‘We’re not here to worry about the environment, Ben. Leave that to your friends with the red jackets.’

But Cooper was still frowning. ‘And if you were going to do that, why leave the plates on? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It isn’t our concern. We’ll pass it on to uniformed section.’

‘The funniest thing, though . . .’ said Cooper, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Have you noticed? The funniest thing about this van . . . is the smell.’

Fry sniffed, but shook her head. ‘Why, what is it? Petrol?’

‘No,’ said Cooper.

‘Well, what then?’

Cooper stared at the side door of the van, his head cocked on one side as though he was listening to the sounds of its suspension rusting, or its rubber seals slowly rotting in the damp air. He waited until he was absolutely sure of what his senses were telling him.

‘Chicken curry,’ he said.

11

Mark Roper had watched the police walk away from the farmhouse at Ringham Edge. They hadn’t got into the house, no more than anybody ever did. At first, he had thought the woman with Detective Constable Cooper might have been a social worker. Yvonne Leach had looked nervous when she opened the door, but it had soon become clear they had no knowledge or power that she might be afraid of. They hadn’t even glanced at the big shed behind the farmhouse, either.

For Mark, the choice was impossible. If he went to the police with his suspicions, it would be obvious where the information had come from. Obvious to Warren Leach, at least. It would be bad for farmers to get the idea that Rangers were spying on them, reporting them to the police, to social workers, or to the RSPCA over things that were none of the Rangers’ business. That would do nothing for relationships with landowners, which Owen said were so important to the Peak District National Park. There was no point in antagonizing Leach any further, so Owen said.

The source of the information would be obvious to Owen, too. And that would be even worse.

Mark moved slightly as Yvonne Leach crossed the yard. He knew his outline was camouflaged by the trees behind him on the hillside, and his red jacket was below the level of the stone wall. Mrs Leach wouldn’t see him, anyway. The woman was too absorbed in her own troubles to see what went on around her. Leach himself had gone out an hour before. There had been police parked up the hill under the beeches, but they had ignored the farmer. They had nothing on Warren Leach, then. Not yet. Mark would have to wait a bit longer.

He wondered what Owen would do in the same situation. Probably he would recommend patience. But how long could you be expected to wait? How long could Mark be patient?