The air was heavy and damp, a low fog obscuring us from view of the road. It was silent in the graveyard but for the rhythmic sound on the shovel driving into the wet earth. I looked at my watch of the second time in as many minutes rubbing my other hand on my left thigh.

‘Come on,’ I urged, peering into the hole. ‘The guard will be here in an hour.’ So long as he didn’t divert from his usual rou...