Maggie smiled and shook her head. ‘Diane, there are things I remember.’

‘That’s good, Maggie,’ said Fry automatically.

‘I remember him running. He was on me so suddenly, before I knew what was happening. I remember him breathing heavily, like a runner, or . . .’ Maggie hesitated. ‘I think he was frightened.’

‘Frightened, Maggie?’

‘Yes. I don’t believe he meant to attack me. I was in the wrong place.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Diane – I think I was just in the way.’

There was a faint scuffling, and a sheep peered at them from around a rock. Its black face and staring eyes looked ludicrous. Fry noticed there were hundreds of small black pellets scattered on the bare ground around the Cat Stones, drying in the wind. The sheep gazed at them for a few seconds, seemed to register that they were living creatures, and scuttled away down the slope.

‘Maggie, you told me the other day there were leaves. You remembered kicking the leaves, just before you were attacked.’

‘Yes.’

Fry gestured at the rock face, the tumbled boulders, the bare earth. ‘There are no leaves here. There are no trees.’

‘But I remember it.’

‘All right,’ said Fry. ‘So perhaps you’re mistaken about where it happened.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Some of these boulders look very much alike to me. What about a bit further up?’ Fry pointed towards the tower. Maggie didn’t move. ‘Maggie?’

‘All right.’

They walked a few yards to the north. As they rounded the central boulder of the Cat Stones, a view of the valley came into sight. Traffic could be seen moving on the A6 at Darley Dale, with the houses of Two Dales climbing the hill behind to the forest plantations on Matlock Moor and Black Hill. Nearer to the tower, the beeches began to cluster together, mixed with the occasional oak. Now there were plenty of leaves underfoot.

‘What about here?’ said Fry. ‘Surely this is more likely?’

‘It could have been, I suppose.’

‘But it’s important, you see. If we’ve got the scene of the attack wrong, then we ought to have the SOCOs up here again, to see if there’s anything that might still be left. Though it’s so long now . . .’

‘Yes, it’s so long,’ said Maggie. ‘Too long. It can’t matter that much.’

‘You never know,’ said Fry. She began to cast her eyes about the area, worried now about where she and Maggie were treading. They could be contaminating the scene. There could be a vital piece of forensic evidence waiting to be found, the one piece of evidence that would link the attack definitely with a suspect. Just one bit of evidence. If only it hadn’t blown away, or been trampled into the ground. Or eaten by a sheep.