‘A regular occurrence? What sort of language do they teach you these days?’ Palfreyman gave a small sigh. ‘I used to go to the Dog regularly for a pint or two in those days. I still do, though not so often. I can’t really afford it. But Raymond and Derek were regulars there, too. It’s the only pub you can get to without driving a few miles.’

‘So you met them in the pub often?’

‘Obviously.’

‘And they bought you drinks? Or did you buy them drinks?’

Palfreyman began to get annoyed. ‘Look, there’s something you probably don’t understand, Inspector. I can see you haven’t been in the job all that long yourself. In those days, the local bobby wasn’t just some bloke in a car who might, or might not, turn up when your house got burgled. He was part of the community. It was his job to know everyone, to be aware of what was going on around his patch.’

‘Yes, sir. I know that.’

‘Well, that was me – I was part of the community here, and folk liked to see me in the pub, or in the post office, when we had one. I was never exactly off duty, you see. They could talk to me about anything that was bothering them, whenever they saw me around the village. They could even come to my house, and I would try to help them. And, yes, if they felt the urge to buy me a drink occasionally, that was fine, too. That’s because they knew I was on their side, and they trusted me. They liked me. I don’t suppose you get that much, do you?’

He glanced at Cooper, as if seeking support. But, looking at the retired officer, Cooper couldn’t see what it was that people had liked so much.

Hitchens let a small silence follow the outburst, perhaps hoping to embarrass Palfreyman with the lack of response.

‘Mr Palfreyman, were you aware of any illegal activities taking place at Pity Wood Farm?’

‘Illegal activities? Blimey, there are so many laws now, there must be something to cover the way the Suttons lived. Let’s see. Breach of Health and Safety regulations? An EU directive on the standards of domestic hygiene? Control of Stinking Mud Act?’

‘I was thinking specifically of the manufacture of Class A drugs,’ said Hitchens.

Palfreyman was halted in mid-flow. ‘Drugs? At Pity Wood? Not on my watch.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s ridiculous. I never saw any drugs on my patch, either supply or using. Oh, there might be one or two stuck-up folk who smoke a bit of cannabis in their own home, but nothing that troubles anyone else. Who are you suggesting was involved in manufacturing drugs?’

‘Possibly Tom Farnham.’

Palfreyman shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got that wrong.’

‘We suspect his involvement in the production of methamphetamine at Pity Wood Farm.’