So yes, Pip would remember his dead face, and she would be glad to. Because it meant she didn’t have to be afraid of him any more. She had won and he was dead, and the sight of it, the proof, that was her trophy, whether she wanted it or not.

She unfolded that same side of tarp, uncovering half of him, from his face to his legs, and pulled out the sandwich bag from Max’s pocket.

She opened the seal and dipped her gloved hand inside, pinching some of the dark blonde hairs. Crouching low, she dropped them, sprinkled them over Jason’s shirt, two tucked under his collar. His dead hand was rigid and wouldn’t open, but Pip slid a couple of hairs in through the gap between his thumb and forefinger, coming to rest against his palm. There were only a few left in the bag now, the weak moonlight showed her. She pulled out just one more, tucking it in under the nail of Jason’s right thumb.

She straightened up, resealing the bag to put it away. She studied him, creating the scene in that dark place in her mind, bringing the plan to life behind her eyes. They’d tussled, fought. Knocked over a row of shelves in the storeroom. Jason had punched Max in the face, giving him a black eye, maybe pulling some of his hair out at the same time. Look, there it was, stuck under one nail, and in the creases of his fingers, snagging on his clothes. Max had walked away angry and come back even angrier, creeping up on Jason in the storeroom, a hammer gripped in his hand. Undone Jason’s head. A rage kill. Heat of the moment. Calmed down and realized what he’d done. Covered him and dragged him through the trees. Should have covered your hair, Max, while you were attempting to clear up a murder scene. He’d managed to clear up his prints from the weapon, and the room he killed Jason in, but he’d forgotten about his hair, hadn’t he? Too fair, too fine to see it. Too panicked after killing a man.

Pip flicked the tarp back over Jason with her shoe. Max’s shoe. Max would have made some effort to cover the body at least, to hide it. But not too well, and not too far, because Pip wanted the police to find Jason right away, on their first search of the property.

She walked around Jason, pressing the zigzag imprint of Max’s shoes into the mud, leaves bunching around the shoeprints.

Shouldn’t have worn a pair of trainers with such a unique tread pattern either, should you, Max? And you certainly shouldn’t have left your phone on while you were here, killing a man and clearing up after yourself.

Pip turned and walked away. Dead Jason didn’t call her back as she left him, laying another set of Max’s tracks, back through the trees and grass, on to the gravel.

She walked through the door into the chemical storeroom, kicking mud from Max’s shoes over the concrete.

‘Hey, I just hoovered in there,’ Ravi said with mock-annoyance, a hidden smile on his face, standing in the doorway at the other end. Trying to calm her, Pip knew, make her feel normal again after what she’d just done. But she was too focused to break her train of thought, following the unticked boxes in her head. Not many left now.

‘Max brought it in, on his way back from dumping the body,’ she said quietly, her voice trance-like, stepping forward. Closer and closer to that river of drying blood. She planted one heel and laid down the toe of the shoe, pressing it into the blood.

‘What are you doing?’ Ravi said.

‘Max accidentally stepped in the blood on his way back in,’ she answered, crouching down and dabbing the end of Max’s sleeve in the river too, coming away with a small red swipe against the grey. ‘And he got some on his clothes. He’ll try to wash this stain off at home, but he won’t do a very good job.’

She pulled out the sandwich bag again, and removed the last remaining hairs, dropping them into the pool of sticky, drying blood.

Pip carried on towards Ravi, Max’s left shoe leaving a tacky red zigzag mark on the concrete, fading by the third step.

‘OK, OK,’ Ravi said gently. ‘Can I have Pip back now? Not Max Hastings.’

Pip shook him out of her head, breaking her faraway stare, softening her eyes as she glanced across at Ravi. ‘Yeah, done,’ she said.

‘Right. I’ve done the boot. Hoovered it, like, four times. Did the ceiling too, and that pull-out cover thing. Wiped down all the plastic parts with anti-bac. Turned the car off and wiped his keys too. And I’ve put the cleaning supplies and vacuum back where I found them. The cloths we used are in your rucksack. Should have removed all traces of you. Of us.’

Pip nodded. ‘Fire will do the rest.’

‘Speaking of.’ Ravi finally showed her what was in his hands: the jerry can. He shook it to show her it was half full. ‘I’ve managed to siphon petrol out of the lawnmowers. I found this little tube thing on the shelves. You just insert it into the tank, blow into it and the petrol starts running out.’

‘We’ll have to dispose of that tube, then,’ Pip said, creating another item in the list in her head.

‘Yeah, I thought you could do it same way as your clothes. How much more do you think we’ll need?’ he asked, shaking the can again.

Pip thought about it. ‘Maybe three.’

‘That’s what I was thinking. Come on, there’s loads in those ride-on mowers.’

Ravi led her back into the huge storeroom, the machines winking under the buzzy industrial lights. He walked them over to a mower and Pip helped him as he guided the small tube into the tank, creating a seal around the opening with his gloved hand before blowing into the tube.

A strong smell of petrol as the yellowy-brown liquid flowed through the tube, tinkling into the jerry can Pip held. When it was filled, they moved on to another can and another mower.

Pip started to feel dizzy, from the fumes, from the lack of sleep, from her trip to and back from death, she wasn’t sure which. It was the fumes that ignited, she knew, not the liquid, and if those were inside her then maybe she’d burn up too.

‘Nearly there,’ Ravi said, to her or the jerry can, she couldn’t quite tell.

He stood up and clapped his hands when the third can was near full. ‘Need something to start the fires with too, something that will catch.’

Pip looked around the cavernous room, scanning the shelves.

‘Here,’ she said, walking over to a cardboard box filled with small plastic plant pots. She ripped several lengths of cardboard away, stuffing them in Max’s pocket.

‘Perfect,’ Ravi said, picking up two jerry cans so she only had to carry one. It felt heavier than it should, the weight of the dead body still in her muscles somehow.

‘We should lead the fire in here too,’ Pip said, dousing a row of still-full mowers in the petrol, pouring a trail behind her as they walked back towards the chemical storeroom. ‘We want things to go boom. Blow out the windows to cover up the one I broke.’

‘Lots of things to go boom in here,’ Ravi said, flicking the lights off with his elbow as he followed her. He tilted one of his cans, pouring a thick trail of petrol alongside Pip’s as they stepped together. She doused the workbench and Ravi continued on to the upturned shelving unit, lifting the can high to splash petrol all over it, spattering against the plastic vats and dripping down the metal shelves.

They coated the room, the walls, the floor, a new river along the concrete, beside the weedkiller in the gutter. Pip’s can was almost empty, the final drops splattering out on to the ground as she avoided the pool of blood; they didn’t want that to burn. The fire was to bring the police here, the blood was to send them out to Jason. That’s how this night would finally end, in fire and blood, and a sweep of the trees to find what Pip had left for them.