by what I've seen, totally appalled.'
'Well, you'll be able to explain all that when we take a statement from you back at the station.' I led him over to a panda and removed his handcuffs, saying: 'I don't think these are necessary, do you?' and placed a protective hand on his head as he ducked into the car, all for the benefit of the watching Sharon.
I was walking across to talk to the OSU sergeant and congratulate him on a job well done when I saw one of the uniformed PCs sitting on his heels, looking at something between the cages.
'What is it?' I asked, stooping beside him.
He was young but no doubt he'd seen some unpleasant sights in his short career. Sometimes it's not what you expect that gets through to you. His face was ashen as he looked up at me and moved aside.
Blood and fur, that's all I could see. A matted mass of blood and fur. Then a tail became visible, and an eye and the gory socket where its partner should have been, an ear and a leg. Underneath was the head of another creature, its jaw torn off, the teeth exposed like a saw blade. They were the cats we'd seen in the photos of the cages.
'Sorry, Claudius,' I whispered. 'I just wasn't quick enough.'
We took Sir Morton and the desirable Sharon to Heckley and most of the others to Halifax, although Ms Brown looked anything but desirable with her mascara resembling the run-off from a coal tip, her lipstick like she'd been smacked in the mouth with a ketchup bottle and her expression one of loathing for us. Within half an hour I was removing her cuffs and telling her to sit down at the table of interview room number one. Dave was with us.
' 'Did the cats put up much of a fight?' I demanded. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Are you saying they weren't thrown to tHe dogs?'
'I'm not saying anything.' 'Do they hold dog fights at High Clough farm?'
'I don't know.'
'Proud of yourself, are you?'
'I've done nothing to be ashamed of.'
'Watching dog fights nothing to be ashamed of?'
'I'm saying nothing.'
'Do you want a solicitor?'
'No.'
'You'll need one, when I've finished.'
'I don't want one.'
'Do you think Sir Morton won't be asking for a solicitor? Do you think he won't be telling us all about it — from his point of view, of course. You heard him, Sharon, wheedling his way out of it before we'd gathered our breath. Soon you'll all be in front of the magistrate, who he probably plays golf with. I assume he does play golf, occasionally. The prosecuting barrister is probably the grand master of his lodge, and the judge, if he ever reaches a judge, will probably hold shares in Grainger's. I assure you, Sharon, that Sir Morton certainly won't be saying nothing. He'll be singing like a…'
I was choosing between a canary on hemp and a Welsh wedding when there was a knock at the door and a PC poked his head in.
'Have a word, Boss?' he said.
Outside he handed me a video cassette in its box. 'Found these at the farm. Seven of them, all the same. It's a dog fighting video, almost certainly recorded there, with evidence to suggest they were doing mail order.'
I thanked him and went back inside, carrying the video. 'Put some tapes in, Dave,' I said. 'We'll do this properly.'
It was his idea,' she told us. 'It… it turned him on.'
'His? Who's he?'
'Mort.SirMorton.'
'That would be Sir Morton Grainger?'
'Yes.'
'So one day, right out of the blue, he said: 'Let's organise a dog fight and video it?''
'No.'
'What, then? Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning.'
Her instinct was to tell us nothing, leave it to us to prove what we could. Admit nowt, say nowt, remember nowt; that was the creed. But she knew that her lover boy had a different armoury of defences, and he'd be pulling every string he could to put the blame elsewhere. Perhaps this was another of the old values that had served its time.
'It was… a couple of years ago,' she began, hesitantly, her confidence gone, feeling for the words. 'My cousin telephoned me, asked me to do him a favour.'
'Which cousin was this?'
'I'm not saying.'
'OK. Go on.'
'He wanted me to copy a video he had. I didn't know what was on it.'
'Why did he ask you?'
'Because he'd seen a film I'd made for Grainger's. It was a training video and I'd produced it. We did it all ourselves, from the camera work to making copies. I was proud of it and took a copy home to give to my parents. I was on it for a few seconds, doing the introductions. He must have seen it there.'
'Did you look at his video?'
'Yes. I thought it was going to be pornographic, but it was only a dog fight. The production was terrible, a typical home video.' ' 'Ott yadogfight?'
'They're animals, Inspector. Wolves, underneath. We don't have the sentimental views about them that ybu have.': 'You copied the video for your cousin.' : 'Yes.',
'So where does Grainger come in?'
'He wanted a copy of the training video to have a look at. I wasn't in my office so he went in my drawer and found the wrong one. That night it was all he could talk about. He… it… he was… you know…'
'It turned him on.'
'Yes.' She was blushing, but she still managed a defiant stare.
'And afterwards?' I asked. At his age there's always a lot of afterwards.
'He wanted me to take him to a fight. My cousin arranged one a fortnight later and we went. He was full of it, excited. He suggested organising a better one, more professional, and videoing it properly. We had all the equipment at Grainger's. Since then we've held one almost every month. He took over the betting, with him as the bookmaker. He loved every minute of it. The cats were his idea.'
'The cats?'
'Yes. Cats against the Clock, he called it.'
I dreaded to think what Cats against the Clock was, but no doubt all would be revealed when I watched the video. I turned to Dave and asked him if he had any questions.
'Yes,' he replied, shuffling in his seat. 'Where does Sebastian fit into all this?'
'Sebastian?' she echoed.
'Your distant cousin. Sir Morton's home help.'
'He doesn't come into it.'
'How did he get the job?'
'It was years ago. He worked for Grainger's and made assistant manager, but he wasn't qualified to go any higher and he wasn't happy. Mort mentioned that he wanted a Man Friday and I suggested Sebastian. It's worked out very well, I'm told.'
'But Seb isn't part of the dog fighting club?'
'No, he…'She hesitated.
'He what?' Dave prompted.
'He doesn't believe in all that.'
'All what?'
'The old ways. Our parents made the break and he doesn't like being reminded of his background.'
'Are you saying he's ashamed of it?'
