“Leave the police to deal with her,” Dr Reid responded, in a tone which implied it was none of Dora’s business.

Dora paled to such an extent the colour of her face matched her hair.

Concerned, Keya responded, “I have to wait for the coroner and the crime scene technician to arrive.” Then she added, “But she’ll come to no harm sitting out in the sunshine.”

This seemed to satisfy Dora.

As Dr Reid and Dora moved towards the crowd, there was a shout from the edge of it, and a parting of bodies.

“Daisy. Where’s my Daisy?” cried a middle-aged woman wearing a pair of faded jeans, a pale blue T-shirt and a thin white nylon cardigan.

Dr Reid attempted to intercept her as he called loudly, “Doreen.”

Ignoring him, the woman’s gaze latched onto Keya, and she hurried towards her.

Keya stepped out of the stone circle and immediately felt lighter, with a clearer head. Soft sunshine warmed her face.

“Can I help you, Mrs…?” Keya asked the approaching woman.

“Skinner. Mrs Skinner, but where is my Daisy?”

“Daisy Bentham?” Keya clarified.

“Yes, she’s my daughter and there’s a terrible rumour in the village that she’s …”

Mrs Skinner couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence as she wrung her hands together.

“I really am very sorry, Mrs Skinner, but I’m afraid Daisy has passed away.” Keya wasn’t sure why she used such an old-fashioned phrase, but it seemed a gentler one to use for this grieving mother.

But it didn’t seem to help.

“Where? Where is she?” Mrs Skinner pushed past Keya, stepped into the stone circle, and turned towards her dead daughter.

As Keya followed quickly, Daisy’s mother slumped to her knees and cried, “No, Daisy. It can’t be. There must be some mistake. Not you. You can’t be dead.”

Keya gently, but firmly, pulled the distraught woman to her feet and said in a sympathetic tone, “I’m afraid she is.”

Mrs Skinner attempted to break away, but Keya gripped her arm more firmly and added, “And until we establish how she died, we mustn’t disturb her.” These were the most delicate words Keya could think of to describe the crime scene.

There was a muttering in the crowd and disgruntled voices as people parted to allow Gilly Wimsey through. As she ducked under the newly assembled police tape cordon, Dr Reid said authoritatively, “Stay back, this is a crime scene.”

“I know,” Gilly retorted, red-faced. “I’m the one who called the police.”

When Gilly reached Keya, she exclaimed, “I had to keep moving the sign. There are more cars coming rather than less, and watch out, one of those outdoor broadcasting lorries has turned up.”

Oh no, Keya thought. She’d soon have the press to deal with on top of everything else.

“Gilly, this is Mrs Skinner, Daisy, our dead girl’s mother. She’s understandably upset, but I need to …”

“Come with me, Mrs Skinner. I think we have some tea left in one of our flasks.”

“Please, call me Doreen.”

Doreen glanced back at Daisy before allowing Gilly to lead her away.

“Excuse me. Police. Please let us through,” Ryan nearly shouted, his frustration audible.

Keya watched his black police hat bob up and down and then he emerged from the crowd, carrying a black bag, and making room for the smaller figure of Sujin, who was wearing a protective white forensic suit. He was carrying another bag and pulling a black canvas case.

Reaching Keya, Ryan told her, “I’ve called the inspector and requested backup to deal with the crowd. And with the reporters. Someone poked a microphone in my face as I was helping Sujin get his stuff through the entrance gate.”

Ryan stopped for breath and looked at Keya. “Sorry. But it’s rather a circus out there.” He looked round the standing stones and breathed in. “But at least you have everything under control here.”

“That’s the locals, not me.” She glanced across at Dora and Dr Reid, who were securing the end of the police tape to an intact section of wooden fencing around the small wood at the side of the field.

“I can see it’s too late to ask you to put on a protective suit, Keya, but can you and Ryan at least cover your shoes?” Sujin held up some blue plastic shoe covers.

As Keya pulled them on, she watched Sujin open his canvas case. He removed a thin cylindrical object and then approached Daisy’s body. It was a torch, and he shone a beam of light into each eye before taking hold of her right wrist.

Returning to his canvas case, he said, “In the absence of a medical doctor, I can confirm our victim is deceased.”

“But not how?” asked Keya.

“No. The coroner’s office is on their way to collect her body, but perhaps you and Ryan can give me some space so I can try to find out.”

Keya was impressed. Despite having no sleep, or very little, Sujin was professional and business-like.

She nodded and said, “And we should start taking witness statements.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As soon as Keya and Ryan moved away from the standing stone against which Daisy’s body was slumped, they were accosted by Aurora.

“Can we go now?” Aurora pleaded. She and her skinny black-haired friend, who hovered by her side, were both wearing blue tops with large yellow sunflowers printed on them. They had tasselled shawls round their shoulders and were both carrying wilted sunflowers. A rainbow-coloured bag was hanging from Aurora’s arm.

“We have to open the shop. And after this,” she swept her hand dramatically in front of her, “we’re going to be busy.” She didn’t quite manage to hide the note of excitement in her voice.

“We need to speak to everyone,” Keya replied, “but do you both live in the village?”

The two women nodded their heads.

“Then give your contact details to my colleague, Constable Ryan, and I’ll interview you both later.”

“So we can go?” Aurora asked hopefully.

Keya pulled at her chin. “Are you walking?”