‘Poor kid,’ I said to Chico. ‘Talk about being trussed up and ready for the oven. He doesn’t know what to do.’

‘Do you?’

‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’

‘So, are we goin’ home now?’ Chico asked.

‘In a while,’ I replied. ‘First, I’m going to let Rosie out for a run.’

What simple joys she has, I thought, as I watched her, nose to the ground, chasing scents of rabbits back and forth through the long grass close to Pinker’s Pond, with no worries about evil men trying to make an illicit buck, or even of loved ones leaving home, bored with life as it was.

Dogs would never leave their owners, or their family, just as long as they were fed and watered.

I wondered why people couldn’t be more like dogs. Dogs just loved being at home, always welcoming you back at the door with wagging tails and a happy demeanour, and they were never judgemental simply because you’d been away longer than you said you’d be, or had rolled home rather the worse for drink.

A loving pat on the head and a tasty treat would solve all their problems in an instant. And no accusations would ever be stored up in their memories, ready to be recalled and reissued with fervour at a later date.

‘Come on, Rosie,’ I shouted, curtailing her fun. ‘Time to go.’

She came bounding across to me and nuzzled up to my leg for a moment before jumping into the Skoda and curling up into a ball on the back seat, ready for a snooze.

Yes, indeed, I thought, why couldn’t people be more like dogs?

‘So where to now?’ Chico asked as I climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘East Witton.’

CHAPTER

30

‘QUAINT,’ CHICO SAID as I drove into East Witton, two miles south-east of Middleham.

The western end of the village had all the hallmarks of once being estate-owned, with two neat lines of identical grey stone cottages, built down either side of a long, wide village green. Several of the cottages, those on the north side of the green, had white-painted picket fences enclosing small front gardens of smart lawns and neat flowerbeds full of early-budding roses.

As Chico had said, it was quaint.

‘So, what are we lookin’ for?’ he asked.

‘This is where Valance spent a couple of hours after his visit to Marcus Capes in Middleham last night. I was wondering why.’

‘Perhaps he was havin’ supper in the pub,’ Chico said as we drove past the Blue Lion Inn.

‘If so, the dot on the map would have been in the pub, or perhaps in the pub car park, that’s if he’d left his overcoat in his car. But it wasn’t. It had clearly been down here near the old chapel.’