‘What’s this?’ said Fry.
‘The second set of remains from the hillside near Ravensdale. All that fuss about lifting the skeleton and getting
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it to the lab intact, and it turned out it wasn’t intact in the first place.’
Fry held the report in her hand, reluctant even to look at it. ‘What do they say?’
‘The remains are mostly non-human. Apart from a few small bones, the majority are porcine in origin.’
‘What?’
‘It was part of a pig, Diane.’
She put the report back on the desk, placing it carefully among the other papers, as if she wanted to hide it, or pretend that she’d never heard of its existence.
‘What about Geoff Birley?’ she said.
‘We’re going to let him wait a bit longer, too.’ Hitchens hesitated. ‘Diane, we can’t place Birley anywhere near the locations where those phone calls were made. He can produce witnesses to his whereabouts on all three occasions.’
Fry sighed. ‘It doesn’t really surprise me. He never struck me as the type.’
‘Don’t forget to let DC Cooper know about any progress with McGowan, will you?’ said Hitchens.
‘Of course.’
‘Where is Cooper, by the way?’
‘He’s off duty.’
But Fry realized that it wasn’t actually an answer. On or off duty, Ben Cooper could still be working the case.
‘Fox House Farm,’ said Cooper when he got through to Fry on his mobile. ‘Remember it?’
‘In the plantation across the valley. What was it called?’
‘Corunna Wood. The Beatrix Potter book was a clue.’
‘What?’
‘The Tale of Mr Tod. “Tod” might mean death in German, but look at the cover of the book, Diane. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.’
‘Forgotten what?’
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‘“Tod” is also the country word for a fox. That’s what Beatrix Potter’s Mr Tod is - a fox. And this is where he lives, at Fox House. Or rather, this is where he dies.’
‘Ben, I don’t really know what you’re talking about.’ ‘Never mind. But I think I’ve found your dead place.’ ‘You have? Is there any sign of Freddy Robertson?’ ‘His BMW is parked near the Slacks’ house.’ ‘And the Slacks themselves?’
‘Nowhere to be seen. You’ve been to Robertson’s place, Diane - have you seen any sign that he possesses a firearm? Maybe a shotgun?’
‘No. But, Ben - you say you’ve found the dead place?’ Cooper looked at the skull. The skeleton lay inside a limestone building, exposed to the air, not so much as a shred of desiccated flesh left on its gleaming bones. Something had picked it perfectly clean. Something that might be called a flesh eater.
‘Yes, Diane. I think this is it.’
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35
When Fry arrived at Greenshaw Lodge, four uniformed officers had gathered on the steps near the back of the house, their torches playing across the ground. They were wearing yellow jackets with white glowing strips, like figures from a ghost train. One of them was talking into his radio, calling for the medical examiner and specialist support.
‘What have you found?’ she said.
‘A body, Sergeant. Quite a fresh one. Dead no more than an hour or two, we reckon. The clothes are barely wet.’
‘Any ID?’
‘Not yet.’
Fry stepped to the edge of the pool of light created by the officers’ torches. The body lay on its side, the left cheek pressed into the grass, hanks of grey hair tangled and damp on the neck. Life had gone from the face, the eyes were open and staring. But she could see as much as she needed to. S
‘I know who it is. It looks as though death came a bit closer than he expected, after all.’
‘What?’
‘The victim is known to us,’ she said. ‘His name is Professor Frederick Robertson.’
‘Are you sure, Sarge?’
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‘Certain.’
While the officer using his radio relayed the information to Control, Fry looked at one of the other men behind the torchlight.
‘Do we have any idea how he died?’
‘It looks as though he was shot.’
He directed the beam of his torch on to the ground near the professor’s shoulder. Fry saw the oily gleam of congealing blood, the dark stains of a man’s life draining into the earth. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then a phrase came into her mind, a phrase so appropriate that it could almost have been spoken in Robertson’s own voice.
