‘Helpful as usual. The head injury was the cause of death, as we might have known for ourselves from the start.’

Fry found herself drawn to the list that lay on her desk – the one provided by Mrs Forbes, listing the names of members of the hunt and hunt staff who had been present in the area at the time of Patrick Rawson’s death. She could almost smell the reek of horse manure rising from the sheet of paper. And that was despite the fact it wasn’t even the original but a photocopy.

She ran her finger down to the hunt stewards, alert to any bells that the names might ring. There were six of them, led by chief steward Kevin Bell, also known as Kevin Delaney. Oh, that was a great sign for a start, having an alias. Then came Marcus Webb, Adrian Tarrant, Igoris Morinas . . . Nice to have a bit of cultural diversity in there, though she wasn’t quite sure what culture Igoris came from. Steward number five was Rob Charlesworth, and finally there was Jake Gleeson.

Well, the Gleesons were very well known. A whole tribe of them lived around Edendale, and every single one had a criminal record by their seventeenth birthday, including the girls. They collected ASBOs the way other families collected tokens from cereal packets. But the Gleesons were inhabitants of the council estates. They were more likely to be driving hot-wired cars around the streets than hacking cross-country in a red jacket and breeches.

But then, maybe social origins didn’t matter when it came to hired heavies.

‘Any theories on who those horse riders were, Diane?’ asked Cooper. ‘Or are you still fixated on members of the Eden Valley Hunt?’

‘I’m not fixated on anyone,’ snapped Fry.

‘Well, I just meant to say –’

‘We’ll have to pursue the usual lines. Don’t forget that forensics show there was some kind of encounter at the field barn. And, most significantly of all, Mr Rawson was running away when he met his death. All of that seems to have been planned. The fatal outcome might have been planned, too.’

The room was silent as she spoke. Cooper was surprised how serious Fry was about this case. In fact, how could she be so sure that Rawson’s death was planned? It wasn’t like her to go out on a limb this way, unless she was desperate to create an impression. Well, Fry had been left in charge of the enquiry so far, and he supposed she was keen to make a success of it. At the moment, everyone seemed determined to make a good impression on the new detective superintendent.

‘So we need to find out who Patrick Rawson was meeting. The appeals should go out today, asking the horse riders to come forward. And, of course, the man who made the 999 call.’

‘Is it likely? He must have something to hide, if only the fact that he lifted Mr Rawson’s phone. And, presumably, his wallet.’