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‘There was certainly mud on her shoes and some of her clothes. But that could simply have resulted from being on the riverbank. We’ll get an analysis of the spread of the mud splashes if we can. But bear in mind that the victim was lying in the river. Much of the mud will have dispersed.’

Cooper nodded across at Hurst. ‘It’s an important point, ma’am,’ he said. ‘If the victim had been running, that sort of physical exertion makes a difference to the rate of onset of rigor mortis.’

‘Yes, it would speed up the onset of rigor, particularly in the legs,’ agreed Branagh. ‘On the other hand, the weather was cold and she was partially submerged in water, both of which would slow the process down. So it’s a case of swings and roundabouts, I suppose. Rigor was certainly fairly well advanced by the time we attended the scene.’

She was right, of course. Cooper recalled the rigidity of the victim’s limbs as she was removed from the river. When her muscles relaxed at the moment of death, she’d fallen into an awkward, tangled position, then rigor mortis had begun to set in, first in the small muscles of the face and neck before spreading to the rest of the body. Even Rob Beresford had remarked on the flat, staring eyes that had so frightened him. The eyes were among the first parts of the body to be affected by rigor.

Branagh consulted her briefing notes. ‘As far as the victim’s movements are concerned, all we know is that she left her place of work between one and one-thirty on Thursday afternoon. That’s the Hartdale tea rooms in Hartington. She seems to have returned to her home in Crowdecote at some time during the afternoon, but went out again later on. Since her car was still parked outside her house when it was visited by DS Cooper and DC Irvine on Friday, we have to conclude that she either went with someone else or took a taxi, or possibly set out on foot.’

The superintendent paused and looked round the room, but no one commented. Perhaps she expected someone to cast doubt on the idea that Sandra Blair would have walked from Crowdecote to the bridge. It was the best part of two miles, even using the footpaths that skirted the hillsides in the Dove valley, and a good bit further by road. Diane Fry might have been the person to scoff at that possibility, but even she said nothing. Cooper glanced across at her and saw that she was holding herself tense and restrained, her lips pursed shut, as if making a determined effort not to interrupt.

Cooper waited for Branagh to continue. Personally, he had no doubt that the victim might have set off to walk from her home. He thought the idea of her calling for a taxi was by far the least likely.

‘So over the next few days,’ said Branagh, ‘we’ll be deploying all of our additional manpower…’

She paused again, but only very briefly to ride the automatic laughter from the officers present.

‘… in both Hartington and Crowdecote to conduct house-to-house enquiries. Here are the priorities for the house-to-house teams. We need to know if anyone saw the victim after she left the tea rooms and before she left home again that evening. Did she call at one of the shops in Hartington? Did anyone see Sandra Blair in her car between there and her home? And obviously, we’d very much like to hear from anyone who saw her, and a possible second person, between her home and Hollins Bridge that afternoon or evening. Somebody will have to check local taxi firms.’

Cooper restrained himself from shaking his head. Taxis were a waste of someone’s time, but the options had to be covered. As for her drive home, Sandra Blair was a local. He bet she wouldn’t even have thought of going via the main A515 up to Sparklow, but would have taken the back road from Hartington, which wound its way across the hill above the hamlet of Pilsbury. It was a much quieter route. He could think of only three or four farms set back from the road until you reached the junction at High Needham. Not much chance of anyone noticing a small red Ford Ka passing. Their best hope would be that someone saw Sandra later, after she’d left her house. Yes, that would definitely constitute an early break.

Branagh handed over to DI Walker, who had been at the scene. He was a young detective inspector, who’d risen quickly through the ranks, but who might yet be overtaken in his career by those fast-tracked graduates just starting their three-year programmes. Slim and blond-haired, Walker looked more like an actor auditioning for the role of a fictional aristocratic detective than a real police officer. It was said that he had public school and university education too – though surely that didn’t make any difference in today’s police service?

‘Our search of the scene is still ongoing,’ said Walker. ‘Given the statements from witnesses, we’ve extended the search area quite considerably.’

He indicated a large-scale map on the wall of the briefing room. Around the area of Hollins Bridge, the map was shaded in sectors to show the designated areas. As Walker said, the search teams were working their way steadily further from the bridge itself.

‘We’ve almost completed the area on our side of the river,’ the DI was saying. ‘We’re waiting for our colleagues in Staffordshire to do the same. They have some difficult terrain on their side, where it’s a bit steeper, so it’s taking longer. I’ll be liaising with them later today on that. Meanwhile, these are the items we’ve found so far.’

Photos were pinned up on a board next to the map, with indicators to show where each item had been found. The noose was there and so was the witch ball with its screwed-up bits of paper and the clay eagle’s head. Most distinctive of them was the effigy discovered lying on the coffin stone, which caused a lot of murmuring through the room.

‘It’s just a guy, isn’t it?’ said someone.

‘Yep, someone had it ready for Bonfire Night and lost it,’ added a second officer.

But a third shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen one like that. It’s too well made. Why would you go to all that trouble, just to burn it?’

DI Walker agreed. ‘That’s what we think, too. It may have been designed deliberately to look like someone. I think it would be fair to say that it isn’t our victim, anyway.’

There was a ripple of laughter again and Walker looked pleased. In that moment he seemed even more like a performer, gratified to get a reaction from his audience.

‘However, we have one suggestion put forward for the identity of the effigy,’ said Walker cheerfully. ‘DS Cooper has a theory.’

All eyes turned to Cooper and he stood up. Briefly, he explained his reasoning, from the eagle’s head to the emblem of the Manbys, then the situation at Knowle Abbey, with the anonymous letter, the mysterious intruder and the vandalism of the chapel.

‘So it’s possible this is part of a campaign by someone with a grudge against the Manby family,’ concluded Cooper.

‘And who’s the effigy of?’ asked a voice from behind him in the room. ‘Is it the earl? I have no idea what he looks like.’

Walker pinned a photograph on to the board next to the picture of the effigy. It was a blown-up detail from a formal occasion that had been featured in Derbyshire Life. The Right Honourable Walter, Earl Manby, was pictured in white tie and tails, beaming at the camera with his best air of bonhomie. He was clean shaven, with iron-grey hair neatly clipped and slicked down. His cheeks were full and his skin shone with a slightly florid glow, which might just have been a sign that he’d been enjoying a convivial evening. Apart from that, Cooper had to admit the photograph bore no similarity to the effigy at all.

‘The photo is a year or two old,’ said Becky Hurst, against a deafeningly dubious silence. ‘But it was all we could lay our hands on.’

‘Well, be that as it may,’ said DI Walker, ‘it’s something to bear in mind that there may be a connection with Knowle Abbey. The presence of the rope noose within a few yards of the effigy is worrying. It starts to look like a serious threat.’