In fact, the Sutton brothers must have spent years tormenting and annoying each other. There had been no need for words. The brothers had understood each other fully, and they had probably abandoned any hope of ever winning an argument. But, even in their silence, they would have enraged each other. A soundless, continuous friction.

‘It was their way of trying to get a response from each other,’ said Cooper. ‘These were two old men who didn’t know how to communicate in any other way. They must have loved one another very much, underneath all that.’

‘Families, eh?’

‘Yes, families. What a good thing they didn’t have children in that household.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Fry. ‘Loving and hating someone at the same time is a good lesson for future life.’

Fry had touched a nerve there, whether she was aware of it or not. Loving and hating someone at the same time. Cooper saw that in himself, whenever he dared to peek into the darker corners of his mind. There was no denying or suppressing that stuff, not completely. It might be possible to control the conscious actions, like a really good liar. But there was nothing you could do to change what was in your heart and in your mind. There were some memories and instincts that clung too close to the soul to be shrugged off and walked away from.

‘You know, there’s just one thing missing still,’ said Cooper as they crested the hill before the descent into Edendale.

‘Oh?’

‘Just one little thing, Diane. But we still can’t get a confirmed ID on one of our victims from Pity Wood Farm without it.’

‘What’s that, Ben?’

‘Orla Doyle’s head.’

The Dog Inn was in festive mood, decorated with streamers and balloons. The lights on the tree were twinkling, an illuminated Santa flickered behind the counter. There just weren’t any customers to help Mrs Dain celebrate.

‘This is suspiciously like an intuition, Diane,’ said Cooper, as they stood in the middle of the bar.

‘Just bear with me for a while.’

‘I don’t know where to start looking.’

Fry smiled. ‘That’s because you’re not from the Black Country, Ben.’

‘What?’

‘And you missed the signs of superstition – the horseshoe on the door, the number thirteen absent from the jukebox. I bet that’s old Mrs Dain.’

‘What has Mrs Dain got to do with it?’

‘I think she shared some beliefs with Derek Sutton,’ said Fry. ‘Maybe they shared more than that when they were younger.’

‘Well, the old lady did say she had a soft spot for him – and Raymond, too.’

‘It’s Derek I’m interested in at the moment. You see, I’m betting he had a gift for Mrs Dain. The Dog Inn needs a bit of help staying in business, by the look of it. And you don’t need two of the things, do you?’