‘Up at the workshop.’ Will pointed to the back of the house. The two boys looked relieved when they walked away and followed the roadway to a yard, where a metallic clanging came from a shed. Owen stuck his head through the doorway.

‘Warren? Good evening.’

Warren Leach looked up from a bench lit by a dim work-lamp. He was a man with almost no neck. His torso, thick and solid, without a single curve, erupted into bulging shoulders with trapezius muscles that almost reached the line of his jaw. He was wearing blue overalls, with a wide leather belt strapped round his waist.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said gruffly. ‘It never rains but it pours round here, does it? What do you want?’

‘Well, it might have been a friendly social call,’ said Owen.

Leach snorted. ‘Oh aye. Did you come past the shippon?’

‘We did.’

‘I suppose you saw those lads of mine. Are they still messing with that bloody animal?’

‘They look as though they’re doing a grand job with her, Warren. She’s in fine condition.’

‘Oh aye. Fine. And so she should be. The animal gets spoiled rotten. She’s fed better than any of us.’

The farmer was fiddling with a steel coupling pin from a trailer’s towing bracket. The pin trailed a short length of chain, which he swung irritably between his fingers.

‘What’s up now then, Ranger?’

‘Warren, the police need to get access for their vehicles up through here for a while.’

‘Oh?’

‘On account of the woman killed up there. You know about that.’

Leach shrugged. ‘It’s no business of mine.’

‘It’s your land, Warren,’ said Fox patiently.

‘Is it part of the access agreement then? Some tourist gets herself done in and I have to put up with this lot roaring backwards and forwards over my land like maniacs?’ Leach jabbed a finger in Cooper’s direction, effortlessly identifying him as what he was. ‘Well, it must have been in the small print, Ranger, because I missed it.’

‘Can you leave that top gate open for the police vehicles to get on to the moor, please?’

‘Leave it open? Why? They can open and close a gate like anyone else, can’t they? Or have coppers lost the use of their hands as well as their feet these days?’

‘It doesn’t do to make the police think you’re being obstructive,’ said Owen.

‘They can think what the hell they like.’

Cooper stayed silent, ignoring the aggressive glare. He was well used to it from the yobbos of Edendale. The only surprise was to see it in a middle-aged Dales farmer. But it was best to let Owen Fox deal with it – it was a chance for him to use his Ranger diplomacy.

‘I suppose I might just have a word with Yvonne then, before I go,’ said Owen.

‘What for? She’s got nothing to say to you.’

‘Just being polite.’