‘Jo. She was Joanne Stubbs before she married. And that house they live in is hers – she inherited it from an aunt. She was only a lass when she first came to Rakedale, hardly into her twenties. I remember it well. Bit of a hippy, she was. All crystals and meditation. God knows where she picked that stuff up from. It certainly wasn’t from her aunt, or any of the other Stubbs family round here. They were all chapel-goers.’

‘So Jo actually is a village person. She said she wasn’t.’

‘Well, she’s right,’ said Palfreyman. ‘Joanne Stubbs has never fitted in, and never will. She knows that perfectly well.’

Fry was trying to play along with the ex-PC’s game. ‘There’s some kind of history here. What has Jo done to upset the village?’

‘Well, when she first came to Rakedale, some of the local people thought she was a bit strange. They didn’t really take to her tarot cards and joss sticks, all that rubbish. Not to mention the stuff she kept trying to force on to people if she thought they showed signs of being ill. Herbal remedies, she called them. Me, I reckon they were mostly based on cannabis, but I never took any action on that suspicion. I never knew anyone accept her remedies, or it might have been different. I suppose you think I was wrong in that?’

Neither Cooper nor Fry reacted. He looked slightly disappointed, but went back to his story.

‘And there were all those cats she had, as well. Too many cats to be natural. A woman living out there on her own? You can imagine what the gossips were saying about her.’

‘Only too well,’ said Cooper.

‘Anyway, one day she came home from doing her shopping in Bakewell, and her house had been broken into. It looked as though nothing had been stolen. But she thought the intruders must still be in the house, because she could hear noises somewhere. Not voices exactly. She described what she called surreptitious bumps and whisperings, scraping sounds and scratches. Sensibly, she called the police and got herself back outside the house to wait. When the FOAs went upstairs, they found three crows flapping about in her bedroom.’

Cooper shivered. He knew what that meant. It was the old warning against witches. Until now, he thought it had died out in the eighteenth century. Someone in Rakedale had a long, long memory to remember that custom. And an even deeper well of superstition to consider putting it into practice.

‘What did you do?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I take it you were one of those officers responding to the emergency call?’

‘Aye. And a young lad who turned up from Edendale to assist. He was a bit wet behind the ears, but he had a bit of sense. He knew enough to leave everything to me.’

‘Like a good young copper.’