32

Sarah had decided to return to Morville Park before heading back to Hendon and assisting in the search for Brannon. It was late afternoon and the fine weather had held. The park was packed with picnickers lying out on blankets. Some had hampers, others the more basic version: plastic cups, packets of crisps, supermarket taramasalata. Children roamed, set free by their dozing parents. A group of young men, their shirts off, were throwing a Frisbee while a collie ran around frantically barking between them. A couple were making out under the shade of a tree, she on top of him, her skirts lifted, her shoulder strap pulled down.

The site was down wooded paths in a more secluded area of the park. The scientists were packing up their kit for the day. Dr Stichill was sitting on the bank as if he had never left it. He moved the laptop so that the screen was in shadow. Sarah saw blobs and splashes of green and blue.

Stichill said, ‘Let me explain.’

She laughed. ‘I think you’d better.’

His finger moved over the screen.

‘Basically we’re looking for a resistivity anomaly – something produced by decaying organic matter. The light-blue areas are all anomalous.’ He tapped the screen. ‘I think this one looked the most promising. We’ve done another survey here. It’s an ERT profile . . .’

‘I don’t need to know the technical stuff.’

‘OK, so basically . . .’ He clicked on another icon. There was a black-and-white image in which the depth was laid out against an axis in metres. ‘This,’ he said, tracing his finger across the image, ‘looks down vertically and reveals . . .’ He moved his pen to the middle of the image, where there was a bright depression.

Sarah said, ‘A grave?’

Dr Stichill tilted his head from side to side. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. All I’m telling you is that this depression is anomalous, not that it’s a grave. Don’t get your hopes up.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘I won’t. But are we ready to start digging?’