‘Nice place. Do you live here alone?’

‘No. It’s my mum’s house really. My boyfriend Ade helps me with the horses. And there’s my little brother, Rick. But you knew that, didn’t you?’

‘No. That’s why I asked.’

‘It isn’t Rick you’re looking for, then?’

‘No – you, Miss Widdowson. We had your name from Dermot Walsh, of Trading Standards. You were interviewed some time ago as part of their investigation into fraudulent trading in horses.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Naomi, with a shrug.

‘You can’t have forgotten it.’

‘No. She was a mare that a woman had on loan from me. When the passport scheme came in, this person forged my consent on the application and got a passport for my horse, in her name. And then she sold the mare on. In foal, too. But it’s all over and done with. Someone got a rap on the knuckles. And then they were free to go off to rob some other poor sod.’

‘You weren’t satisfied with the outcome?’

Naomi laughed bitterly. ‘That doesn’t even deserve an answer. There are still a lot of con merchants out there,’ she said.

‘Speaking of which – did you ever come across Mr Patrick Rawson?’

‘No,’ said Naomi.

‘You never met him?’

‘No. But he’s one that people talk about a lot.’

‘People?’

‘Horse people. Whenever a few of us get together, at a meeting or an auction, or something. His is a name that comes up. There used to be a piece on a website, warning against him. But he got a lawyer to make us take it down. Threatened to sue for slander.’

‘Libel,’ said Fry.

‘What?’

‘That would be libel, not slander. A published form of defamation.’

‘Oh, thank you for the legal nit-picking. How is trying to protect other people from a con man a crime? That’s what I want to know.’

‘It depends how it’s done,’ said Fry.

Naomi sneered. ‘You lot are bloody useless. You and those Trading Standards people. You never did anything to Rawson. He got away scot free.’

Fry tried to stay calm. ‘We’re trying to help, you know.’

‘Oh, yeah? It’s not the first time we’ve had trouble, and I don’t suppose it will be the last. Sometimes, it makes you feel like giving up.’

‘You still have horses, though.’

Naomi’s face softened when she looked at the heads hanging over the loose-box doors.

‘Yes, three. We had a bit of luck, actually. We bought a nice piebald filly, about thirteen hands. Halter broken and completely adorable. The owners said they were having to sell Bonny because they’d lost their land to flooding. We paid twelve hundred pounds for her.’

Murfin whistled quietly. But Fry still wasn’t surprised. These horse people were so far out of her orbit that nothing they did was going to make sense. She might as well just accept it.

‘Where did you buy him?’ asked Fry.

Naomi looked at her contemptuously. ‘I just said she was a filly.’