LITMIR.BIZ

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tell you that.’

      ‘No tricks, Mr Dickinson.’

      Try silence, thought Cooper. The use of silence is a powerful tool. It puts the interviewee under pressure to speak. So he waited, expecting Harry to claim that he had seen no one. But Harry puffed at his pipe, staring into the distance, shifting to a more comfortable position on his chair. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the carriage clock. Outside, a van went by. The babble of the television came from the next room, where Gwen was watching a quiz show. Cooper started getting restless. Harry looked as content and self-contained as if he were still sitting on the Baulk with his dog at his feet, gazing at the outline of the Witches, thinking perfectly calm thoughts of his own.

      ‘Did you see anyone?’ said Cooper at last.

      ‘Some hikers,’ said Harry, ‘now that you ask.’

      ‘Did they see you?’

      ‘I doubt it. They were down by the stream. Young folk, they were, larking about. The young ones don’t notice much, do they?’

      ‘How long were you out?’

      ‘Half an hour, until I came back here. Gwen had my tea ready, and I fed Jess.’

      ‘And later in the evening?’

      ‘I went out again, to the Drover. About half past seven. I met Sam and Wilford, and we had a few pints. Lots of folk there know me. Ask Kenny Lee. That’s what they call an alibi, isn’t it?’

      ‘Did you go straight there?’

      ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

      ‘You didn’t take a long way round – via the Baulk, for instance?’

      ‘Why should I do that? I’d already been once.’

      ‘Did you take the dog?’

      ‘Jess was with me. But Kenny makes you put the dogs out the back when you’re in the pub. He says they upset the tourists.’

      Cooper wondered whether Harry would get round to asking him the purpose of the questions. He decided he wouldn’t.

      ‘We have a witness who saw someone answering your description at about seven-fifteen, in the area where Laura Vernon’s body was found.’ The description had been vague enough, so he wasn’t actually being misleading.

      ‘Have you now?’ said Harry. ‘That’s handy then. That’ll help you no end.’

      ‘But you’ve just told me that you were back here in the house at about six-thirty, Mr Dickinson. Is that right?’

      ‘Aye, that’s right. My tea was ready.’

      ‘And you said you didn’t go out again until seventhirty. So, according to you, you were here in the house at seven-fifteen. Is that right?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You can’t have been in both places at once.’

      Harry shrugged. ‘That’s your problem, I reckon.’

      ‘What about Sunday?’ asked Cooper, desperate for a change in the conversation.

      ‘What about it?’

      ‘Did you go out on the Baulk with your dog that day?’

      ‘Nine o’clock in the morning and six o’clock at night. Regular.’

      ‘On the same path? To Raven’s Side?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And on Monday morning the same?’

      ‘Nine o’clock.’

      ‘It’s a bit odd then, isn’t it, that you didn’t find that trainer before Monday night? When you had already made four visits to the area. One about the time Laura Vernon was killed, and three afterwards. Without seeing a thing?’

      Harry tapped his pipe into the fireplace, stared at the empty grate, and looked up at Cooper. He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Cooper thought he was in for another uncomfortable spell of silence.

      ‘I was going to talk to Vernon,’ said Harry suddenly.

      ‘What?’ Cooper was taken by surprise, both at the information and the fact that Harry had actually volunteered it without having to have it dragged out of him with red-hot pincers.

      ‘On Saturday night. I thought I saw Graham Vernon while I was out with Jess. I was going to talk to him.’

      ‘Why was that, sir?’

      ‘I had something I wanted to discuss with him. Personal.’

      ‘What about?’

      ‘Personal.’

      ‘How well do you know Mr Vernon?’

      ‘I don’t. I’ve never met him.’

      ‘So why did you want to speak to him?’

      ‘I’ve said it twice. I’m not intending to say it again.’

      ‘I could insist, Mr Dickinson. I could ask you down to the station to help with enquiries, and we’ll conduct a formal interview and ask you to make another statement.’

      ‘I’m making a statement,’ said Harry. ‘It was personal. That’s a statement.’

      ‘But you do see that if it was anything to do with Mr Vernon’s daughter –’

      ‘I can tell you that. It wasn’t.’

      ‘To do with your own family perhaps?’

      Harry smiled benevolently, as if at a clever student. ‘Happen so, lad.’

      ‘Where did you meet Mr Vernon?’

      ‘Assumptions again.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘I said I wanted to talk to him. But I couldn’t find him. He’d disappeared again.’

      Cooper’s mind was setting off on a different track now. He saw Harry Dickinson out wandering on the Baulk at the same time as both Laura Vernon and her father, not to mention whoever had killed Laura. And he pictured the bird-watcher, Gary Edwards, who had been in a wonderful vantage point, but had only seen one of them. And then he realized that, if Harry had met Graham Vernon while he was out, then their conversation would surely have meant that Harry would have been later back at the cottage than usual. But would it have kept him out until after seven-fifteen? Gwen would have to be lying too. But then she would, wouldn’t she, to protect Harry?

      ‘Next question then,’ said Harry.

      Cooper decided he was getting into deep water. ‘No more questions for now, Mr Dickinson.’

      ‘No?’ Harry looked suddenly disappointed. He pursed his lips and cocked his head on one side. ‘That’s a poor do. I was hoping for a proper grilling. An interrogation. You know, like Cracker.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘That fat bloke that used to be on the telly.’

      ‘Robbie Coltrane, you mean. He played a criminal psychologist.’

      ‘Aye. He always used to give ’em a proper grilling. Shouting and swearing at ’em and all. Threatening to thump ’em if they didn’t tell the truth.’ Harry squinted at Cooper critically. ‘Aye well. You’re not him, though. Are you, lad?’

      ‘No, Mr Dickinson, I’m not Cracker. I’m not Inspector Morse either.’

      Cooper got up to go, shoving his notebook in his pocket. ‘Somebody will want to talk to you again, probably, Mr Dickinson.’

      ‘Fair enough. You’ll no doubt find me without any trouble.’

      ‘Thanks for your time then.’

      Cooper

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