Cooper looked down at the river. As he watched the waters of the Dove splashing and dancing over the stones, he realised what had happened to him. Somehow he must have been infected by Diane Fry’s cynicism, inhaled some of her incessant disbelief like carbon monoxide gas leaking from a faulty stove. Her sneering had affected him, despite his instincts. She’d made him feel reluctant to acknowledge those ancient, deep-down beliefs that his ancestors lived with. And not only lived with, but acted on in their daily lives. His forebears believed in spirits – not just as some quaint, archaic superstition, but as a real and present danger in the landscape. If they were told they needed to cross water to block a spirit’s path from the grave, that’s exactly what they would have done. Not simply on some occasions if it was convenient, but every time, as a necessity.

Cooper turned and looked down towards the Corpse Bridge, hidden in its belt of trees. A body at the bridge, one at Pilsbury Castle. Did it mean there would be more deaths, one on each of the coffin roads?

When Cooper reached West Street later that morning his team were already hard at work in the CID room, making him feel a twinge of guilt. He was supposed to be showing qualities of leadership.

‘How are things, Gavin?’ he asked.

Murfin looked up from his desk. ‘Like a bad day at the mortuary,’ he said.

‘It’s going that well?’

‘There’s good news, though,’ said Murfin. ‘There’s a lass here who’s come in to see you. She asked for you specifically too.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Her name is Poppy Mellor.’

‘Mellor,’ said Cooper. ‘That’s interesting. When you say a lass, Gavin?’

Murfin shrugged. ‘Twenty-one, maybe.’

‘Good.’

Poppy Mellor sat nervously in Interview Room One. She looked intimidated by her surroundings, as people often did who had never expected to find themselves in a police station. Looking at her, Cooper thought it had probably taken a lot of courage for her to come here.

She sat with a plastic cup of coffee in front of her on the table. She was staring at it as if she didn’t quite know what it was. Cooper could sympathise with that. He’d tasted the liquid that came out of the machine and he couldn’t tell what it was either.

‘Miss Mellor?’ he said. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cooper. You were asking for me.’

She stood up when he came in, then sat down again suddenly, her legs wobbling and unable to support her properly. She looked relieved when she heard his name.

‘Poppy,’ she said. ‘No one calls me Miss Mellor.’

She was a tall, athletic-looking girl with dark hair, quite pretty in a way, with long hands moving restlessly against each other on the table, her fingers twisting a set of rings. She’d draped a cream jacket casually over the chair and was wearing a white T-shirt with an esoteric design Cooper couldn’t place without staring too closely.

‘Poppy,’ said Cooper, sitting down opposite her. ‘I met a lady at the weekend—’

She nodded. ‘My great-aunt Caroline. She lives at Bowden.’

‘Did she mention me to you?’

‘Yes. It’s amazing that she remembered your name really. She can be quite vague. You must have made an impression on her.’

Cooper looked at the plastic cup. The coffee had gone cold and a grey skin was forming on the top. It looked disgusting.

‘Would you like me to get you another one of those?’ he said.

‘No. Thank you.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

He put the cup aside and sat back. She seemed to be relaxing a bit more, but it would be a mistake to push her too hard.

‘Take your time, Poppy,’ he said. ‘Just get it clear in your mind what you want to tell me. There’s no rush.’

‘Oh, I’ve thought about it already,’ she said. ‘I know what I want to say. It’s about Rob.’

‘Rob Beresford?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s a friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘He was part of the scheme, wasn’t he? I mean, the whole performance at the Corpse Bridge with the effigy and the noose.’

Poppy looked crestfallen. ‘He didn’t do much, you know. In fact, he didn’t do anything in the end.’

‘So what was his role?’

‘He was supposed to be the person who found the effigy,’ she said. ‘He deliberately didn’t play any other part. He had no contact with the others beforehand, so that he would just be an innocent person stumbling across the dummy.’

‘Why didn’t they just leave it for some genuinely innocent person to find?’

Poppy shook her head. ‘It might not have been found for weeks, especially if the weather turned bad. And they were worried who might find it. It could have been somebody who didn’t bother to report it. It could have been a child. They didn’t want to leave that to chance.’

‘So the next step was going to be making sure it got as much publicity as possible, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’

‘They were going to take photos, I imagine?’ said Cooper.

‘Of course. Carrying a digital camera would have been a bit too suspicious, but Rob was going to take photos and a short video on his iPhone, then pass them on everywhere he could.’

‘Local papers?’

‘Yes, but Facebook and Twitter too. The video would have gone on YouTube. They were hoping to go viral, he said.’

‘It would certainly have drawn attention to the cause.’

Poppy nodded. ‘That’s what they figured. There was no harm to it really.’

‘But it went wrong. What happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘And Rob doesn’t know either. He wasn’t there. Like I said, he had no contact with the others beforehand. They weren’t even supposed to have each other’s numbers on their phones, just in case. They know you look for things like that.’

‘Yes, we do,’ admitted Cooper.

‘But Rob recognised Sandra, obviously. He didn’t see how he could claim otherwise. You would have found out. There was no point in him pretending.’

‘We’ll need to talk to Rob directly,’ said Cooper. ‘He’ll have to give us a statement.’

‘I know. But I didn’t want you to go along thinking he’s a suspect. He isn’t.’

Cooper noted that Poppy Mellor seemed to be under the impression that Sandra Blair was murdered. Did she actually suspect Rob Beresford of being responsible? Was that why she’d felt compelled to come in and tell this story on his behalf? Not so much protecting the innocent, as standing by the guilty?

Well, nothing could be taken at face value – even someone who seemed so genuinely well-intentioned.

‘And what was your part in his scheme, Poppy?’ asked Cooper.

‘Me? I didn’t do anything. Rob wanted me to. I thought it was a good cause, protesting against the earl’s plans for the holiday cottages and selling off the church. And the car park, of course.’

‘Car park?’

‘On the burial ground at Bowden. He wants to concrete it over and turn it into a parking area for the holiday lets.’

‘I don’t think he can do that,’ said Cooper.

‘Well, it’s what they say.’

‘Perhaps they do.’

Cooper thought it sounded like a touch of exaggeration, a bit of added propaganda to make the plans sound even worse and cause that extra edge of outrage. Concreting over a graveyard? Who wouldn’t object to that?

‘When the group first got together they just talked about things,’ said Poppy. ‘Letting off steam, I suppose. But then they decided to walk all the old coffin roads, as a symbolic gesture. It was on one of the walks they had the idea of a bigger protest. Something more dramatic.’

‘Who actually suggested it?’

‘Rob says he can’t remember.’

‘We’ll ask him again, of course.’

‘He doesn’t trust the cops. But he might talk to you.’

Cooper smiled. Well, that was a compliment, he supposed, to be considered not truly a cop.

‘Anyway,’ said Poppy. ‘I couldn’t do it. I was supposed to be there that night, according to the plan. But I got scared. I sat in my car for a few minutes and then I drove away and went home.’