But Erin didn’t feel like smiling. She was starting to get more and more upset as she watched her father put on his coat and pick up his car keys. He must have seen it in her face, and felt guilty.

‘If you don’t want to keep an eye on the house for me, love, I’ll understand. I’ll ask Mrs Fletcher next door.’

‘No, it’s all right. But, Dad . . . look after yourself, please.’

‘Of course I will.’

Erin kissed him as he went to the door. Her father was trying to sound bright and breezy, as if he was just popping down to the shop for a bottle of milk. But she knew it was much more than that.

Michael Clay got into his Mercedes and waved as he turned on the drive. As she watched him go, Erin Lacey felt a tear in the corner of her eye, as if she was saying goodbye to her father for ever.

Chapter Seven

BY THE END of the day, the body had been released for collection by the mortuary. Fry watched the anonymous black van crawl away from Longstone Moor in the fading light.

Now there was nothing more she could do at the scene. Inspector Redfearn’s men had rounded up as many of the anti-hunt protestors as they could and taken names and addresses, along with statements from any who had been in the area at eight thirty that morning. They had also seized video footage from several cameras, so that might help. The sabs seemed to have filmed anything that moved.

Fry felt uncomfortable about dealing with the protestors in a different way from the hunt supporters. But she supposed the hunt was organized in a more formal way, and there would be no trouble obtaining the identities of any individuals she might want to talk to.

The huntsman, John Widdowson, had finally appeared, looking very tired, and as damp as she felt herself. For a few seconds, Fry had found herself surrounded by the pack, dozens of panting brown-and-white dogs crowding around her legs, pink tongues lolling, the white tips of their tails flicking. Some of them had black patches around their eyes, like burglars’ masks, which gave them a peculiarly manic look. They sniffed at her knees and shook water from their coats.

Widdowson’s story was that the hound van had arrived outside Birchlow shortly after eight thirty. Although there had been a few horse boxes already at the scene, he had noticed no riders heading off on their own. It wouldn’t have been the custom, he said.

‘It’s a pity the air support unit weren’t on station a bit earlier,’ said Fry, as she left Inspector Redfearn. ‘They could have filmed the whole incident for us.’

‘They had a priority call,’ said Redfearn. ‘A pursuit on the A61.’

‘I know. It would just have been nice to get a bit of luck for once.’

Gavin Murfin called Fry before she could reach her car.