‘Oops, did I let slip an opinion? It was unintentional, I assure you.’

‘But appreciated, all the same. We need anything we can get.’

‘Well, there’s one thing I’ve never seen before,’ said Mrs van Doon. ‘There seems to be an extraordinary amount of tooth decay for an individual of this age. Quite excessive. I propose to consult the forensic odontologist for a specialist opinion.’

‘If the victim had some unusual medical condition, that might help us tremendously.’

‘Yes …’ The pathologist hesitated, as if about to say something else. ‘Well, we’ll see. No point in speculating too much, is there? I know we’re as one on that point, Detective Sergeant.’

Cooper settled himself back at his desk in Edendale and opened the records book carefully. The bound ledger only went back to the 1980s, presumably to the time when the brothers had first taken over the farm from their father. Their names were inscribed inside the front cover, with the date the book had been started.

He was pleased to see that whoever was responsible for the neat, copperplate handwriting had taken the trouble to record the stocking rates and cropping rotas on the farm, as well as adding up the accounts. DEFRA would have been proud of them.

At the time the ledger was started, the main enterprise on the farm had been a flock of Swaledale ewes – four hundred head of them, either bred pure or crossed to a Bluefaced Leicester ram to give mule lambs for sale. It seemed that all the purebred Swale ewe lambs were retained as flock replacements, and sent into Lincolnshire for their first winter, while the males were sold as stores through Bakewell market. It was still standard practice on many sheep farms in the Peak District.

A few years later, a small herd of Belted Galloway cattle had been tried. Cooper nodded approval. That was a good idea of someone’s. Galloways were hardy cattle, and that was important because there was little space for in-wintering cattle at Pity Wood Farm, and the breed would have been capable of making use of the coarser grasses.

Flicking through the records, Cooper began to see the evidence of falling prices and rising costs as the years went by and Pity Wood entered the 1990s. The thriving enterprise that Raymond and Derek had inherited from their father was gradually, inexorably, getting into trouble. He tried to imagine the brothers discussing their financial problems by the fireside in the evenings, but he couldn’t manage it. An anxious silence filled his head, both brothers reluctant to talk about what was worrying them, perhaps even more reluctant to admit there was anything wrong. Optimism in the future, that was the keyword in those days.