That was the moment I changed. In that one, bright, devastating flash, I realized what I had to do. No matter how long I had to wait, I knew who the person was that I needed to kill.

Chapter Thirty-one

Saturday

A SERIES OF gritstone buildings stood at the end of a long drive, guarded by a locked gate. Fry could see nothing grand about any of the buildings, nothing to justify their secluded position. This was hardly Chatsworth House, or any other stately home.

‘Take a closer look,’ said Cooper, passing her the binoculars.

‘What is this place?’

‘The hunt kennels.’

‘The Eden Valley Hunt?’

‘Right,’ said Cooper. ‘This is where the hounds are kennelled.’

Many of the structures were single storey, their slate roofs darkened by rain. A couple of vans with muddy wheel arches stood in the yard. Fry could hear the distant sound of barking dogs.

‘The huntsman and kennel man live on the premises,’ said Cooper. ‘The building to the right is the flesh house.’

‘The what?’

‘Well, you know about the flesh run?’

‘Jesus, do I want to?’

‘Like a lot of hunts, the Eden Valley provides a service for farmers,’ said Cooper. ‘It collects fallen stock – dead and sick animals, or ones that just don’t happen to have any value. They pick the dead ones up from the farm, or put live animals down humanely, if necessary. It’s a real boon for farmers. Fallen stock would cost them the earth to dispose of, otherwise. The regulations make incineration expensive, and you can’t bury animals on your own property, the way a lot of farmers used to.’

‘But what do the hunt want with dead livestock?’ asked Fry. She turned her head to listen to the sound of high-pitched barking drifting from the kennels – a wild, haunting sound that must have struck terror into the heart of many a fox. ‘Oh God, I think I know already.’

‘You do?’

‘There are about forty damn big dogs in there.’

‘Hounds. Eden Valley Hunt have sixteen and a half couple – thirty-three hounds.’

‘And big dogs take a lot of feeding, don’t they?’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Cooper.

Fry felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t bear to look at the innocuous grey stone buildings any more, couldn’t stand to hear the barking any longer. The images in her mind were too vivid, and too bloody.

‘Can we get away from here, please?’

She knew what Cooper was doing – he was trying to make her see the hunt differently, to convey a picture of some kind of essential cog in rural life, regrettable but necessary. So far, it wasn’t working.

But Cooper hadn’t finished yet.

‘The kennel man does the flesh run, collects the fallen stock from farms all across the hunt’s area. He uses a captive bolt pistol to kill any animals that need putting down. Then he skins them, guts them, and feeds the carcasses to the hounds. A pack like the Eden Valley’s can get through a lot of raw meat in a day.’