‘Wild pigs. They still hunt them in parts of the world. Bulgaria, for example.’

‘So?’

‘There’s another thing. When Henry Lowther had that business trip to Bulgaria, it wasn’t all vodka and red wine. His business contacts took him wild boar hunting.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You asked him where he went and he mentioned the name of a place. Dounav. That was a mistake on his part, but I suppose he couldn’t think of anywhere else in Bulgaria on the spur of the moment. There are some lies that you need to plan.’

‘What’s wrong with Dounav?’

‘I looked it up,’ said Cooper. ‘Dounav is a state game preserve in northern Bulgaria. One of its hunting ranges is called the Bulgarian jungle because of its deep forests. Hunters go there to shoot deer, foxes and even the occasional wolf. But mostly wild boar.’

With the back of her hand, Fry wiped a bit of rain from her face and began to walk towards her car again. ‘OK. So . . . ?’

‘Well, how do you go about hunting boar?’ said Cooper. ‘Those are big animals. I doubt if you’d use a bow and arrow.’

Fry stopped in her tracks. ‘You’d use a hunting rifle, right?’

‘I think so, don’t you?’

Her expression had changed. The rain was getting heavier, but she let a trickle run into her eyes and hardly noticed.

‘OK, I’m with you, Ben. Let’s see if we can check out Henry Lowther’s financial status. He seems to have parted with money pretty readily when they were getting Zlatka Shishkov out of Bulgaria. But does he really have such deep pockets? I’m no expert on property prices, but I’d guess that bungalow at Darley Dale is probably worth less than Bain House.’

‘If Rose Shepherd was making an attempt to blackmail Mr Lowther, she might have seriously misjudged his ability to pay.’

‘Yes. But we’ve got to be discreet – I don’t want him to know we’re checking him out.’

‘Right, Diane. And what then?’

‘I’ll talk to the DI. When we’ve got everything together, we’ll go and see the Lowthers again.’

‘They’ve lost both their children in the past week,’ said Cooper.

‘I know. No one said this was going to be easy.’

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Rain spattered on the glass roof of the Lowthers’ conservatory and ran down the windows in long, slow streaks. The stone angel had turned a darker shade of grey, puddles were forming on the backs of the flattened tortoises. Inside, the atmosphere was humid, condensation forming on the leaves of the tree ferns. It almost made up for the icy stares from Henry and Moira Lowther, sitting together on their settee.