‘Why didn’t you say so? He’s not here. Once we finish the sale, he goes off to his other job. Down at Lowbridge.’

‘Do you mean the abattoir?’ said Cooper.

‘That’s it. That’s where you’ll find Slasher Teasdale.’

‘Why Slasher?’ said Fry.

‘It’s a nickname. If you ask him nicely, happen he’ll demonstrate.’

Pilkington continued to glower at them, and didn’t bother saying goodbye as they walked back towards the loading bay. By the time they reached the car, Fry was limping slightly.

‘Have you hurt your leg?’ said Cooper.

‘I slipped, that’s all. The floor’s wet in some of those pens.’

‘Diane, you’ve, er, got your shoes a bit messy, too. It looks like cow shit.’

Fry looked down at her feet. ‘Bullocks’,’ she said.

Lowbridge was called a village, but the spread of development along the valley bottom from Edendale meant there was no distinction any more between the two places – no green fields or farms to separate them, only a road sign indicating the point where one house was in Edendale and the one next door was in Lowbridge.

The abattoir was off the Castleton Road. Unlike the cattle market, it was modern and clean, all stainless steel and white tiles, like a vast urinal, its surfaces washed constantly. The air smelled of disinfectant, and the men moving around inside sloshed about in plastic aprons and thigh boots, with white caps covering their hair. The atmosphere reminded Fry of a hospital operating theatre.

‘Ben,’ she said, ‘I know Teasdale claims to have a legitimate reason to be in the Ringham area when Jenny Weston was killed . . .’

‘But you’re sceptical. Maybe you’re thinking about this nickname, Slasher. But it would be a bit of a giveaway, don’t you think? Like a burglar wearing a striped sweater and carrying a bag marked “swag”.’

‘Look at this place he works. Don’t you think he might have some expertise with a knife – and access to a nice, sharp blade of his choice?’ She got irritated when he didn’t respond. ‘Too obvious for you, is it? I suppose you prefer to look for the inner meaning of things?’

‘Not necessarily. But I find keeping an open mind allows a bit of fresh air in.’

‘Don’t talk to me about an open mind. Your mind is so rustic it should be in a woolly coat with a sheepdog behind it.’

‘Thanks.’

Fry took a deep breath. ‘Let’s have a word with Teasdale’s employer before we speak to the man himself.’

She took a cautious peek round the wall into the building, and was relieved to see no dead animals, and no blood.

‘Teasdale?’ said the manager when they found him in his office. ‘Keith Teasdale? Yes, he’s on the books.’