And finally, Warren Leach faced the possibility that he might not be around to see his sons reach Mark Roper’s age.

30

When Ben Cooper and Diane Fry drove into the yard at Ringham Edge Farm early next morning, they had to swerve to avoid the front bumper of a milk tanker. When they got out, they could hear Warren Leach yelling at the driver.

‘What good is that to me?’ he was shouting. ‘How am I supposed to survive?’

‘It’s not my fault, mate. Your cell count is way up. You know the way it works as well as I do.’

‘They’re robbing me blind. I need that milk cheque to live on.’

Cooper saw Leach and the driver facing each other. They had their hands on their hips, and both looked angry and stubborn. Leach had been loading a stack of heavy fencing posts into a trailer attached to the back of his tractor.

‘I can’t help you,’ said the driver. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Do you want me to take this milk or not?’

‘What’s the bloody point?’

The driver finally lost patience. ‘Suit yourself then. I can’t hang around any longer.’

He got back in his cab and the diesel engine rumbled. Leach grabbed a fencing post and hurled it like a javelin. It bounced off the back of the tanker, leaving a small dent in the paintwork above the rear number plate.

‘I wouldn’t do that, Mr Leach,’ said Cooper.

‘Piss off,’ said Leach.

‘Some trouble with your cell count, is it? That can be tricky to sort out. Not mastitis, I hope.’

‘They reckon I’m not cleaning the equipment properly. Not changing the filters. So they’ve docked my milk cheque. Now they’re threatening not to take my milk at all. Bastards.’

‘That would be pretty serious, I suppose.’

‘Serious?’ Leach went goggle-eyed with amazement at the understatement. ‘My cows give better milk than any in Derbyshire. What the hell did you want, anyway?’

‘We’re hoping to speak to Mrs Leach.’

‘You can hope, then.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s gone, that’s where.’

‘Left?’

‘Aye. So why don’t the rest of you bugger off and leave me alone as well? I’ve had enough.’

‘Can you tell me where she is, Mr Leach?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘We’d like to speak to her.’

‘Well, you can do what I have to do – speak to her solicitor. That’s what the letter says that I got. If I want to communicate with her in the future, I have to do it through her solicitor. And I’m her husband! I didn’t even know she had a bloody solicitor.’

‘Perhaps you could give us the name of your wife’s solicitor then.’

‘Bloody hell. Will you go away and leave me alone, if I do?’

‘For the time being, sir.’