Then Cooper remembered lying to his mother and winced with shame. He remembered Helen Milner rejecting him, and felt despair. He was worth nothing to anybody. And now he had made a fool of himself at the very least last night, got horribly drunk and done God knew what else besides. He might as well go home now to the farm and throw himself in the slurry pit. There was nothing but those evil black dogs running through his mind, snapping and growling. Black dogs and pigs.

Among the morning's crimes was a report of three youths suffering minor injuries in a late-night brawl in Edendale. A falling-out among drunks was presumed. The youths themselves weren't talking and had been sent home. There were other more pressing matters — a list of burglaries and car thefts, a ram raid at a building society.

And, as he had discovered from DS Rennie, there had been an alleged rape at Moorhay, for which Harry Dickinson had been arrested. Cooper shook his head and poked around in the drawer of his desk for some painkillers, but found none. Nothing was right this morning. Just nothing.

Later in the morning, Diane Fry herself appeared in the CID room. Cooper kept his eyes down, not knowing what to say to her. What did you say to a woman whose bed you had woken up in without a clue about what happened between you during the previous few hours? The only possible approach was to let her speak first —if she wanted to.

But she made him wait in agony for several minutes, moving papers around on her own desk, making notes, taking a phone call. Eventually she drifted over towards where he sat. He was aware of her presence, but didn't look up, willing her to speak first.

‘You look like shit.'

‘Thanks. I feel it.’

Fry walked on past his desk. Cooper sat in a daze for a while longer, until she came back, clutching a handful of reports.

‘You want some paracetamol or something?’

‘I'll be all right.'

‘Just don't throw up all over the desk, will you? I can't stand the smell of sick.'

‘I'm fine. Really.'

‘Right.’

Even in his befuddled state, he sensed Fry hesitating, hovering behind him like a baleful matron. She gave off no aura of guilt, only a mood of simmering anger, tinged with reluctant concern. Cooper began to reconsider the possible scenarios of the night before. There were still huge blanks in his memory and there was no way he could make the stuff about pigs fit anywhere. But suddenly he knew for certain that he had done something awful, something totally stupid. So what was it that he was expected to say? Maybe it was 'sorry'. But how could you apologize for what you couldn't remember doing?

‘Thanks, anyway,' he said feebly. 'Thanks, Diane, for — whatever.’

She sighed heavily, put down her papers and wedged herself on to his desk. Cooper winced at the movement and her sudden proximity.

‘I don't know if you're in a fit state to talk about it. But you know we've got Harry Dickinson in?' she said.

‘Yeah.' Cooper glanced up at her. She was looking at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. It seemed like an improvement. 'What has he said?’

She snorted. `Damn-all. He's more worried about his blasted dog.'

‘So where's this girl who says he attacked her?’

‘Rape suite. They're interviewing her now.’

And do Mr Tailby and Mr Hitchens think they're going to break Harry Dickinson and get him to confess?’

Fry looked thoughtful as she pulled up a chair next to his desk. She absently pushed some of his files aside to create a few inches of surface to lean on.

‘It's a funny thing, that, actually. When the lads picked him up, they said he acted as though he was expecting them. "You were quick", that's all he said. But now I keep getting the feeling that he's puzzled by what we're asking him. It's like we've been putting totally the wrong questions to him all along, and he can't understand why.’

A feeling, Diane?''Yeah. So?'

‘Nothing.’

Cooper was busy scribbling on a piece of paper with his ballpoint pen. The fog in his head was clearing gradually, revealing ragged patches of light. This was better than paracetamol for making your brain work.

‘What are you doing, Ben?'

‘I think you could be right about the questions you were asking. Just take a look at that. There's got to be a link.’

He had sketched a rough diagram. It showed lines running between members of the Vernon and Milner families. Old Harry Dickinson was there, connected to Laura Vernon by the finding of the body; his son-in-law Andrew was linked to Graham Vernon through business; Helen Milner connected to Graham through the incident at the party; there was Helen's cousin Simeon, who had been Laura's boyfriend and had been helping Harry and his friends at the smallholding; and then there was Harry again, a wavery line running from him to Graham Vernon, representing the proposed meeting, purpose unknown.

Fry pointed at Harry's name.

‘Strictly speaking, he didn't . . .'

‘... find the body, I know. He only found the trainer.’

And that wasn't really him, it was his dog.'

‘But the meeting he talked about with Vernon is bound to leave a question mark. What was he up to? Besides, the bird-watcher saw him.'

‘Maybe. Maybe not.'

‘Harry Dickinson is involved. No doubt about it.' A feeling?'

‘No. A certainty.’

He looked cautiously at Fry. Magically, the tension between them seemed to have dispersed as soon as they had begun to talk about the Vernon case. She had needed someone to talk to, and she had been drawn towards him despite the contempt which still lingered in her eyes. Whatever had happened between them, perhaps it could eventually be forgiven, or at least set aside so that they could get on with the job. One day, he might even manage to remember what it was that had happened.

‘All right. So let's assume Harry's involved. Consider the possibility, then, that he's covering up for somebody. Who might that be?'

‘Not Graham Vernon, anyway.'

‘No love lost there, certainly.'

‘It has to be family,' said Cooper.

‘Families stick together, don't they? They close ranks against outsiders when there's trouble.'

‘It's what families are for.'

‘Simeon Holmes, then. His great-nephew.'

‘Harry would protect him for the sake of the family.’

‘Family loyalty. They say it's a powerful motivation.’

‘But he says he was with about thirty other bikers at Matlock Bath, nearly twenty miles away,' said Cooper.

‘Has anybody managed to break that alibi?'

‘Have you tried being a police officer asking for information from bikers about one of their own?’

His head was beginning to thump again. For a few minutes, he had almost forgotten the pain.

‘There's another thing, though, Diane. I think you ought to talk to the bird-watcher again. Gary Edwards.’

‘Him? Why?'

‘There's something not right about his statement.'

‘That's true. Dave Rennie took that statement. Mr Tailby said himself it wasn't up to scratch. Rennie never pushed Edwards on the time.'

‘So has he been seen again already?’

Fry frowned. 'No. I don't think so. It would have been put through as an action, but probably got allocated a low priority when Sherratt was pulled in.’

And then just got filed somewhere in the system.' And after they started pulling people off the enquiry . . 'Yeah, like me, for instance. Talk to him yourself, Diane. Will you?'

‘You think he can positively tie in Harry? His description is too vague, you know.'

‘You've got to press him on it. There's something. I just know there is. You've got to do it.’

There was a moment's silence, broken only by Fry's intake of breath. 'Who do you think you are, Ben?' Cooper looked up, startled by the tone of her voice. For a while, he had forgotten all the things that he had to worry about, all the reasons he had to hate Diane Fry. Now she was glaring at him, making it clearer than ever that the feeling was mutual.