‘Yes. Well, like I said, it wasn’t my fault they failed. Times were difficult. We had a lot of bad luck.’

‘We’ll need to know who sub-contracted your labour. Who was the gang master?’

‘Look, do I have to?’ said Farnham. ‘I want to help, really I do. But dumping on someone else is not good.’

‘Well, we could arrest you, Mr Farnham, and take you into custody in Edendale. And then we could search your house, as well as taking your fingerprints and your DNA. And we’ll see what that ties you to.’

Farnham groaned. ‘His name was Rourke.’

‘Rourke?’

‘Martin Rourke, yes. He was the man, you know – the fixer.’

‘Is he local?’

‘No, not him. I think he lived in Chesterfield at that time, but he was Irish. I haven’t seen him around for a year or so. I can give you the phone number we used for him, if it’s any help.’

‘Yes, please. And what about the women, sir?’

‘Women?’ said Farnham. ‘Which women do you mean?’

‘Which women? Were there a lot of them?’

Farnham began to look shifty again. For a few minutes, he’d been telling the truth, but now his eyes were roving around the workshop, his hand went to cover his mouth, as if to keep the words from escaping.

‘Well, there isn’t much entertainment out here, you know. Just the pub in Rakedale, which doesn’t satisfy all of a man’s needs, if you know what I mean. And a lot of the blokes didn’t want to go to the pub anyway. If they were dossing on the farm for a week or two, they needed something to keep them happy.’

‘So women came to the farm?’

‘Now and then.’

‘Now and then? What does that mean? Once a week, once a month? A special treat on someone’s birthday? What?’

‘Most weekends, I suppose. But only in those seasons, you know – when there were gangs on the farm to get the harvest in, or to get an order out. You want to talk to Rourke – he was the one who organized it all. He always seemed to have the right sort of contacts.’

‘Are you sure you don’t know where Mr Rourke is now?’

‘Nah. He could be anywhere. He might be working in agriculture, or the building trade. Rourke was the sort who could turn his hand to anything, I reckon. Always good at talking himself up, you know? He might have gone back to Ireland, of course. They say there’s a lot of jobs over there now. No need for the paddies to come to England for work any more.’

‘The Celtic Tiger.’

Farnham rallied enough to make a joke. ‘Yes, I suppose you might call him that.’

Fry never responded to interviewees who tried to be funny or make light of the subject. She regarded Farnham sourly until he stopped smiling.