of stout timber posts and weldmesh, topped by a strand of barbed wire. It was as if the estate had drawn in its boundaries, abandoning the new access land. In other areas, the national park had been busy putting in new stiles to provide access, but it hadn’t been necessary here.
‘No way through there,’ said Cooper.
‘I wouldn’t like to try climbing it either,’ said Jarvis.
‘When they put this up, did they refence the whole estate?’
‘No. Where the grounds of the hall border on to roads, there are stone walls. Ten feet high, those are. They were built a long time ago, to keep the common folk out. In other spots, there’s stock fencing, and the farmers make sure that’s in good nick. No, it seemed to be the woods they were bothered about. Didn’t like the idea of anybody wandering in and enjoying themselves, I reckon.’
‘Did people used to go into the woods?’
‘Oh, aye. There’s a public footpath runs at the top of my land. It goes over the top and back down into Miller’s Dale. But if you knew where the fence was down, you could go off into the woods. I saw them now and then. At night time, you know.’
‘Poachers?’
‘Most likely. I’ve never asked them any questions. I’m not daft enough for that.’
‘Has the new fence kept them out?’
Jarvis snorted again. ‘You don’t keep poachers out so easily, not these days. They’re professionals. They work in teams, and they come kitted up. No gamekeeper would tackle a poacher on his own these days. He’d likely get his head beaten in.’
‘Yes, I know.’
The presence of poaching gangs might explain everything. They’d most likely be from out of the area, so no one would recognize them. They’d be armed, and not happy about someone
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else’s overly boisterous dog interfering with their business. If the estate had noticed poaching going on, it would explain the new fence, too. But what game was available in these woods that would be worth poaching? No more than a few rabbits, surely?
Cooper looked around. Down here, the moss was so thick on the wall that it looked as though someone had knitted a bright green sweater for it, draping it in folds of Arran wool. A hollow in the rocks above the track was completely covered in moss and hung with ferns, like a waterfall without the water - except for the continual dampness seeping through the surface. He wondered if some of these fungi were the kind that excreted acids to dissolve rocks and reduce them to soil. Everything decomposed, in the end.
They began to climb back towards the house. Seen from below, the heavy porch seemed to have pulled the house into an awkward shape. It looked hunched and low, like an animal waiting to spring. Cooper remembered the other thing he’d come here to ask Tom Jarvis.
‘Mr Jarvis, you have several dogs on the premises,’ he said.
Jarvis looked at the dogs, then back at Cooper. Why did he need to waste words? Cooper had already wasted an entire sentence.
‘I’ve just been watching a special support dog in action.’
Jarvis tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth, then removed the other and put them both into his pocket, like someone preparing for action, or a man who was finding the conversation boring. Cooper felt he was about to lose his attention altogether.
‘The thing I’m wondering, sir,’ he said, ‘is why none of your dogs detected the smell of a decomposing body that lay on the edge of your property for months.’
‘I don’t know. You’d better ask them.’
‘Most dogs would detect something like that. The odour is very strong for a while. In some stages of decomposition, it’s quite unmistakable.’
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‘I don’t let them go into those woods,’ said Jarvis impatiently. ‘I told you, they never go in there. Well, except for the old lass, and look what happened to her.’
‘Even so …’
‘Look, I don’t know. Maybe the smell of cack threw them off the scent.’
‘The body was lying there for eighteen months,’ said Cooper. ‘But that bag was left only a few days ago.’
Jarvis scowled across the valley. ‘There’s a lot of shit in the countryside.’
‘Maybe.’ Cooper realized he wasn’t going to get any further without antagonizing Jarvis. ‘By the way, what did you do with the excreta you found?’
‘What did I do with it?’ said Jarvis in amazement. ‘What do you think I did with it?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘I chucked it on the compost heap. There’s no point in wasting good cack.’
‘And it’s still there?’
‘Of course it is. Unless some bugger snuck in during the night and nicked it. You never know these days.’
‘I wonder if I could ask you to leave it where it is for a while, sir.’
Jarvis stared at him. ‘It’ll just rot down,’ he said. ‘That’s the point of a compost heap.’
‘I’d like to get someone to take a sample. Just in case we get the chance to do a DNA profile for comparison.’
‘A DNA profile?’
