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.Leaving Bennett to his vigil, the fishermen took their lamps and moved along the river to start fishing at a respectful distance.As Bennett stood alone on the path, the moon vanished behind a bank of denser clouds, sending a flurry of darkness racing over Curry Moor towards him, covering the silver-flecked sea with deep shadow.Ahead of the cloud came a blast of wind so strong it almost knocked him off his feet.Retreating, he went and sat on the grass close under the lip of the path where there was a little shelter, and, resting his arms on his knees, hunching his shoulders against the wind, settled down to wait.For a while he gazed at the fishermen moving about in the lamplight, hauling in shivering netfuls of elvers.But soon the rush and bluster of the night filled his ears and weighed on his eyelids, and he fell into a troubled doze.A confusion of images mingled with the buffeting of the wind and the ache in his lungs.He was returned to the darkness and rain of France, trying to organise the hurried evacuation of the dressing station.There was great urgency; the enemy had advanced and a bombardment was about to begin.But the transport failed to arrive, no one could tell him why.He felt the desperation of foreknowledge.He kept warning the orderlies to prepare for an attack, but they looked at him pityingly and took no notice.And then the foul air was upon them.He felt it catch in his lungs, and began the long painful struggle for breath.Waking with his forehead slumped on his folded arms, he jerked his head upright.The asthma attack might yet be averted if he breathed slowly and systematically.He was always telling his lung patients to resist the urge to snatch at their breath, to try to ignore the sense of suffocation and panic and concentrate on a single calming image, but he knew as well as any of them how easy this was to say and how difficult to achieve.Around him the darkness was lifting, the fishermen and their lights were gone, and the river was in turmoil, coursing away on the fast-falling tide, the wind kicking against the flow in angry ruffles and peaks.He fixed his eyes on the far bank and counted his breaths in and out to the image of the men who had built and maintained the bank over the centuries and the lives they had led.The attack passed, but from habit and prudence he kept counting.At some point he must have drifted into another light doze, because the next thing he knew he was waking to the sound of approaching voices and the sight of PC Longman looming up to offer him a hand up.Behind the constable were two other uniformed policemen and two detectives in plain clothes.The senior officer was a trim, wiry, businesslike man of forty-odd who introduced himself as Detective Inspector Shearer.When PC Longman had removed the groundsheet, Inspector Shearer crouched down to scrutinise the body.After a while, he said, ‘Any thoughts, Doctor?’‘I’m no pathologist, Inspector.’‘But the injury here – it’s serious?’Bennett got down on one knee to take another look at the strong young face.The indentation in the skull was both deeper and longer than it had appeared in the torchlight: probably three-quarters of an inch deep and some three inches long, extending at an angle from the eyebrow to the hairline.The skin was lacerated along the length of the injury, and was completely split at the deepest point, exposing some brain tissue.‘Yes, it’s serious.’‘A possible cause of death?’‘I really couldn’t say.’‘Don’t worry, Doctor, I won’t quote you.Strictly off the record.For my ears only.’‘Very well.In my opinion it would almost certainly have been fatal.Not necessarily instantaneously, but within a few hours, a few days at the most.After such an impact the brain swells, a great deal of pressure builds up inside the skull, and the brain tissue not immediately destroyed by the blow becomes irretrievably damaged.’In the cold flat light Bennett saw some marks he hadn’t noticed earlier: a cut on the right cheekbone surrounded by an area of bruising.This bruising was well-established.It served to emphasise what he had already seen but not fully absorbed – that there was almost no bruising around the indentation in the skull.The implication of this was unmistakable – that the blow to the temple was virtually simultaneous with death.He said, ‘He could have drowned first, of course.’The inspector gave him a long pensive stare.‘Yes indeed.Any thoughts on how long he’d been in the water?’‘I couldn’t begin to speculate, I’m afraid.I can only tell you that when I first examined the body it was quite cold.’‘That’s the trouble with water,’ said the inspector cryptically.‘You’ve arranged a pathologist?’The inspector nodded.‘The forensic expert from Bristol.’ With a last squint at the head injury, he straightened up and began to look up and down the river with his quick, eager eyes.Bennett stood up more slowly.He volunteered, ‘The river was high when the body was found.’Shearer gave a preoccupied nod.‘Indeed?’‘And the tide still coming in.Though quite slowly, I believe.’Shearer glanced down at the racing torrent before resuming his survey of the further reaches of the river.‘Yes.thank you, Doctor.’ His eyes still on the horizon, he called sharply to one of his men.‘Willis?’The second plain-clothes man stepped forward.‘Sir.’‘We’ll be needing a map marked with the places that offer access to the river, both above and below this point.Access and near access.Bridges, paths, roads that finish at or near the river.Got me?’‘Yes, sir.’‘And, Willis?’‘Sir.’‘Nothing that’s currently under water, if you don’t mind.’‘Sir.’Sighting PC Longman, the inspector beckoned him over.Before the two men had a chance to speak, Bennett said, ‘If you’ve no more need of me, Inspector?’‘Of course, Doctor.Thank you for your assistance.’‘The family – you’ll be notifying them soon?’‘Within half an hour.’Bennett hesitated.He knew there was something he should mention, something that followed on from a recent train of thought, but the idea hovered on the periphery of his consciousness, refusing to form.Defeated, he said weakly, ‘Well, goodbye then.’The inspector offered him a fleeting professional smile before fixing his eager eyes once more on the task ahead.Bennett slept for an hour and woke feeling hot and weak and troubled.The fever was still on him, there was a sharp catch in his lungs, he had the Hanley family to visit, and the unformed thought still pressed on him, just out of reach on the edges of his mind.Marjorie brought him tea, which he followed with a cup of coffee made with the best part of a week’s ration.But neither the tea nor the strong coffee did much for his fatigue, still less his head.It was a struggle to get through his morning visits, and when he set out for the Hanleys he broke into a damp sweat, his stomach constricted with the threat of nausea, and the daylight seemed unbearably bright
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