The old man' was nodding at Cooper like a proud father, encouraging him to do his stuff.

‘What the hell have the pigs got to do with it?' asked Fry.

‘Well, it suddenly dawned on me what was going on at the smallholding. They were helping Wilford get rid of all the animals. He didn't want to leave them behind. He couldn't just abandon them, because he cared about them too much. They were his family, if you like. Apart from the pigs, every last one of them went during the course of a week.'

‘Honestly?'

‘You remember the hens, when we went to Thorpe Farm that first time? He sold all of them. When I went up a couple of days later, the goat had gone too. And there were no geese. I should have figured it out then, but I didn't. It was the pigs that really clinched it. You can't just sell swill-fed pigs, you see. You've got to get movement permits from the Ministry of Agriculture before they can leave the premises.'

‘Because of Swine Vesicular Disease,' put in Harry. 'But there wasn't time to do that, was there? He had to get rid of them quickly, and there was only one way he could think of. That was to have them humanely killed and bury them in the compost heap.’

`So everything went? All that menagerie.’

‘Everything. The place is deserted now. All that's left of Wilford's family is the dog.’

Harry nodded. 'We kept her out of the way after we heard about the bird-watching bloke. You nearly saw her once, in the pub, but she was out the back with Jess. You see, Wilford needed time, that's all. That's what I was doing for him — buying him time. We couldn't let him get arrested. He knew what he had to do, but he needed more time. We helped him do it, me and Sam. Like you say, there's just the dog now.'

‘So he took all his family with him. As a matter of interest, Diane,' said Cooper, 'what gave you the idea that Wilford Cutts was married?'

‘I don't know,' she frowned. 'Wasn't he?''His wife died years ago.'

‘Oh well, I don't suppose it's important. I just remember wondering how on earth Connie managed to put up with him and his friends. He spoke about her once, when I was there. Perhaps he'd just forgotten she was dead.'

‘His wife was called Doris,' said Cooper.

Harry nodded. 'Maybe you're almost Inspector Morse, after all.'

‘You also did your best to throw suspicion on Graham Vernon. Did you really see him on the Baulk that night? Or was that a lie?'

‘No, lad, no lie. He was there, all right. He was out looking for the girl, I reckon. No doubt he had an idea in his mind of what she would be up to. The mother hadn't a clue, of course. She always thought the lass was some sort of angel.’

The old man curled his lip contemptuously. 'Aye, Vernon was there, all right. I would have had a few words to say to him too, if I'd got near him. You know what about, lad, if Helen's told you. You don't need to ask me what I would have said to the man. But he saw me coming, and he cleared off sharpish. I wasn't complaining. It kept him out of the way. And it did no harm for you lot to be asking him your questions, did it?’

And then you even tried to attract suspicion to yourself.’

Harry shrugged. 'It didn't matter if you thought I had killed the girl anyway.'

‘Didn't matter?'

‘Well, I was innocent, wasn't I? I knew Wilford would prove it, in the end. He did the right thing, you see. He always said he would.'

‘But what you put yourself through,' said Cooper. 'It must have been appalling.’

Harry shrugged. 'It's what you do. For a friend.’

But Fry wasn't satisfied. She was still angry. She stepped forward, and the old man looked up at her from his chair as they faced each other across a short stretch of carpet. 'You've caused a lot of trouble for us, Mr Dickinson,' she said. `Do you realize you've just admitted to committing several offences?'

‘If you say so.'

‘Mr Dickinson, you've deliberately misled the police. You've concealed evidence of a very serious crime. And that's only for starters. At the moment, there's no proof that Wilford Cutts's death was suicide. There may be more serious allegations to follow, depending on the results of forensic examination.'

‘Sam has the suicide note,' said Harry. 'If that's what you need. It was all done properly.'

‘I see.’

Concern clouded Harry's impassive face. 'Somebody ought to go and see Sam. He's not well.'

‘Detective Constable Cooper is just about to do that,' said Fry.

Cooper looked at her, and their eyes met for a long minute. There was everything in their stare, all the pent-up resentment and jealousy, all the disdain for each other's views and methods, their lifestyles and backgrounds, all the memories of the things that had passed between them, all the pain of intimacy and betrayal. Cooper could sense that she was also asking him to trust her.

‘Ben, please.’

She said it as if it was a request. But now the words had a note of authority, naturally assumed, as of a right. She expected him to obey. This was her case, she seemed to say. And she was right, of course. Diane Fry had done everything properly; she had called in, she had sent for back-up, she had secured the scene. As for Ben Cooper, he was officially off the enquiry. He shouldn't even be here. So how could he possibly expect to take any of the credit? He nodded and went towards the front door, looking for a passing patrol car to flag down for a lift to Thorpe Farm. As he left the room, he heard Fry begin the litany.

‘Harold Dickinson, I am arresting you on a charge of attempting to pervert the course of justice. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence . .

Sam Beeley looked relieved when the police car came up the track to the smallholding. He was holding an envelope, sealed and addressed 'To Whom It May Concern'. Cooper realized that he and Fry had actually watched the three old men composing the letter on the bonnet of the pick-up, but had thought they were doing a crossword puzzle.

He looked closely at Sam. 'We'll take you to a doctor, Mr Beeley. It's all over.’

Sam waved his stick weakly. 'Someone has to look after the dog.'

‘Oh yes.’

Cooper went to the shed and opened the lower door. A black and white Border collie emerged from the darkness, coming eagerly to sniff his legs and lick his hand, gazing up hopefully into his eyes. He guessed that she knew her master had gone. Dogs always did seem to know these things. The bonds of trust and affection they forged with people were so powerful that they could only be broken by death.

He reached down to stroke the animal's head, an inadequate gesture of consolation.

‘We'll look after you, Connie,' he said.

30

A few evenings later, Diane Fry left her flat and drove her black Peugeot out of Edendale. She headed southwards towards the limestone plateau, skirting Durham Edge and Camphill, where the flying club was. She gazed up at the gliders launching themselves into the air, soaring on the thermals rising from the valleys and slipping sideways in the warm breezes stroking the tops of the hills. She felt as though she could take off like one of those gliders and fly over the countryside that was now becoming her own. No matter what view she got from up there, she wouldn't have been able to see her future any more clearly than she did now. Everything was working out fine.

She found Bridge End Farm and crawled down the track to park in the farmyard. She could see Ben Cooper standing by a field gate in the shadow of a barn. He was talking to an older, more heavily built man who had the same colour hair and the same open, boyish look to his face. This must be Matt, the brother who was the farmer. The two men were comparing the guns they held over their arms, and there was a dog on the ground at their feet.