The story of how a simple tour of Tasmania turned into a who-dun-it. ' . . . but worse than all of that, on the side of her fifty-year-old throat was an ugly gash from which came the dreadful corporeal flood, some of it deeply scarlet. Of course she was dead. Her mouth was open, so were her eyes. The terror was still showing in them. I desperately wanted to cover her face . . .'