‘Up on the moor,’ said Wakeley. ‘They must have been a good two miles away. Funny how sounds travels at that time of the morning, when no one’s about. If you get the right sort of weather conditions, you can hear a dog bark at Birchlow.’

‘I see.’

The old man grinned at him, showing a set of fine white teeth that must have come courtesy of the NHS dental service.

‘Nothing wrong with my hearing,’ he said. ‘You young ’uns expect old folk to be deaf as well as daft, I suppose. But my ears are as sharp as yours. Maybe sharper. I never damaged my ear drums with loud music, you see. Children now, they stick those little ear plugs in their ears and walk around with music blasting all day. Now, they’ll be deaf as posts by the time they’re sixty.’

‘If you could just –’

‘Oh, aye. I’m getting round to it. I have to take my time these days, as you can see.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I was just sitting on the bench, being quiet, waiting for the birds to start singing with the light coming up. And there were at least two people, shouting. A man and a woman. They went at it pretty good, too. No doubt they thought no one else was about to hear them.’

‘Could you hear what they were arguing about?’

‘I might have good hearing, but I’m not bionic.’

‘No, of course. So where exactly were they? Could you –’ Cooper had been about to ask the old man to take him to the bench in question and point out the location, but he realized that it would take all afternoon. There were other jobs waiting for him to do. Shame – Mr Wakeley would have enjoyed it. ‘If I showed you a map, could you estimate their position?’

‘I’ll have a go.’

Cooper fetched his OS map from the car and spread it out on Mr Wakeley’s table.

‘You would have been around here?’

‘Yes, the old silk road, that is. The pack horses used to go that way, to get up over the moor. No cars on that road early in the morning.’

‘So the people you heard would be where?’

‘Whereabouts is Birchlow on here?’

‘Here.’ Cooper placed a finger on the map.

‘One of these fields, then. Back of the church, near where those trees are.’

The contour lines on the map showed that the location Mr Wakeley had indicated was on the northern slope of the moor. Because of the lie of the landscape, anyone who had been up and about in Birchlow might not have heard the argument. But there would be direct line of sight to the bench on the old silk road where the old man had been sitting. Clear air, except for the rain that had been falling.

‘Do you know Birchlow?’ asked Cooper.

‘Birchlow? Aye, there’s a lot of history in Birchlow. Some amount of dry rattle there, if you know what I mean.’