said using Kim’s own example of the previous day. ‘And secondly, if there is another body down there it would be foolhardy to assign a sex when the first one ...’

‘What is it with you scientists? Is there a special class at university called the extraction of free thinking?’

‘If we start disturbing the soil now, knowing we're not able to complete it, we run the risk of exposing the site to the elements. Valuable evidence may be lost.’

Kim shook her head. ‘You’re all the same, like little android clones who rely on ...’

‘I can assure you that we are not all the same. Yesterday, we did it your way but today, we do it mine.’

Kim glowered at her.

Cerys folded her arms. ‘I understand your impatience, Detective. In fact I’ve seen it first-hand, but I will not be bullied into making mistakes. In addition, my team left their homes at four this morning to be here. A team needs rest.’

Cerys began to walk away, but returned. ‘I promise, she’s safe for one more night.’

‘Thank you ... Cerys.’

‘You’re welcome ... Kim.’

She headed over to Bryant and Dawson and pulled them to one side. ‘Okay, guys, they’re winding down here for the day. This is gonna break wide open tomorrow if we find another body down there.

‘Go home and get some rest while you can. From tomorrow this is going to be non-stop so be sure to let family members know that your shift rota is a distant memory.’

‘No problem, Guv,’ Dawson offered brightly. His eyes were dark and a little bloodshot but he was learning his lesson.

‘Okay, Bryant?’

‘As ever, Guv.’

‘Right, briefing at seven. Someone let Stacey know.’

As Kim walked away from them both she quietly seethed inside. Waiting was not an activity she did well.

Thirty

It was almost midnight when Kim entered the garage. The quiet family street beyond had settled into cosy silence. She switched on her iPod and chose Chopin’s ‘Nocturnes’. The solo piano pieces would ease her through the early morning hours until her body demanded sleep.

After leaving the crime scene she had returned to the station unable to do nothing while there was the potential of another body lying in the ground.

Eventually she had returned home and vacuumed the house throughout. She had mopped the kitchen and used half a bottle of Cillit Bang on the work surfaces. Two washing cycles had ended and the clothes had been dried, ironed and hung in her wardrobe.

The nervous energy had still raged around her body, prompting her to fix a broken shelf in the bathroom, rearrange the furniture in the lounge and tidy out the airing cupboard at the top of the stairs.

Probably just need to cleanse, she thought, stepping into her favourite room of the entire house.

To her left was the Ninja, reversed into the space, poised for their next adventure.

For a moment Kim visualised herself lying into the body of the bike, her breasts and stomach against the petrol tank, her thighs clutched around the leather seat, bending the bike into a series of tight turns; her knees an inch from the ground. The co-ordination of her hands and feet working together to control the beast took every ounce of concentration and erased everything else from her mind.

Riding the Ninja was like breaking in a spirited horse. It was a question of control, of taming a rebel.

Bryant had once told her that she liked to argue with fate. He said fate had dictated that she was beautiful and yet she fought against it by doing nothing to enhance her looks. He said fate had decided that she couldn’t cook and yet she tried complex dishes every week. But only she knew that fate had decreed that she would die young and so far she had fought against it. And won.

There were times when the fates chased her to make her what she should have been when she was six years old; a statistic. So, every now and again she tempted them, goaded them into catching her as they had tried to back then.

The restoration of the Triumph Thunderbird was a labour of love, a testament to two people who had tried to make her feel safe, who had tried to love her. The Thunderbird was an emotional journey that bathed her spirit.

In this one room of her house, the stresses and challenges of the working day eased out of her muscles, leaving her relaxed and content. Here she did not have to be the analytical detective dissecting every clue, or the leader of her team guiding and prodding to get the best results. Here, she did not have to justify her ability to do a job she truly loved or battle to mask the social skills she so sorely lacked. Here, she was happy.

She crossed her legs and began to assess the pieces that had taken five months to gather. The ‘93 genuine Triumph parts would all fit together to form a crankshaft casing. Now all she had to do was figure out how.

Within the overall challenge of restoring a classic motorbike came smaller tasks along the way. The crankshaft casing was the heart of the machine so she began as she always did with a puzzle within a puzzle, she grouped similar type parts together.

Twenty minutes later the washers, gaskets, springs, valves, tubes and pistons were all separated. She opened the diagram that would help guide her through the challenge.

Normally, the process jumped off the page like a three-dimensional hologram. Her mind was able to assess the most logical starting point and she would build from there. Tonight, the instructions remained a muddle of numbers, arrows and shapes.

After ten minutes of scowling at it the page still resembled the writings of the Rosetta Stone.

Dammit, no matter how hard Kim fought she knew this case was having an unsettling effect on her.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned back against the wall. Perhaps it was the amount of time spent in such close proximity to Mikey’s grave. Although she took fresh flowers every week she had locked away those memories when she was six years old.