LITMIR.BIZ

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cackled. ‘Blood and bone. Blood and bone,’ he said. ‘Oh aye.’

      There were dogs barking from a shed in the background and hens clucking. But the smallholding was quieter than Cooper remembered it from his previous visit with Diane Fry. There was a strange stillness about the scene in front of him, as if the old men were posed around some bizarre work of art they had created for the National Gallery.

      ‘There’s plenty of nitrogen in blood,’ said Wilford. ‘Phosphorus in bone. Nowt like it for your brassicas.’

      Another barrowload of manure was tipped on to the heap. Wilford and Harry forked it over, and Harry walked up the slope and trod up and down the heap in his black wellies.

      ‘I’d like to speak to you, Mr Dickinson, please,’ said Cooper, staring up at him.

      The compost heap had reached a height of about four feet. Harry loomed high above Cooper, a strange scarecrow figure marching up and down on the compost like a sentry on guard duty. Cooper had to shade his eyes against the sun to look up at the old man.

      ‘In a minute,’ said Harry.

      Wilford passed him up two thick wooden stakes about six feet long. Harry chose a spot carefully and drove the first stake deep into the compost. It plunged into the heap with a squelch and a burst of putrid odour. Then he heaved his weight on to the end of the stake until it stopped moving, with the last couple of feet still protruding.

      ‘You’ve got to give it a bit of air,’ explained Wilford as Harry drove in the second stake.

      The youth with the barrow came past again and gave Cooper a sideways look and a conspiratorial grin. He had very short fair hair and a ring in his right ear. He was about the same height as the detective, and had well-developed muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was wearing torn jeans and was stripped to the waist. His torso was oily with sweat from the exertion and the steamy heat inside the building. A few yards away, the other youth was throwing some branches and armfuls of straw on to the fire to keep it going. The straw caught, and flames instantly leaped into the air.

      Closer to, the vast compost heap was shimmering and steaming, with clouds of dung flies swirling through the haze seeking out the choicest, smelliest patches. Cooper covered his mouth and nose, feeling slightly sick. He was used to farmyard smells, but this was a special creation in itself.

      ‘Mr Dickinson, I really need to talk to you.’

      ‘It won’t smell when it’s ready, you know,’ said Sam.

      ‘Now, please,’ snapped Cooper, starting to lose his temper.

      The three old men made an elaborate show of being impressed by his authoritative tone. Harry stood to attention in his wellies and saluted slowly. Wilford hoisted his fork over his shoulder like a rifle. Sam got up from his bucket and peered at Cooper over the top of the compost, grinning slyly.

      ‘You’ll get on all right, lad,’ he said. ‘You could be Chief Constable one day. All you have to do is get rid of all the other people ahead of you first.’

      The old men laughed, and Cooper scowled. The heat was really starting to get to him. He felt drained of energy and irritable. He was relieved when Harry picked his way carefully down the side of the compost to join him.

      ‘I’m about finished here now,’ said Harry. ‘If you hang on while I fetch Jess, you can give me a lift home and talk all you like.’

      ‘Fine,’ said Cooper, pleased at the chance to get away from the smallholding.

      ‘Blood and bone,’ called Sam, as Cooper began to walk back across the field. But Wilford followed him and caught up with him by the gate.

      ‘You’ll be questioning Harry again,’ he said. ‘That’s what they call it, isn’t it? Questioning.’

      The aroma of the compost clung to Wilford’s clothes and skin and hair, and small clumps of it dropped from his boots as he moved. He was breathing a bit too fast, with his chest heaving and his face strained.

      ‘I’m on the Laura Vernon enquiry, as you know, sir.’

      ‘Those Vernons. They’re not all they’re cracked up to be, you know.’

      ‘What do you mean, sir?’

      ‘They’ve got a lot of money and they reckon to be posh, but they’re not. They’ve been bad for this village.’

      ‘People like that will always be resented.’

      ‘Oh aye, but everybody knows …’

      ‘Knows what?’

      Wilford shrugged and lifted his cap, running his hand through his hair. The uneven white patch that had refused to catch the sun stood out on his freckled scalp.

      ‘It doesn’t matter, I suppose. You’ll be asking more questions about the girl.’

      ‘Of course we are. That’s what we’ve been doing all week. If you know anything –’

      ‘No, no. But it’s true, though, isn’t it?’ He looked at Cooper to seek reassurance. ‘A sin will always catch you out. Like we used to say in the mines, it’ll always come to day.’

      Cooper didn’t know what to say to that. But Wilford wasn’t expecting a reply in any case. They passed several of the makeshift buildings along the track and came to the stone-built shed where the nanny goat had been on Tuesday when it had escaped.

      ‘The goat’s gone quiet,’ remarked Cooper.

      ‘Aye. Quiet enough.’

      He poked his head round the corner of the goat’s shed, but it was empty. There was no sign of the animal in the paddock either. Harry had disappeared behind another shed in a wire enclosure, and emerged with the black Labrador on a leather lead in one hand and a plastic carrier bag in the other.

      When they reached the Toyota, Harry sat on a wall and took off his dung-covered wellingtons and a pair of thick socks, exposing thin white feet. He took a pair of clean shoes and socks from the carrier bag and put them on.

      ‘I’m not over-fond of the job, you understand,’ he said. ‘But it’s only natural stuff, manure. The missus’ll moan, though, when I get in.’

      When Harry got into the passenger seat of the hot car, Cooper realized exactly why Gwen Dickinson was likely to complain.

      

      Andrew Milner drove up the gravel drive of the Mount and parked in front of the mock pillars, close to Graham Vernon’s Jaguar. He looked enviously at the sleek blue car, conscious of its importance as a symbol of the difference in status between himself and his employer. Andrew merited only a three-year-old Ford Mondeo, like any ordinary salesman.

      He picked up a document case from the passenger seat, took a deep breath and walked towards the front door. There was a closed-circuit TV camera high on the front wall, pointing down towards where he stood. Andrew kept his face turned away from its lens as he approached the steps. The sun reflecting from the white walls of the house created a protective barrier of heat and glare that he had to fight his way through.

      ‘Excuse me. Mr Milner?’

      Andrew looked around, startled. He found a dark, intense young man staring at him from the other side of the Jaguar. He looked dirty and unkempt, and for a moment Andrew thought he must have been trying to steal Graham Vernon’s car, until he recognized him.

      ‘Oh. It’s Daniel, isn’t it?’

      ‘We met once, didn’t we?’

      ‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry about, you know –’

      ‘It’s not your fault. You work for my father, but you’re not like him, are you?’ Daniel walked round the Jaguar. He was carrying a bunch of keys with a remote control device for the door locks and alarm. ‘I was going to borrow Dad’s car, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d rather walk.’

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