When they finally let Mark Roper leave, he knew exactly where he had to go. Though Owen had said the local farmers were important, and that Rangers had a good relationship with them, Ringham Edge was one farm where Mark could see it wasn’t true. Warren Leach reminded him of the man his mother lived with, his so-called stepfather – a man who needed everyone to be submissive to his will to be at ease with himself.

Leach regarded the Ranger with unconcealed hostility when Mark found him in the tractor shed.

‘Well, if it isn’t Ranger Junior. What do you want?’

Mark tried to recall Owen’s advice about dealing with aggressive reactions. Sometimes you had to turn the other cheek, he said, to ignore rudeness and provocation. He had called it diplomacy.

‘I want to talk to you about Owen Fox, Mr Leach.’

‘Him? I heard he got a bit of a shock. Found out what he’s been up to, have they?’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘I know I’m not likely to shed any tears over him,’ said Leach. ‘I’ve got my sons to think of.’

Mark frowned. It wasn’t the response he had expected. ‘What about your sons?’

‘What about them?’ Leach looked suddenly even less friendly. ‘I hope you’re not interested in my lads, Ranger Junior. What’s your mate been teaching you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Some folk took it out on those two youths in the quarry. But personally, I would have trusted those youths a damn sight more with my boys than I’d ever trust that friend of yours.’

Now Mark was confused. The conversation seemed to have drifted away from him to some other subject. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Who do you think?’ Leach laughed, without any humour. ‘I’m talking about the Lone Ranger. God in a red jacket. Your mate, Owen Fox. Do you know the kids round here call him Father Christmas? When he goes in the schools, they think Santa has arrived. I bet he likes to get the little boys on his knee and give them a nice present, all right.’

For a moment, Mark didn’t understand what the farmer was saying.

‘What’s up?’ said Leach. ‘Bounced you on his lap a time or two as well, has he? I’d have thought you were too old for him. I reckon he likes them a bit younger, the dirty bastard.’

Mark felt the anger rushing up through his body before he even understood the reason for it. It was a physical response, visceral and frightening, a great flood of rage burning through his veins and overwhelming his judgement. Before he knew what was happening, he had hurled himself at the farmer, lashing out wildly with his fists.