‘And this was one of his schemes?’

McGowan licked his lips nervously. Despite his appearance, he wasn’t such a tough nut. He seemed glad to be able to get the story off his chest.

‘Richard said he’d found someone who’d pay a lot of money for a body, as long as it was in good condition.’

‘Who was this person?’

‘I don’t know. We were never told his name.’

‘And why did he want a body? For what purpose?’

McGowan smiled and shook his head, almost apologetically. ‘I don’t know, and I didn’t ask.’

‘You just took your share of the money, I suppose?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Mr McGowan, let’s get this straight. You’re telling us you did what you were told. And you never had any idea who was paying Richard Slack for this service? No clues at all?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that doesn’t really hold water, does it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Let’s face it – you must have delivered the body somewhere. I don’t suppose you just left it by the side of the road for collection, did you?’

‘No …’

‘So, Mr McGowan – where did you deliver Audrey Steele’s body?’

Following the motorcycle tracks, Cooper finally came across a building on the edge of a plantation. It was an old building, probably some kind of livestock shed originally. Deep blocks of limestone formed the walls, and the door was of solid oak. Rust was leaking from the nail holes in the timber. But Cooper could see straight away that there was something wrong about this place.

Despite the blue paint peeling from its panels, the door was too solid for an abandoned building. It ought to be sagging from its hinges, the panels rotten or missing. There ought to be the remains of a broken lock where the door had once fitted securely to the stone lintel. But as Cooper got closer, he could see that the padlock and its hasp were not only intact, but clean and well-maintained. He crouched in front of the door, and sniffed the faint aroma of lubricating oil. Someone had been here within the last few weeks.

He turned his attention back to the door. The lock that secured it was a strong, old-fashioned padlock. Somewhere there would be a large iron key on a key-ring, safe in a drawer or sitting in someone’s pocket. But whose pocket? The Saxton Trust owned this land – but what did they know about this disused building standing among the decaying beeches of an unmanaged woodland? Who cared about the overgrown remnants of Fox House Farm?

Cooper walked around the building, careful to place his feet on the dry vegetation rather than on bare ground. He found himself surprised by the size of the place. The side wall extended well back into the trees. Yet nothing had been allowed to root in the mortar between the stones, and no saplings grew in the corners and crevices, as they always did when left unchecked. Birds dropped seeds that would germinate in the least bit of dirt. But not here. Apart from a few clumps of grass in the broken guttering, the building seemed to have resisted the encroachment of nature.