Jake dived for golf balls in his spare time to earn extra money. His favourite course was at the Warren golf resort, where rich people with too much time on their hands and too little precision in their aim often whacked balls by the dozen into the deep water hazards.

It was a Sunday when he made his last dive. It was a pond at the edge of the golf course, separated from the world beyond by a simple row of shrubs and hedges. His body was found floating, face down and half naked, his shirt lying neatly folded as always on the grass nearby.

An autopsy showed that he had thrown up, choked, suffered an asthma attack, and asphyxiated on his own vomit, in that order.

The course owners drained the pond the next day, and found another body at its murky depths, weighed down by crudely tied bags of sand from the pit nearby. It was a young woman this time, whose hair had been shaved off, and whose right hand had been chopped off, police speculated, by a normal kitchen knife.