‘Yes, ma’am. That’s true.’

‘Very well, then. We’ll resume tomorrow. That will give you a chance to think about what we’ve said so far.’

Reluctantly, Fry got up to leave. Then Branagh sniffed.

‘What is that smell?’

Fry became aware of the aroma that she must have been carrying around with her all afternoon on her jacket, and on her hands. And maybe on her shoes, if she’d been really unlucky. She’d better check in a minute, as soon as she got out of the room – but not while Branagh was watching her.

‘Horses, ma’am,’ she said. ‘It’s the smell of horses.’

‘I see,’ said Superintendent Branagh. She said it in the tone of someone who didn’t see at all, but considered it hardly worthwhile demanding an explanation.

Chapter Fifteen

AS THE TEMPERATURE fell that evening, the moisture in the air began to form dense banks of fog on the higher ground. When Ben Cooper closed the front door of 8 Welbeck Street, he always looked up to see the hills. He found their presence reassuring, even in the dark, when they were black against the sky. But tonight, the hills above the town were masked by a grey blanket, and wisps of fog could be seen swirling above the streetlights.

Cooper’s local in Edendale was the Hanging Gate, a pub sitting in its own little yard off the High Street. When he first moved into the flat at Welbeck Street, he’d taken some trouble in finding the right sort of pub. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, not like some of his colleagues, who relied on alcohol to help them deal with the pressures of the job. A drink or two did help him relax. But most of all, a decent pub provided company, and a meal when you didn’t feel like cooking for yourself – which, in his case, was quite often.

Like so many pubs in the area, the Hanging Gate had framed scenic Peak District views on the walls, and even a few hunting prints. But the beer was good, and the choice of rock classics on the juke box was familiar and reassuring.

As he and Liz Petty stepped through the door on to the stone flags, Cooper nodded to a few acquaintances. He was pretty well known here now, but people left him alone. It wasn’t the sort of place where you got bothered if they knew you were a police officer. Another plus for the Hanging Gate.

He and Liz had been going out for several months now. It was one of those relationships that had grown up gradually from a casual awareness of someone in a different department at work into something more than friendship. It was supposed to be the way the best relationships developed, if you believed what the women’s magazines said.