It didn't look much like a corpse. Other than the skull, of course. That was a bit of a giveaway. The bones looked more like an array of dead branches and twigs than the remains of a human being; the complex structure that had once supported flesh, blood and muscle, now more like the remnants of a collapsed building. In the end, thought Detective Inspector Bliss, a person doesn't amount to much.

            He looked away from the body for a moment, breathing in the crime scene and the surrounding area. Bretton Woods lay to the north of Peterborough city centre. Neither large nor dense, the wooded area was nonetheless well populated with elderly trees and wild clumps of undergrowth, the local township built around it little more than thirty years ago. That the body hadn't been buried further away from one of the many winding tracks that spider-webbed the wood, was curious. It seemed to Bliss that if you were going to take the trouble of burying someone, you might as well do the job properly. Even so, it may have lain hidden forever had a couple of ten-year-old lads not decided to bury a time-capsule (actually a large biscuit tin containing a newspaper, a few coins, a dog-eared copy of Playboy purloined from an elder brother's hidden stash, and an audio tape the boys had recorded the previous day).

            Bliss's nostrils flared slightly as he filled his lungs. The smell of burning leaves hung in the late autumn air, but beyond it lay the invigorating promise of a winter encroaching all too quickly. When he exhaled, his breath formed a cloud before his eyes.

            Hunkered down close to the shallow grave, Bliss once again turned his attention to the matter in hand. The arc of light from his torch was bright and steady as it played over the scene. Mounds of loose soil enveloped the carcass, tossed away casually by eager, excited fingers. Small footprints embossed in flattened patches of earth suggested a frenzied dig. Odd, or was it? These were young boys, after all. As he studied the area, Bliss took great care not to touch anything with his hands, despite having clad them in latex upon arrival.

"How long d'you suppose she's been here?" he asked over his shoulder.

            DC Penny Chandler peered down at him through the evening gloom made more oppressive by the awning of branches that loomed over them. Thin tendrils of mist now snaked between the naked, reaching fingers. November nights grew dark early and rapidly, and as the light fled from the sky so the air had taken on a distinct chill. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms, the leather of her long black jacket creaking like a sailboat's rigging.

"She?" Chandler queried, a ridge forming just above her nose.

            Rising to his slightly above average full height, Bliss stretched his back and nodded. "I reckon so."

            "You sure?" She glanced beyond him at the remains. "I mean, how can you tell?"

            "The skull mainly. Females have more oval-shaped heads, the nasal cavities are quite different, and men's eye-sockets are more rectangular. I haven't clapped eyes on the hips so far, but I'm certain they'll be the child-bearing kind."

            The DC raised her eyebrows. "I had no idea you were such an expert."

Bliss grunted and gave Chandler a cautionary frown. "It's called reading, Constable. You should try it some time."

            With all due respect for his rank, Penny poked her tongue out at him. "Well, whoever this poor woman is, I'd say she's been here for a few years."

            "Why do you think that?"

            "The colour of the bones. They're very dark, and they certainly don't look fresh." She pulled a face at Bliss's look of scepticism. "You're not the only one who knows their job, sir."

            Bliss narrowed his gaze. A breeze caught the folds of his overcoat, flapping them around his knees as if they were being pawed at by playful puppies. He smiled at the look of challenge in the DC's eyes. "You're guessing, aren't you?" he said.

            "I might be."

            "I knew it."

"You know nothing."

"I know you. Too bloody well for my own good." Bliss gave a tight grin and sighed. "But as it happens, Pen, I think you could be right. I think this poor woman has been here for some time."

            They both peered cheerlessly down into the grave, and then Bliss snapped the torch off with a flick of his thumb. What little natural light remained fringed the area, as if afraid to trespass. Already ideas were forming in Bliss's mind. He and Chandler had responded to the call less than half an hour ago, and were still awaiting forensics, the Scene of Crime officers, and a doctor. They had taken care to tread only along the same path used by the young boys who had found the body, and the uniformed officer who had been the first to respond to their emergency call. Bliss had ordered the constable to see the boys back to their parents and to arrange for them to be questioned in the morning.

