And bone.
'What do you think?' asked Dalziel. 'Suicide?'
'He just flew straight into it,' repeated Preece. 'He made no attempt to avoid it.'
'OK, lad,' said Dalziel. 'Peter, what do you think?'
'Guilty conscience, you mean? It'll be a popular theory with half the Great British Public.'
'And the other half?'
'Innocent man driven to extremes by false accusation and police harassment.'
'Yes, but what do you think?'
Pascoe walked a little further along the boundary fence till through the dusk he could see the line of picket-stakes which marched at right angles to it.
'The gypsies have gone,' he said, looking over the empty patch of land beyond.
'Oh aye. We're shot of them buggers till next year, thank God,' said Dalziel. 'How many times do I have to ask. What do you think?'
'I think it's mysterious and sad,' said Pascoe. 'That's it. A sorrow and a mystery. Like life.'
'Jesus bloody wept,' said Dalziel.