Cooper finally caught up. He put his knee in the flat of Leach’s back and grabbed for one of his wrists with the intention of getting the kwik-cuffs on. But he hesitated. All the fight had gone out of the farmer suddenly. His body was slack and unresisting.

‘Going to be sensible, Mr Leach?’

The farmer grunted. The grunt didn’t seem to communicate much, but Cooper let go of his wrist and didn’t bother with the cuffs.

‘What are you doing, Ben?’ asked Fry.

‘It’s all right.’

Cooper checked Leach’s breathing, his pulse and his heart. The farmer still didn’t resist. In fact, with small movements of his arms and legs, he seemed to be trying to dig himself deeper into the mud. An indistinguishable mumble came from his mouth. Cooper turned the man’s head and looked at his face. Suddenly, he got up and dusted off his trousers. Leach still didn’t move, except to turn his face back into the muck as Fry came across to stand over him, limping slightly.

‘Is he all right?’

‘Let’s go,’ said Cooper.

‘Hold on. He might need medical attention. Let me take a look.’

‘No. Leave him.’

‘Ben?’

‘Let’s leave it. No harm done.’

Fry shrugged. ‘He didn’t touch me, anyway.’

‘I know he didn’t. No point in making a charge, is there?’

‘He’s not worth the paperwork. You sure he’s all right?

‘He’s all right, Diane. Trust me.’

‘OK. Let’s go.’ She hobbled back towards the car.

‘As right as he’ll ever be,’ said Cooper, quietly.

As they drove away, Cooper glanced in his rear-view mirror. Warren Leach had got up from the ground. He sat slumped against the tailgate of his trailer with his head in his hands. He had only the ginger cat for company now. And even the cat was looking at him with something like pity.

After a phone call to his client by the solicitor, Cooper and Fry were given an address near Bakewell. They found it was a small B & B, its rooms empty now for the winter. Yvonne Leach had a first-floor room, overlooking a similar row of Victorian semi-detached houses with dark brick porches and dormer windows.

‘I got too frightened of him,’ she said. ‘I stood it as long as I could, really I did.’

‘Are you saying you suffered physical abuse, Mrs Leach?’ asked Fry. Cooper could see her trying to relax the woman, who was plainly intimidated by having the two detectives standing in the room. Mrs Leach looked round at the cheap dresser and the washbasin in the corner and shrugged, as if accepting things were out of her control now.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He never hit me, I mean. I’m not making a complaint about that.’