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of flesh and bone clinging to it.” At Sybil’s appalled expression she added, “It wasn’t human. The forensic department says it’s animal matter, lamb to be exact.”
    “You mean someone was . . . practicing?” She stared at Carol. “Here?”
    Oh, very good, thought Carol—either you’re bright, or guilty, or both. Aloud she said, “A trial run. I don’t suppose you have any other explanation?” Sybil shook her head. “Has anyone borrowed your power drill lately?”
    “I loaned it to Pete a week or so ago. His flat had been burgled and he wanted to install safety locks on the windows. He gave it back to me last Friday, I put it on the front seat of the car, and when I drove in I left it on the bench.”
    “Was there a drill bit in it?”
    “No, Pete gave me back the bits in their separate plastic case.”
    “Is the garage kept locked?”
    Sybil sounded defeated. “No.”
    “So anyone could come in?”
    “Anyone,” said Sybil wearily. “Are you finished?”
    “I’d like you to show me the garage, and also I’d like your permission for a closer scientific examination of the area. Will that be all right?”
    Sybil was white, but self-contained. “Why would I be so stupid as to leave evidence like that on a drill?” she said.
    Carol thought, Because of monstrous self-confidence, or nerves, or just an oversight. Aloud she said, “I can’t speculate on that.”
    “Inspector, do you think I need legal representation?”
    “That must be your decision.”
    “I wish I knew what you were really thinking,” said Sybil, turning to lead the way to the garage.
    No, you don’t, thought Carol, watching the graceful turn of her head.

Chapter Five
     
    Carol was cleaning her teeth when the telephone rang. She glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock on a burnished summer morning. “Yes? Carol Ashton. What?”
    She listened intently. “Right. Put a clamp on this. No news, especially radio stations. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    She rang Mark Bourke. “Mark? You heard? Extraor-dinary in light of the phone call to Edwina Carter, isn’t it? And I don’t want Sybil Quade to know anything before I speak to her. I’ll leave that side to you. I’m going down to the beach.”
    Even though Carol had changed into jeans and jogging shoes she found it difficult to clamber around the rocks at the base of the headland. It was just after eight, but the day was already singing with heat, the light shattering on the heaving water and splintering into her eyes. “Much further?” she asked the young constable.
    “No, Inspector. Just round this rock fall.” Carol looked up at the overhang. “Quite a recent one,” said the constable helpfully. “The rock’s rotten. Look, there’s where the next lot’s going to go. See the crack?”
    “You’re a comfort,” said Carol, laughing.
    The body was near Carter’s Cave, which was actually a huge cleft in the cliff face. Its floor was composed of earth, stones and debris that had fallen from above, the walls narrowing at the top to allow further debris to form the roof. Below the cave a rock platform covered with jumbled sandstone blocks stretched to the sea. The tidal pools glittered in the sunlight and the dull thump and suck of the water added a continuous accompaniment. Carol looked up to the top of the cliff where several uniformed figures stood, curious onlookers. “He fell from up there?”
    “Looks like it,” said the constable. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have landed where he did, just above the high water mark.” He pointed to where a group of men in white overalls stood patiently waiting for the photographer to finish, for Carol to view the body and for the basket stretcher to bump its way to the top with its dead burden.
    Tony Quade lay in a curious position, face down, one knee drawn up under him, his hands outstretched as if paying homage to some greater power. “There was a passport in his pocket,” said the constable. “This kid found him