Ruth waits, sure that Guy will tell her what these problems were. Sure enough, after a while, ‘Mental health issues,’ he says. ‘She’s very sensitive. Fearsomely bright. But, sometimes, the slightest little thing …’

Like being dumped by her next-door neighbour, thinks Ruth. She wonders if she dares ask about the affair with Dan. Luckily Guy seems to assume that she already knows.

*

‘That business with Dan didn’t help, of course. I don’t blame him. I’m sure he never promised anything. Dan hadn’t really got over the break-up with his wife. Elaine, though, I think she was really in love with him.’

Ruth really wants to ask about Pippa Henry, but if Guy doesn’t know she doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. Instead she settles for saying, vaguely, ‘I suppose Dan had lots of girlfriends?’

To her surprise, Guy bristles slightly. ‘Well, not that many. There was that business with Susan Chow, of course, and I’d heard rumours about a married woman but, that’s all it was, rumours. Dan wasn’t a lothario, if that’s what you mean.’

Lothario, thinks Ruth. It’s an odd, old-fashioned choice of word. Guy’s vocabulary, like his face, seems to hark back to another era. But the idea that Dan had an affair with Susan Chow, the county archaeologist, is a completely new one. Ruth thinks of the neat little woman in her book-lined office. She doesn’t seem a very likely girlfriend for Dan but then neither do Elaine or Pippa. Come to think of it, though, didn’t Dan refer to Susan as ‘Sue’ in his diary? In Ruth’s experience, it’s always a sign of something when people start using diminutives, or full names for that matter. She remembers her shock when Shona first referred to Phil as ‘Philip’.

‘What did Elaine think about the other women?’ asks Ruth.

‘It was a bit awkward,’ admits Guy, ‘living next door and everything. Elaine became a bit obsessed with watching all Dan’s comings and goings. But I’ll tell you one thing, Ruth, my friendship with Dan never wavered. I really loved that man.’

Ruth looks up and is surprised to see tears in Guy’s eyes. Whatever the truth of Guy’s statement, he is certainly in the grip of some strong emotion.

‘I was fond of him too,’ she says. ‘We were at university together.’

‘I know,’ says Guy. ‘I bet he was a wild student.’

‘He was super cool,’ says Ruth. ‘Dan the Man, we called him.’

Guy laughs again, a more natural sound this time. ‘Dan the Man. I love it.’

Ruth takes a gulp of tea. It is so strong that it makes her eyes water. ‘You said you had something you wanted to discuss?’

‘Yes.’ Guy looks straight at her, his face serious. Sometimes he looks like a teenager, sometimes a much older man. She guesses he is in his thirties.

‘I’ve heard a rumour that Dan’s laptop has been found.’

Ruth stares at Guy, with his dependable Fifties face. Is it possible that Guy stole into the burning house, took Dan’s computer and infected it with a virus so he would be able to trace its whereabouts? It doesn’t seem possible – but how else would he know that it has been found?

She tries to keep her face blank. ‘Who told you that?’

For the first time, Guy looks slightly shifty. ‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I can’t tell you.’

‘Well, you’d better,’ says Ruth. ‘If you want me to tell you anything.’

Guy looks out over the beach and the jolly, holiday-making crowds. When he turns back, his face looks older again.

‘I heard about Pendragon. His sister told me. Your wizard friend was in his house. I was sure he must have found the computer.’

This raises a whole lot of new questions. Guy knew Pendragon, well enough to be on telephoning terms with his sister. Pendragon had links with the White Hand. What other secrets could Guy be hiding behind that Boy’s Own grin?

‘What makes you think the computer was at Pendragon’s house?’

‘Someone told me.’

‘Who?’

‘I’m sorry, Ruth.’ Guy looks away again. ‘I can’t tell you. The thing is, there are other people involved here. I can’t break their confidence. But if the laptop’s been found there must be all sorts of valuable archaeological information on it. I really need that information, Ruth. I want to carry on Dan’s work. As a tribute to him.’

And to help your career, thinks Ruth. She resents the implication that Guy – a mere graduate student – is the only person who could make sense of Dan’s findings. She is the one Dan asked for help and, right now, that information is going nowhere.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ruth. ‘The laptop’s with the police.’ This is, of course, true, but she doesn’t add that Tim has given her a brand-new memory stick containing copies of Dan’s files.

Guy groans and slumps back in his chair. ‘That’s it, then. That DCI Macleod is an ignorant bastard. He’s got no interest in furthering human knowledge.’

Ruth thinks this is probably true but, on the other hand, she wouldn’t call Sandy Macleod ignorant. He seemed uncomfortably sharp to her.

‘Don’t you have any records of your own?’ she asks. ‘After all, you were at the excavation.’ Too late, she wonders if she should admit to knowing this.

‘I’ve got a few notes,’ says Guy. ‘Nothing substantial. Did Dan say anything to you about the discovery? About King Arthur?’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ruth. ‘I hadn’t seen Dan in over twenty years.’

*

Tim is going through paperwork which, in effect, means checking computer records. He realised, after a few days working for Sandy, that this was the way to make himself indispensible. Sandy loathes paperwork but he knows it has to be done. Tim saw immediately that his best chance of ingratiating himself with the infamous ‘Beast of Blackpool’ McLeod was to become an expert on forms, procedure and the Freedom of Information Act. It’s not what he dreamt of when studying (physics at York) or when he signed up for the graduate fast-track programme, but Tim is a pragmatist, and if his future holds no obstacles greater than a dinosaur DCI who can’t work a computer, he will be doing pretty well.

Despite everything Tim doesn’t dislike Sandy. He’s rude, chauvinistic, and he thinks that Jim Davidson’s a fine comedian, but he’s also a good copper and, according to his lights, fair. That is to say, he’s rude to everyone. Sandy doesn’t hold back from a borderline racist joke because Tim’s in the room and, in a way, Tim’s quite grateful for this. At least this way he knows what’s going on. And since they have been trying to infiltrate the White Hand Sandy has appreciated Tim’s ironical take on the problems of a black man who wants to join a white supremacist group. ‘At least you’ve got a sense of humour about it, lad,’ is his considered opinion.

And now Sandy’s old mate has turned up. Harry Nelson, as much of a legend in the department as Sandy himself. So many of Sandy’s stories begin ‘When Harry and I were young coppers …’ and end ‘that was policing, that was. None of this hand-holding you buggers get, none of this PC nonsense either’. Tim was expecting a Sandy clone, another jovial relic of the good old days. Instead, DCI Nelson turned out to be a good-looking man in his forties, rather quiet and slightly sad. Tim, who prides himself on reading verbal and non-verbal clues (he has done a course on neuro-linguistic programming, not something he’d admit to Sandy), thinks there is more in Nelson’s relationship with both Cathbad and Ruth than meets the eye. Either he’s having an affair with one or both of them. Tim’s straight (something that would surprise some of his colleagues) but he’s not against keeping your options open.

Now Tim trawls through the names of participants cautioned at a recent EDL rally. He is cross-checking with a list of recent Pendle graduates so a name that’s not on the second list initially passes him by. It’s only a mental double take that sends him scrolling backwards until he finds it again. He pauses, thinking hard, and then makes a call on the internal phone.