            "Shall I organize some counselling, sir?" the constable had asked. A young black officer, he was both earnest and eager to please. He was local, and Bliss didn't know him.

            "Counselling?"

            "The boys found human remains, sir. They may be affected by what they saw."

            "Simmonds, sir."

            "Constable Simmonds. Having unearthed a human skeleton, the boys did not run screaming out of the woods, did they? No. They calmly found the nearest phone box, called us, and then waited around to show you what they'd uncovered. Does that strike you as the behaviour of lads who have been mentally unbalanced by their discovery?"

            "No, sir. But...well, there could be a delayed reaction."

            "And?"

            "Sir?"

            "You want to add something else, PC Simmonds. I can hear it in your voice. Go ahead, spit it out."

            "Well, sir. It's just...it's procedure, sir. They're minors."

            Bliss gave a thin smile and tapped the officer on the upper arm. "You're right, of course. We must follow procedure at all costs. Make the call once you get the boys home, Simmonds. And well done."

            Thinking about it now, Bliss hoped he hadn't come across as overly patronising. Or sarcastic, for that matter. But he couldn't help thinking that if he had unearthed a skeleton at the ripe old age of ten, he would have considered it the best adventure of his young life. He would have gloried in it, relished telling all of his friends and family, hoping it might turn a young girl's head his way. A mouldering corpse might have been too gory, but finding a skeleton simply had to be the coolest thing a young boy could do.

            "With a bit of luck," Bliss said to Penny, "these bones will be ancient and we won't have to worry about them at all."

            "Ancient?"

            "Well, old enough for us not have to get involved."

            "Hmm."

            "What?"

            "Well, I was wondering if this might be something the Bone Woman could help us with."

            The Bone Woman was Emily Grant, a senior anthropologist currently based at the nearby historically significant Flag Fen Bronze Age site. Bliss and Chandler had met her recently when Grant delivered a course relating to stages of human decomposition. The topic of insect invasion had been a particular eye-opener for the vast majority of attending police officers, and Grant had seemed to revel in her role as tutor. She'd handled human bones as if they were made of glass, her long fingers seeming to caress rather than grip.

Bliss blew out his cheeks. He considered the suggestion. "She might. But if the doc can't nail down the details we need, we could have someone official here within a day or two."

            "For the official report, yes." Chandler nodded. "But it would be nice to know a little bit more before that. Right?"

            He had to agree. "I'll give Emily a bell now. See if she'll help."

            Penny inclined her head. "Oh, so it's Emily, huh? I knew you two hit it off, but I didn't realise it was so intimate."

            "Don't push your luck, Penny." Bliss tried to look stern but failed miserably.

            "And I'll bet you just happen to have her mobile number programmed into yours, right?"

            "I got it off her card. I thought I might need it one day."

            "Of course, sir."

            He smiled and turned away, walking out into a small clearing. It was true that he found Emily Grant attractive, and had enjoyed her company when they chatted after the course, but he would never admit as much to Penny. Ever since they had worked a murder case together six months ago, his DC had been trying to fix him up with her friends and other female police officers. Each time he had resisted with as much good grace as he could muster. Penny's heart was in the right place, and he appreciated her concern. It had simply never occurred to her that, at the ripe old age of forty-three, he could cope with life on his own.

            Bliss checked his watch as he selected Emily Grant's number, wondering whether she would have left work yet. "I'm on my way home now," she told him moments later.

            "I trust you're using a hands-free set in your car."

            "Naturally. Would you arrest me if I wasn't?"

            "Well, we could be talking handcuffs."

            "Now that sounds exciting."

            "Yeah, it does. But it'll have to wait, I'm afraid."

            "You sound a little odd. Have you caught a nasty case?"

            "A nasty case of what?"

