‘I think he knows something he's not saying,' admitted Cooper.

And that's not the same thing?'

‘Maybe Mr Tailby and Mr Hitchens didn't ask the right questions,' he said thoughtfully. 'Maybe it's not to do with Laura Vernon at all. I don't know.'

‘Well, you could always ask your girlfriend, I suppose,' said Fry.

‘Who?'

‘You know — the granddaughter, Helen Milner. Got the hots for you, hasn't she? She was following you around Moorhay like a lost dog.'

‘Rubbish.’

Fry shrugged. 'I stand by the evidence, your honour.’

Cooper refused to rise to the bait.

‘What did you make of the other two, then — Harry Dickinson's friends?'

‘My God, don't remind me. That place was like something medieval. When I left West Midlands, they kept telling me that the countryside was primitive. Now I know it's true. That dead hen . . . How Wilford Cutts's wife can put up with that, I don't know. No doubt she would have had to cook it in a stew tonight.’

And chop off its head and legs and pluck it, and take out its innards,' said Cooper. 'That's women's work. So they say.'

‘Not this woman. I'd make him stuff his dead hen where it hurts most.’

Cooper sniffed his orange juice suspiciously, worried by the distinctly metallic tang.

‘You know,' he said, 'I don't think this enquiry will get any further until Lee Sherratt is traced.'

‘He's a fair bet.’

Cooper shook his head. 'I'm not sure. We're just accepting Graham Vernon's word as gospel and hoping the evidence will turn up somehow. It's lazy thinking.'

‘OK then, Sherlock. You obviously know better than Mr Tailby and Mr Hitchens put together. What's your theory, then?'

‘You don't want to hear about my gut feelings, I suppose.'

‘You're right, I don't. I asked for a theory. Something that relies on a few facts.'

‘I suppose you play it by the book always. Do you never follow a hunch, use your instincts?'

‘By the book,' said Fry.

‘So you get yourself into a difficult situation. The first thing you do is call in, then sit back and wait for the back-up to arrive?'

‘Well, usually,' said Fry. 'That is the sensible course.’

‘The safest for you, certainly. Would you never break the rule?’

She thought about it. 'OK, there are times when you might have to take the initiative.'

‘Eureka.'

‘I'll let you know when that happens. All right?’

‘Sure. Send me a fax.’

A couple of rugby players walked past on their way out from the bar, smelling strongly of beer. They slapped Ben Cooper on the shoulder and ruffled his hair as they made jokes about making sure his balls were warmed up. They smirked across the table at Fry without speaking to her.

Fry was rapidly losing interest in Ben Cooper. Other police officers' private lives were a serious turn-off, she found. Just occasionally, there was someone she felt she needed to know more about. But there was no way Ben Cooper could be one of them.

‘What do you know about DI Armstrong?' she asked him, when the rugby players had gone.

‘Not much. I worked with her briefly when she was a DS, but B Division poached her from us. She seemed to get promoted pretty quickly. I can't say she's dazzled anybody with her results since she was moved up to DI.'

‘I suppose you're going to tell me she got the job because she's a woman.'

‘No, but . . . Well.'

‘And maybe she did. So what? Makes a change, doesn't it?'

‘Not to me, it doesn't.’

Fry drained her glass and slapped it on the table. 'I think it's about time we left. There's just no atmosphere in here.’

By the time they left the club, it was dark. Cooper pressed his key fob and the Toyota flashed its lights for him in the car park. The skeletal shapes of the white rugby posts were visible standing guard over the black, deserted pitches.

‘Do you actually play rugby, then?' asked Fry as they got into the car.

‘No, I could never see the attraction in it,' he said. 'Oh? I thought team sports were a boys' thing.’

‘I don't know about that.'

‘Especially in the force. They like team bonding and all that, don't they?’

Cooper shrugged. 'I've managed to keep out of it so far. I prefer the individual sports. But I am in the Derbyshire Police Male Voice Choir.'

‘You are kidding.'

‘No, it's good fun. We do a few concerts — for the old folks mostly, that kind of thing, especially around Christmas time. The old dears love it. It's good PR.’

`Do you sing soprano?'

‘Tenor.’

*

A couple of miles down the road towards Edendale, Cooper turned the Toyota off on to a side road and headed back out of the valley.

‘Where are you going?' asked Fry.

‘I've had an idea,' he said. 'Something that came to me when we were talking about DI Armstrong.'

‘What exactly do you mean?' said Fry, with a warning note in her voice.

‘You remember I said she was "poached" by B Division?'Are you still harping on that?'

‘No, no, you don't understand. I was thinking about poaching.'

‘Come again?'

‘Just up here there's a big estate, the Colishaw Estate. That's an "estate" as in a large area of privately owned land. Not a housing estate.'

‘I think I've got that, thanks.'

‘The Colishaw Estate runs shoots. That means they breed a lot of pheasants. There are deer on the estate too. Not to mention rabbits and hare and partridge.'

‘Is this a nature lesson? If so, could we possibly do it tomorrow?'

‘Obviously, it's a big target for poachers,' said Cooper patiently.

‘Right.'

‘The professional gangs used to be a big problem, but they don't bother so much any more. There's no money in it now. But the local men still get down there.'

‘Chasing the pheasants and rabbits.'

‘You don't exactly chase them.’

Cooper pulled the Toyota on to the verge near a patch of woodland, where signs warned 'Private Property'. There was little traffic on the road, and the night was totally black but for the stars in a clear sky. The Toyota's sidelights illuminated a wall and a length of barbed wire.

‘There's an old hut down there,' he said, pointing into the wood. 'It's always been a favourite for poachers to lie up in. It's well away from where the keepers patrol, even when they bother. Jackie Sherratt was a notorious poacher. He used to use it all the time. He must often have taken his son Lee there. As part of his training.’

‘Sherratt? Hold on. You think —?'

‘It's possible. I think Lee could have chosen the hut to lie up in. No one will have thought of checking this out. It's too distant from Moorhay. But a lad like Lee wouldn't think anything of moving this far.'

‘Don't tell me — you want to check it out?'

‘Yes.'

‘Right here and now?'

‘Why not?’

Are you crazy? It's the middle of the night!'

‘I'm going down anyway,' said Cooper. 'You can wait here if you like.’

He got out of the car, pulling a sturdy torch from the glove compartment.

‘We can't do this.'

‘I can,' said Cooper. 'You'll obviously have to go by the book, won't you?’

He climbed over the wall and began to walk into the wood, finding the start of a narrow path that had been invisible from the road.

‘Hold on, for God's sake,' said Fry, slamming her door.

He smiled and keyed the electronic locks.

‘Can't be too careful.’

They set off close together, sharing the light of the torch. Cooper had always felt a part of the world he worked in, especially when he was out working in the open. But Diane Fry, he thought, would be for ever a stranger to it. He was alert for any sounds in the wood, but she seemed completely absorbed in herself, as if the darkness meant not only that she couldn't see, but also that she could neither hear nor smell what was around her, nor even feel the nature of the ground underfoot. Cooper was listening hard. Any countryman knew that the sounds that animals made could tell you whether there was a human presence in the area.