LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘She doesn’t look like a dropout, though.’

      ‘No,’ agreed Cooper. ‘She doesn’t.’

      Jarvis handed the photos back. ‘I never thought it would be a woman. No bugger told me that.’

      ‘While I’m here, would you mind if I had a look at the site where the remains were found?’ asked Cooper.

      ‘If you like. There isn’t much to see.’

      As Cooper turned, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the dogs was loping across the grass towards the woods. Matted lumps of hair bounced on its sides, and legs flew in all directions as its tongue sprayed saliva into the air. The dog had a curious gait – it ran almost sideways, with one shoulder pointing in the direction it was going, but its head turned to the side, like a circus clown grinning to the audience. Cooper had no idea which of the dogs it was, but he knew which name would fit perfectly.

      ‘Yes, that’s Graceless,’ said Jarvis. ‘The only bitch in the bunch. Lovely nature, she has. Ugly as sin, though.’

      ‘Yes, I can see.’

      Graceless seemed to be the only one of the dogs with enough energy to reach the woods. Feckless, Pointless and Aimless lay on the porch and watched her with weary, patronizing expressions. One of them yawned deeply and dropped his head back to the floor with a thump, rolling his eyes at the two men.

      ‘They’re hoping it’ll be dinner time soon,’ said Jarvis. ‘Idle buggers, they are. I don’t know why I give them house room.’

      ‘Are they any good as guard dogs?’

      Jarvis snorted. ‘Guard dogs? Well, if I could train them to sleep in the right places, they might trip somebody up in the dark. But that’s about the strength of it.’

      ‘Still, they’re big enough,’ said Cooper. ‘The sight of them alone might deter burglars.’

      ‘Aye, happen so.’

      But Jarvis didn’t seem convinced. Perhaps living at the damp end of the valley for so long had given him an eternally sceptical view of life. The outlook was always rain at Litton Foot. He would probably react the same way if Cooper told him the sun would break through one day. Aye, happen so.

      Jarvis descended the steps and headed down the path, not looking to see if Cooper was following.

      ‘Graceless, now, she really likes people,’ he said. ‘Whenever somebody new comes to the house, she always wants to …’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Well, she likes to sniff their trousers, if you know what I mean.’

      ‘Their trousers?’

      ‘If you know what I mean.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      ‘Not everybody likes it,’ said Jarvis.

      ‘No, I can imagine.’

      ‘But she’s only being friendly. I’m wasting my time trying to stop her. She’s a big lass, and if she wants to go somewhere, she goes. She doesn’t mean any harm by it, but some folk get the wrong idea when they see her coming.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘She hates it,’ said Jarvis, with that jerk of his head again.

      ‘Your wife? Well, it must be a bit embarrassing when you have visitors.’

      ‘What visitors?’

      ‘Business not good, sir?’

      Jarvis gave him a sour look and wiped the moisture from his hands on the legs of his jeans.

      It had been dry on the porch, but now Cooper was glad he’d put on his jacket before he left the car. It was the one he’d taken to the Black Mountains with him for the weekend, so the pockets were full of all kinds of odds and ends, but it kept him dry as he waded through the long grass in the rain.

      Litton Foot lay deep in Ravensdale, above Cressbrook village. Ash woods hung above the stream here, deep and dank. Ivy had wrapped itself around the tall, slender trunks of the trees, spiralling high into the canopy, seeking a bit of sun. Everything at ground level was covered in moss so thick that it was difficult to tell what was stone, what was wood, and what was something else slowly rotting in the damp air.

      Just downstream, he knew there were two rows of cottages built for the workers at Cressbrook Mill, but they weren’t visible from here. Stepping stones crossed the water down there to help climbers reach the limestone pitches on Ravenscliffe Crags. On the wet margins of the stream grew clumps of a plant that Cooper didn’t recognize – something like a ten-foot-high cow parsley with purple stems and spotted leaf stalks, furred with tiny spines.

      ‘There’s a footpath at the bottom of your land, isn’t there, sir?’ he said.

      ‘It isn’t the footpath that’s the problem,’ said Jarvis. ‘That’s been there for centuries, as far as I know. It’s this new law they brought in. This … what is it? … right to roam. Some folk think it gives them the right to go traipsing all over the shop. There was a bunch of them came right down through the paddock and tried to walk across the weir. I don’t mind admitting, I were fair chuffed when one of them fell in the stream. She were near to drowning, judging by her noise.’

      Finally, they reached the patch of ground that had been dug out around the remains of the unidentified woman. Blue-and-white police tape still clung to the trunks of nearby trees, some of it trailing on the ground now in sodden strands, one loose end rattling sporadically in the breeze. Cooper couldn’t tell now how wide an area the search had covered.

      He hadn’t brought any of the scene photos with him, but could remember them well enough to picture the position of the skeleton. The skull had been at the far end of the excavation, close to the roots of an ash tree; the arms had been slightly bent at the elbow, so that the fleshless hands rested somewhere in the pelvic region, while the legs were laid out straight and close together, with the feet near to where he was standing now.

      Cooper looked up through the canopy of trees to locate the sun. The cloud cover wasn’t heavy, and a gleam of brightness was visible, despite the rain. Higher up, on the moors, he could always orient himself if he could see the sun. But down here, among the winding dales and shelving banks of woodland, it was easy to lose his sense of direction.

      Most of the available sunlight seemed to be coming from beyond the trees to his left. Since it was morning, that should be approximately southeast. Cooper patted the pockets of his jacket. Somewhere here, he was sure … ah, yes. He pulled out a small Silva compass and swivelled it until he’d oriented the needle to the north. He looked at the grave again. Head there, feet here. He nodded. But it probably meant nothing.

      ‘What are you doing?’ said Jarvis.

      Cooper had almost forgotten him. The man had been so silent and so still that he might as well have merged into the trees. He was standing under the boughs of an oak, with water dripping on to his sweater. He hadn’t bothered to put on a coat before they came down to the stream. In a few more minutes, he’d be as wet as the ground he was standing on.

      ‘Nothing important, sir,’ said Cooper. ‘Just checking some details.’

      ‘Routine?’

      Jarvis said the word as if it summed up everything that was wrong with the world. This was a world that wouldn’t leave him alone to sit in peace on his porch with his dogs.

      ‘What’s on the other side of these woods?’ asked Cooper, pointing across the stream to the east.

      ‘It’s part of the Alder Hall estate.’

      ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

      ‘It’s not exactly Chatsworth – though they say it belongs to the Duke again now. The house has been empty for the last two years, anyway. This stream is the estate

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