And then, in 1999, he saw the first attempts at diversification. That was already too late. The writing had been on the wall for a decade by then. After the arrival of Tom Farnham, there had been other failed enterprises – a farm shop, a campsite, holiday lets, rare breeds of sheep.

There was diversification, and there was diversification. If you had half a million pounds to spare, you could buy into the buffalo meat business with your own hundred-strong breeding herd, including butchery and storage equipment and stalls at farmers’ markets. Cooper had seen it advertised quite recently. A water buffalo enterprise over at Chatsworth, and thriving by all accounts.

But sheep? There were already half a million sheep in the national park alone. They were a feature of the landscape, those white, woolly blobs scattered across the hillsides like snow. They were a driving hazard on the unfenced roads, especially on the high passes of the Dark Peak at night, when they were drawn to the tarmac for warmth and their eyes gleamed suddenly in a driver’s headlights as he rounded a bend.

Yes, many people would say there were already too many sheep in the Peak District.

When Fry returned from the mortuary, Cooper was unfolding a map attached to some legal documents.

‘You know, Tom Farnham said they used to park farm trailers on that bit of ground where the first grave was found.’

‘Yes?’ said Fry.

‘Well, I’ve been going through the deeds, and there was a copy of a map drawn up for the conveyance between the Suttons and the previous owners. It clearly shows a building on that part of the property.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, and it’s a pretty big building. It looks as though it ran from the corner of the paddock almost to the first gate, right along that wall.’

‘Does it specify what the building was?’

‘No, it just says “outbuildings”.’

Fry looked at the map. ‘It might just have been re-drawn from an old document. They don’t bother to come out and re-map a property every time it’s sold, do they? So this map probably shows the way the farm looked at the time of an earlier purchase.’

‘Possibly,’ said Cooper.

‘Farms change appearance all the time, don’t they? Farmers knock old buildings down and put up new ones, willy-nilly. They’re not subject to the same planning regulations as the rest of us.’

‘That’s true. But a building this size … well, it wasn’t just some old pigsty they didn’t need any more.’ Cooper shook his head. ‘It’s a shame there aren’t any photos of Pity Wood from that time.’

‘We should be so lucky.’

He put the map back into the document wallet where he’d found it.