‘So it might not be significant?’

‘No.’

‘But you think the body went to Professor Robertson, I suppose?’ said Hitchens.

‘I’m sure of it. Who else could it be?’

The DI squeaked his chair anxiously, seemed about to answer, then changed his mind.

‘What’s your strategy, Diane?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to leave McGowan to stew for a bit, then I’m going to let him see that I know he’s lying.’

‘About what?’

‘The body they put in the coffin in place of Audrey Steele’s. We know it wasn’t human.’

‘Not human?’

Fry realized she hadn’t told Hitchens about the anthropologist’s findings, so she brought him up to date.

‘Unbelievable,’ he said.

‘It seems all too believable in the present enquiry. It’s almost as if these experts create problems for us, instead of helping us solve them.’

‘No indication what kind of animal?’

‘Not yet. They need the opinion of another expert for that, apparently. A different discipline. And more delay while they find someone who’s available and the evidence is shuttled around the country.’

‘A pity.’ Hitchens squeaked again, and Fry decided she’d bring in a can of Three-in-One for him tomorrow, if she could remember.

Then the DI sifted among the papers on his desk for a report.

‘What’s this?’ said Fry.

‘The second set of remains from the hillside near Ravensdale. All that fuss about lifting the skeleton and getting it to the lab intact, and it turned out it wasn’t intact in the first place.’

Fry held the report in her hand, reluctant even to look at it. ‘What do they say?’

‘The remains are mostly non-human. Apart from a few small bones, the majority are porcine in origin.’

‘What?’

‘It was part of a pig, Diane.’

She put the report back on the desk, placing it carefully among the other papers, as if she wanted to hide it, or pretend that she’d never heard of its existence.

‘What about Geoff Birley?’ she said.

‘We’re going to let him wait a bit longer, too.’ Hitchens hesitated. ‘Diane, we can’t place Birley anywhere near the locations where those phone calls were made. He can produce witnesses to his whereabouts on all three occasions.’

Fry sighed. ‘It doesn’t really surprise me. He never struck me as the type.’

‘Don’t forget to let DC Cooper know about any progress with McGowan, will you?’ said Hitchens.

‘Of course.’

‘Where is Cooper, by the way?’

‘He’s off duty.’

But Fry realized that it wasn’t actually an answer. On or off duty, Ben Cooper could still be working the case.

‘Fox House Farm,’ said Cooper when he got through to Fry on his mobile. ‘Remember it?’

‘In the plantation across the valley. What was it called?’

‘Corunna Wood. The Beatrix Potter book was a clue.’

‘What?’

‘The Tale of Mr Tod. “Tod” might mean death in German, but look at the cover of the book, Diane. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.’

‘Forgotten what?’

‘“Tod” is also the country word for a fox. That’s what Beatrix Potter’s Mr Tod is – a fox. And this is where he lives, at Fox House. Or rather, this is where he dies.’