‘It’s frustrating not knowing what’s going on,’ he said.

‘Me, I never know what’s going on,’ said Murfin. ‘It’s the best way to be.’

They were already in the centre of the small town, waiting for traffic to clear on the roundabout in front of the Rutland Arms, when they got the first indication of what was happening at Long Acres Farm.

‘We’ve got Naomi Widdowson in custody,’ Fry told Cooper when she called.

‘Great. What about –’

‘Her brother Rick? No, he got away.’

She sounded so disgusted that Cooper didn’t ask her how it had happened. If it was her own fault somehow, she would be blaming herself enough by now.

‘He made it to his Land Rover while we were dealing with his sister,’ said Fry. ‘There was a horse that proved a bit of a distraction.’

‘Didn’t you have the entrance sealed off?’ asked Cooper, though he knew it was too obvious.

Fry sighed. ‘Yes, of course. But there was another way out: a track across the fields. His Land Rover made it, but there was no way we could follow.’

‘Which way is he heading?’

‘He should come out near the stone mill. Who knows which direction he’ll take when he gets back on the road, though. Too many tracks and unmade roads in this area.’

Cooper mentally pictured the map. ‘We’re not far away. We’ll take a chance and head up through Great Longstone on to the Longstone Edge road.’

‘Thanks, Ben. I’ll catch up with you somewhere.’

Her voice sounded a little shaky. No way to conceal that, except by not saying very much. Cooper wondered what had frightened her.

‘Diane, are you –?’

‘Just don’t,’ said Fry. ‘Just don’t ask me if I’m all right.’

WITH HIS FOOT down on the Toyota’s accelerator, Cooper left Bakewell behind on the A6 and turned up the hill in Ashford in the Water. He slowed through Great Longstone, watching for Rick Widdowson’s blue Land Rover as they passed the two pubs, the White Lion and the Crispin, but in Great Longstone, you were more likely to see a well-known former cabinet minister walking his equally well-known dog.

Moor Lane took them up to the Edge. It was quiet up here today. Saturday was the day for shopping in Bakewell, and tomorrow would be the time for enjoying the view. A sharp left-hand bend marked the point where the haulage road from High Rake and Black Harry Lane both met the public road.

Cooper stopped the car for a moment, surveying the landscape for a cloud of dust, or a flock of sheep scattering across a field. The Toyota had four-wheel drive, but he was reluctant to find himself drawn in to a pursuit across open country.

‘What’s that up ahead in the road?’ said Murfin, pointing straight on.

Cooper let in the clutch again, and drove on slowly.

‘It’s a dead sheep.’

‘And look, in the ditch – a blue Land Rover.’