‘It’s all yours,’ says Taylor, breathing heavily.

‘But don’t open it, mind,’ warns Henty. ‘Not until the Big Guns get here.’

‘I won’t,’ says Neil, although he looks with fascination, almost hunger, at the box, whose cracked lid offers a coy glimpse of the horrors within.

‘Superintendent Whitcliffe’s on his way.’

‘Is the boss coming?’ asks Taylor. Whitcliffe may be the most senior policeman in Norfolk, but for Taylor and others like him the boss will always be Detective Inspector Harry Nelson.

‘Nah,’ says Henty. ‘Not his type of thing, is it? There’ll be journalists, the works. You know how the boss hates journos.’

‘Someone’s coming from the university,’ puts in Neil.

‘Doctor Ruth Galloway, head of Forensic Archaeology. She’s going to supervise the opening.’

‘I’ve met her,’ says Henty. ‘She knows her stuff.’

‘It’s very exciting,’ says Neil. Again he gives the coffin a furtive, almost greedy, look.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ says Henty. ‘Come on, Rocky. Back to work. No peace for the wicked.’

CHAPTER 1

Doctor Ruth Galloway, Head of Forensic Archaeology at the University of North Norfolk, is not thinking about coffins or journalists or even about whether she will encounter DCI Harry Nelson at the Smith Museum. Instead, she is racing through the King’s Lynn branch of Somerfield wondering whether chocolate fingers count as bad mothering and how much wine four mothers and assorted partners can be expected to drink. Tomorrow is Ruth’s daughter’s first birthday and, much against Ruth’s better judgement, she has been persuaded to have a party for her. ‘But she won’t remember it,’ Ruth wailed to her best friend Shona, herself five months pregnant and glowing with impending maternity. ‘You will though,’ said Shona. ‘It’ll be a lovely occasion. Kate’s first birthday. Having a cake, opening her presents, playing with all her little friends.’