Fry peered more closely. ‘What’s that animal? It has horns. Not more witchcraft?’

‘It was never witchcraft, Diane. Only superstition.’

‘What, then?’

‘This is the last remnant of the Suttons’ herd of pedigree Ayrshires, I believe. It must have been a very sad day when they took the sign down.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Not for the first time that week, Fry sensed she was in unknown territory. What significance could there be in an old sign? It was a bit of advertising, that was all. And it had served its purpose, so it had been thrown away. End of story, surely?

But she could tell from Cooper’s tone that there was some deeper meaning. She didn’t ask him to explain it, and of course he didn’t try. He’d given up hope on her, she supposed – and for a moment, she regretted that. There were times when she would have liked to be able to understand, to share the feelings suggested by the softness in his voice, by the way his fingers traced the rusty lettering, as if he was communicating with some other world that she just couldn’t see.

Fry knew she would forever be on the outside at these times, always the uncomprehending stranger who didn’t fit in. Her lack of understanding was deep and incurable, and it made her an unwelcome intruder into other people’s lives.

The truth was, she could walk away from Pity Wood Farm now, step across the muddy track and disappear into those dank woods. No one would come looking for her, the way Mikulas Halak had come looking for his sister. She wouldn’t be missed by the Ben Coopers of this world.

Fry drew her coat tighter round her shoulders and wiped the rain from her face. She didn’t belong here, and she never would. End of story.

About the Author

STEPHEN BOOTH was born in the Lancashire mill town of Burnley and has remained rooted to the Pennines during his career as a newspaper journalist. He is well known as a breeder of Toggenburg goats and includes among his other interests folkore, the Internet, and walking in the hills of the Peak District, in which his crime novels are set. He lives with his wife, Lesley, in a former Georgian dower house in Nottinghamshire.

Also by Stephen Booth

Fiction

Black Dog

Dancing With the Virgins

Blood on the Tongue

Blind to the Bones

One Last Breath

The Dead Place

Scared to Live

The Kill Call

Lost River

The Devil’s Edge

Dead and Buried

Already Dead

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