Chapter I – Somewhere on the South Downs, 2007

Pierre wiped the blood from the knife. He looked at the bloody mess on the ground and felt nothing. There were no emotions left in him for the body at his feet. For years, he had felt love, then sorrow, followed by regret and, more recently anger, but all these feelings had gone. Isobel’s schadenfreude was no more. He had killed her, not in a moment of passion, nor in a bout of anger. He had killed her because he had to put things right, for himself but also for the others. At forty Pierre carried the burden of a long and miserable life, a misery that he owed to Isobel. He was in no hurry; he had been waiting for so long that a few more minutes would be of no consequence. There was a lot that needed doing, but he had all night.

He wrapped the refuse bags around his shoes and secured them with elastic bands then dragged the body a few feet away to a spot he had previously prepared. He lifted the makeshift leafy lid he had ingeniously made to cover the hole and moved it aside. Having jumped in to retrieve the compost bags he had hidden some days ago, he heaved them up on the ground and then pulled the body into the cavity. Getting out of the hole, he went back to the truck. Retrieving the bottle of perfume from the glove compartment, he carefully unwrapped it. Pierre walked back to the hole again and poured the whole contents of the bottle over the body. He then filled the hole with the compost. After having stamped over the slightly elevated heap until it felt firm under his feet, some more compost was added so that the surface was completely level with the rest of the ground. With a branch he cut from one of the bushes, Pierre brushed the soil surface so that it appeared untrodden. He gathered up handfuls of leaves from under the bushes and sprinkled them here and there to create a perfect autumn blanket. With the dozens of ramblers that would be walking the nature trail tomorrow, there would be no trace of what had happened tonight. He carefully picked up the empty compost bags and walked back to the truck. Pulling another refuse sack from the back, he removed the bags from around his feet, took his gloves off and placed them and every item that could incriminate him, including the packaging for the bottle of perfume, in the bag. Then he drove off.

In the cool night air, if anyone had been wandering along the South Downs’ nature trail that night, they may have come across a waft of ‘Chanel Number 5’. As it happened the fire that started later at Croft farm soon covered up the area with an acrid smell and, of the perfume, there was no hint.