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sleeves, there’s enough of the lord of the manor in Chaz to make him resent the arrival of hordes of plebeians at his gate. Secondly, although he is living away from home—living on his dream farm, in fact—Chaz still refers to ‘our front garden’.
    â€˜When was the last time you went to Devil’s Hollow?’ asks Nelson. He still has trouble saying the name with a straight face. ‘Have you been there since the land was sold?’
    â€˜I went once or twice,’ says Chaz. ‘Just to see what Spens was playing at. He says he isn’t building lots of houses on the land but any fool can see that’s what he’s planning. I spoke to his oafish digger driver and he admitted that they’d been told to clear the land as quickly as possible.’
    â€˜You spoke to the driver? When? I thought work had only just started when the plane was found.’
    â€˜I can’t remember.’ Chaz turns away flicking back a lock of hair so that it falls perfectly. ‘It might even have been on the morning of the day that they found Uncle Fred.’
    â€˜You were there that morning?’
    â€˜Yes, I think so.’
    â€˜And you didn’t see the plane?’
    â€˜No. The bloke had just started work when I got there. It was a bloody hot day. I didn’t hang around.’
    â€˜Will you go back again, when they start work again?’
    Chaz looks up. ‘But they can’t go on with the work, not while the police investigation’s going on. That’s what I thought.’
    Nelson shrugs. ‘We’ve finished with the land. Doctor Galloway excavated the body and examined the context. We’ve got the plane out. As far as I can see, Edward Spens has the place to himself again.’
    â€˜What about the archaeology dig nearby?’ says Chaz. ‘Didn’t they find something really significant?’
    â€˜I think so,’ says Nelson. He remembers Ruth telling him about some Bronze Age body but he hadn’t been listening properly, to be honest. He does remember that she said something about the television people being interested.
    â€˜The dig might be on TV,’ he says. ‘That’s what I’ve heard.’
    Chaz beams, suddenly expansive. ‘If TV get involved, then all our problems are solved.’
    What problems would they be? wonders Nelson.
    Â 
    Ruth is also thinking about TV. Specifically she is thinking about Frank Barker, the American academic who appeared with her on
Women Who Kill.
This is because she has just received an email from him.
    Hi, Ruth (writes Frank, with no acknowledgement of the fact that he hasn’t been in contact for over a year). I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I expect you heard about the WWII plane that was found near you? Well, an American TV company wants to do a programme about it. Turns out the pilot may have been in the US Air Force but he was really a Norfolk boy. Anyway, this company wants to do a documentary about American airmen in Norfolk, with a bit of human interest thrown in. They’re going to contact the family to see if they want to be involved (apparently the daughter lives in Vermont).
    So, Ruth, it looks like I might be back in Norfolk before Christmas. If so, it would be great to meet up. Do drop me a line.
    All best,
    Frank
    Ruth stares at the email. She has a tutorial in ten minutes and should be preparing. Instead she lets herself think about Frank. She sees his tanned skin and greying hair, his loping athletic stride. But mostly she hears his voice, those warm Western tones that sounded reassuring even when he was talking about a long-dead Victorian murderess. ‘She was unjustly accused and I care about injustice.’ She hears Frank apologising for driving his car into hers; she remembers the look in his eyes when he said, ‘I’d like to see you again. Before I go back to the States.’ They had seen each other a few times and the