The fields had still been cut for silage in the last few years, though there were no ruminants left at Pity Wood to eat it. No cattle or sheep to get through the winter. The Suttons must have intended to sell it to their neighbours – and, indeed, there were some records of earlier sales. But Cooper had seen this year’s cut of silage himself, still sitting in its bags in the yard.

When Fry returned to the office, Cooper was surrounded by papers that spread across two desks. He was holding a glossy four-page brochure, unable to control the expression of amazement on his face.

‘What have you got there, Ben?’

‘The estate agent’s details for the sale of Pity Wood Farm. The photographs make it look quite attractive. Somebody managed to find a sunny day. And they used a camera with a wide-angle lens. But not so wide that it showed the mud.’

‘“A rare opportunity to purchase a farm holding with superb potential in a most sought-after area,”’ read Cooper. ‘“Traditional farmhouse and adjoining barns with further buildings and grassland extending to ninety-five acres. Pity Wood Farm comprises a delightfully situated south-facing property in an unrivalled position. A range of stone outbuildings provide scope to extend to convert into holiday lets, subject to obtaining planning consent. The farmhouse requires some refurbishment, modernization and general upgrading …”’

‘You can say that again.’

‘“… but once complete will create a truly enviable residence in an idyllic rural location.”’

‘Funny how people use that word “idyllic” to mean “primitive”.’

Cooper didn’t reply. He was concentrating on trying to make all the buildings listed by the estate agent fit the map on the old conveyance and his memory of Pity Wood Farm. To the front of the property is a walled garden area and patio. That must be the overgrown patch where the old caravan was parked.

He made a quick note. Had Scenes of Crime got round to the caravan yet? Who had been living in there? He bet it had been overlooked, amid all the other excitement and conflicting priorities.

Three-bay general-purpose building of block construction, two corrugated-tin-sheet sheds, timber-framed slatted house with feed barriers and a slurry store, monopitch block-built shed, timber-framed cowshed, implement sheds, useful six-bay general-purpose building … The list seemed endless, yet some of those buildings must be in ruins. Well, the estate agent did mention renovation.

‘“A mains water supply is available,”’ said Cooper out loud.

‘A mains water supply,’ said Fry. ‘That’s a selling point, is it?’

‘In this area, yes.’

‘So what have you got from the farm records, Ben? What exactly were they doing at Pity Wood Farm to earn money – I mean, enough to make it profitable? And was Raymond relying on the sale of the farm to meet the cost of his residential care for the rest of his life?’