            She laughed. "You know what I mean."

            "Yeah. And it does look that way. But this one is different. Actually, I'm calling because you might be able to help."

            "Really? Me? In what way?" She sounded faintly amused.

            "I'll tell you when you get here. Or rather, hopefully you'll tell me."

            He gave her directions and snapped his phone shut. When he looked up he saw Chandler standing close by, and she was grinning at him.

            "What?" he shrugged.

            "I've never heard you flirt like that before, boss."

            He gave a rueful shake of his head. "And you're unlikely to ever again."

            "You want to watch yourself," she warned. "People might start to think you're human."

By the time Emily Grant got there, the cavalry had arrived and the crime scene was in full swing. Working in well-practised unison, beneath a bank of floodlights powered by a petrol generator, SOCO and the forensics team probed and searched the cordoned-off area around the remains, which now lay beneath a large canvas tent. Trace evidence was being collected and recorded, every inch of the scene photographed and videoed, all the while leaving the remains in situ.

            "I've managed to persuade SOCO to let you have a brief, visual inspection of our mystery victim," Bliss told Grant. "I'm sorry it's not more, but until the doctor turns up and releases the remains to us, I'm afraid a physical examination is out of the question."

            "A doctor?" Grant seemed surprised. Her mouth crinkled a little. "Isn't it a bit late for that?"

            He chuckled. "I know what you mean. It's procedure, I'm afraid. We mere mortals can't officially confirm that these bones are human. Or dead, for that matter. Anyhow, take a quick shufty."

            Grant spent ten minutes at the gravesite. Then, while the various teams went about their business, she, Bliss and Chandler gathered together by the mobile catering trailer, drinking tea, eating bacon rolls, and stamping their feet to ward off the bitter chill. The night had grown colder, and the mist closing in around them was frost-laden.

            "I must say I'm quite looking forward to this," Grant told them. Forty in less than a month, she was a tall, elegant woman with large green eyes, prominent cheekbones and light brown hair that rested neatly on her shoulders. Her educated voice made her sound a great deal more stuffy than she actually was.

            "I'm surprised you're not asked to do this sort of thing all the time," Penny said. "We have our own people, of course, but we have to call them in from all areas of the country, and the whole process takes up valuable time. The local hospital help out occasionally, but it depends on the staff available and their existing workload."

            Emily nodded. She used her teeth to remove a leather glove from her left hand, clasping her hot roll more easily afterwards. "Well, my real expertise is in anthropology, of course. So I'm much more up to speed with bones from a bygone age. That said, I think I'll be able to point you in the right direction."

            "Let's hope so," said Bliss.

            "Well, even though I obviously need to inspect the remains more fully, I can tell you one thing from my initial observation."

            "You can? Let's hear it."

            "This is not the only time that body has been buried."

            He narrowed his gaze. Looked across at the floodlit scene, a quick glance at Chandler, then back at Emily Grant. "How d'you mean?" he asked her.

            "The body has been reintered at least once before."

            "It has? How can you tell?"

            "That's easy enough. I'm sure you both noticed without giving weight to what you saw. The thing is, Bliss, when you bury a body the flesh simply rots away leaving the skeletal framework very much as it was before. The remains we have here are not in any recognisable form; that is they don't form a human shape."

            "Animals?" Chandler suggested. "The bones could have been disturbed by scavengers."

            "They probably have been. But not to the extent I saw. Large pieces of the skeleton still form limbs, such as the legs, feet, arms and hands, and the ribcage seems to be reasonably intact. The problem is that the limbs are positioned incorrectly. It's as if they were dumped in a pile. My instinct tells me that your remains were dug up and reburied."

            Bliss gave her a look he hoped conveyed his incredulity. "But who on earth would do such a thing? And why?"

            Emily laughed and shook her head. She bit into her roll and, around a mouthful of bacon, said, "That's certainly not my field of expertise, Bliss. I rather thought it was yours."