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as his superior, or even his equal. For Stephenson the police are a lower form of life, an opinion he inexpertly conceals under a veneer of hearty laddishness with the men and unsubtle sexism with the women. Speaking of women, Judy should have been present at the autopsy. Why hasn’t he heard from her yet?
    She calls as he is taking the turn by the Campbell’s Soup tower.
    ‘Stephenson found fibres in David Donaldson’s nose and mouth.’
    ‘I know. He called me.’
    Judy makes an exasperated noise. ‘Why? He knew I’d make a report. Probably thinks women can’t understand words like asphyxiation.’
    ‘Is that what he thought it was? Asphyxiation?’
    ‘He said it was the most likely cause. No bruising round the mouth but the eyes were bloodshot and there were clear traces of fibre.’
    ‘Fibres from what?’
    ‘A pillow, he thought.’
    Nelson parks in the slot marked ‘Reserved for DCI Nelson.’ Some wag has replaced ‘DCI’ with ‘Admiral’. He takes his phone off hands free and waits for Judy to make the next move.
    ‘Shall I bring her in, Boss?’
    ‘I think it would be better,’ says Nelson.
    *
    Ruth gets Cathbad’s message just as she is leaving the lecture theatre. She always turns her phone off during lectures, and, in the old days often used to leave it off all day. But now she turns it on again as soon as she can. There is always the chance that there might be
the
message. The one telling her to come quickly because Kate is hurt, is ill, has been abducted by a serial killer in a clown mask. These days her imagination resembles a late night horror film. It’s what being a mother does to you.
    But today’s message says simply ‘Call me’. Cathbad’s name flashes up impatiently but Ruth waits until she is back in her office with a cup of coffee before calling back. She has a feeling that she might need caffeine.
    ‘What took you so long?’ says Cathbad.
    ‘I was giving a lecture.’
    ‘I thought term was over.’
    ‘It’s the summer school.’
    Ruth enjoys teaching summer school. The students are always keen, often they are older people who have always dreamt of being archaeologists, merchant bankers inspired by
Time Team
, old ladies with a surprisingly detailed knowledge of Bronze Age burial customs. There are usually lots of foreigners too, because the university needs the money: Americans with complicated dietary needs, earnest Chinese students, casually elegant Italians.
    *
    Next week they’ll go on a dig. Who knows, this year they might even find something.
    ‘They’ve arrested Liz,’ says Cathbad.
    ‘I thought they’d let her go.’
    ‘They did but they’ve taken her in again. This morning. Judy …’ He pauses. ‘Judy and another one.’
    Ruth thinks that this is how Cathbad sees the world these days. Judy and everyone else. But Cathbad stayed in Lancashire precisely to give Judy a chance to get on with her life, to forget their affair and concentrate on her marriage. He can’t really complain if she’s doing just that.
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Delilah told me. She rang me because she thinks Nelson’s my friend.’
    ‘He is your friend.’
    ‘Nelson’s a policeman through and through. He doesn’t have friends.’
    ‘That’s not fair.’
    ‘Maybe not.’ There’s a silence. Ruth wonders where Cathbad is. At work? Walking on the Pendle Hills with his dog, called Thing, at his side? Sitting alone in the little cottage that once belonged to a witch?
    ‘I did try to talk to Nelson,’ she says. ‘But he just said that he was keeping an open mind.’
    ‘Since when have the police been open-minded?’ Cathbad’s anti-police feelings go back a long way, to the death of a friend in the Poll Tax riots of the 1980s. But usually he exempts Nelson from these strictures.
    ‘Nelson wouldn’t arrest her without a reason,’ says Ruth, wondering why she’s defending him.
    Cathbad obviously wonders the same thing. ‘What would Erik say if he could hear you now?