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Wayne Wain and Stephen Winton. They had waited for him at the Eastern Gate.
    ‘She’s in there, apparently dead in circumstances of some suspicion,’ he told Detective Sergeant Wayne Wain, adding with authority, ‘I want the entire Circle sealed and nothing touched or moved until our experts arrive. Wayne, call Control immediately with a situation report and confirm this is to be treated as a murder. Tell Sergeant Cockfield pronounced Cofield to set up the Incident Room.’
    ‘Very good, sir.’
    ‘And, Mr Winton, I need to talk to you at some length.’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ muttered the photographer.
    ‘Thank you for reporting your discovery ...’ began Montague.
    ‘I nearly ran for my life ... what a shock ... I was exploring the place, looking for atmospheric scenes and backgrounds ... I thought she was asleep ... I touched her, Inspector, to wake her up ... then realised she was so cold, stiff. Dead. I was sure she was dead. I rang your office.’
    ‘Absolutely the correct thing to do.’ Montague smiled. To touch a dead person was thought to bring good fortune. He had touched her too. He addressed his sergeant, determined to establish his control over the enquiry.
    ‘Now, Wayne, once you have radioed Crickledale Control Room, you must stand guard at this gateway and keep everyone out of the Circle until the support services arrive. Ask Control to send two uniformed constables to guard the Circle, then await the arrival of the doctor and the specialists. Meanwhile, I’ll have a chat with Mr Winton in the car. When our support teams arrive, tell them the body of a young woman is lying in that cavern, on a stone shelf, around to the right, out of sight, out of daylight. She’s naked, but there is no apparent injury to the body. It could be murder, but, let’s be realistic, she could have died from natural causes. Whatever the cause of death, the usual care and attention to detail is required. Preserve the entire Circle and everything in the cave for examination — rubbish, ashes, the lot.’
    ‘Very good, sir,’ said Wayne Wain, realising that Pluke did know a thing or two about the investigation of murder. Montague was clearly in charge and enjoying his role. Wain was suitably impressed. He hoped sincerely that Pluke would solve the crime and confound his critics.
    Leaving Wain on guard, Detective Inspector Pluke, with his half-mast trousers flapping around his ankles and his straw hat perched upon his head, led Stephen Winton away from the Circle saying, ‘We’ll sit in my car, Mr Winton, for our chat.’
    Upon arriving at the car, Montague Pluke removed his panama, opened his car door, placed the hat upon the rear seat and invited Winton to be seated in the front passenger seat. The young man consented, easing his bulk into the limited space and placing his camera upon his knee. Montague Pluke turned to face him, noting the young man was pale-faced and very nervous.
    ‘So.’ Pluke’s voice was now softer, quieter too, although some might say it contained a hint of menace as he addressed the man who was his number one suspect — his only suspect in fact. ‘You found her, Mr Winton? Tell me about it, again and in greater detail, please. Take your time, I need to know every step you took, every move you made, even what thoughts were going through your mind.’
    ‘There’s not a lot more I can tell you, Mr Pluke, I’ve said how I found her.’
    ‘You said you had come here to take photographs for a magazine and went into that cave where you discovered her. You ran back to your car, which you had left in the car-park, and called us on your mobile phone?’
    ‘Yes, that’s it, that’s all. I waited until you got here, like your office said I should do.’
    ‘Good,’ acknowledged Pluke. ‘You did what every good citizen should do and I compliment you on that. But I fear this is a murder-style investigation, Mr Winton, which means I need to know a lot more details about your actions and your