Diane Fry had a copy of the latest Eden Valley Times. The attack on Karen Tavisker had come too late for the newspaper’s deadline, though it was already appearing on the local radio news bulletins. The Times did have three pages covering a public meeting and protests outside the hall, with all the old material about Jenny Weston and Maggie Crew rehashed into one big mess that somebody had to take the blame for. The guilty faces of Jepson and Tailby stared out from a crowd waving banners that said ‘We demand action’.

There was a highly speculative piece headed ‘The Sabbath Slayer?’ It attempted to make a link between the legend of the Nine Virgins, who had been turned to stone for dancing on the Sabbath, and the fact that the attacks on Crew and Weston had both taken place on Sundays, when the women had been out walking or cycling on the moor. The conclusion was that a religious maniac could be punishing women for enjoying themselves on the Lord’s Day. As a theory, it held plenty of tabloid drama, but little substance. Yet it had already been murmured by officers on the enquiry team, in their more desperate moments.

There was also an interesting secondary story on the third page. A reporter and photographer had found two young men living in an old VW van in an abandoned quarry at Ringham Moor, and they had scented a different angle.

‘Have you seen this photograph? Calvin Lawrence looks a mass murderer if ever I saw one,’ said Fry.

‘But they’ve made Stride look like a half-wit.’

‘That youth needs psychiatric help. Have you seen their background reports? He dropped out of university during one of his recurring periods of acute depression.’

‘That doesn’t make him a half-wit,’ said Cooper.

‘Simon Bevington tried to kill himself twice. It might mean that he shouldn’t be out and about unsupervised. The bloke’s a nutter.’

‘He isn’t a danger to anybody but himself. Besides, I think he is supervised. Cal takes care of him. I reckon Stride’s better looked after where he is than he would be in any hostel. That’s real care in the community. He’s found someone who actually cares about him, no strings attached.’

‘Oh, lucky him.’

‘He isn’t dangerous,’ insisted Cooper. ‘He just sees the world in a different way from most people. Different, that’s what he is.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Different like the Yorkshire Ripper was different. He’s a nutter, Ben.’

‘He’s strange, that’s all. My mother would say he was a bit fey.’

Fry snorted. ‘You’re a bloody strange copper, Ben. Do you really think there are people in this world who are complete angels?’

‘Well . . .’ said Cooper. ‘I suppose he is a bit like that. In a way.’

‘What?’

‘Innocent, you know. Detached from the real world. Ethereal.’