She studied the surface of the yard around the area of the yellow markers. Then she took one final glance around the outbuildings, the parked tractor, the trailer full of manure, the cat grooming itself.
Finally, she sighed. Of course, she felt under no obligation to try too hard to find evidence clearing Matt Cooper. And yet…
Fry looked at Mackenzie as he walked gingerly along the edge of the yard, skirting the smellier areas. She remembered seeing the DCI slip on a cowpat as he came into the yard, twisting his body painfully as he tried to keep his footing.
‘What are you thinking about, DS Fry?’ asked Mackenzie as he came nearer.
‘Cow muck.’
‘Well, there’s plenty of it.’
‘And it’s slippery.’
‘Yes. So?’
‘I’m thinking that if Graham Smith slipped as he was running away across the yard…’
Mackenzie looked at her more closely. ‘It’s possible. I did it myself.’
‘I know you did, sir. I saw you.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Matthew Cooper has been saying in interview that he thought one of the intruders was armed, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes. But as you know, they weren’t in possession of any firearms. And nothing has been found at the scene.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Fry could see the FSS man removing his scene suit and packing his gear, getting ready to depart. Job done, then? Well, perhaps not.
‘Take a look over here,’ she said. ‘Would you, sir? Please?’
‘Why, what have you found?’
‘I could tell you what I think we’ll find. But you should see it for yourself.’
Mackenzie crossed to the trailer with her, wrinkling his nose at the increasing pungency of the smell as they approached. Fry pulled on a pair of latex gloves, ignoring the odour and the cloud of flies that rose from the manure. She began to shake loose some of the straw.
‘I don’t know what on earth you’re doing,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Is it some kind of rural custom?’
‘It’s all a question of trajectory and velocity,’ said Fry.
‘Oh?’
‘Well, mostly. There’s also the complication of people who see only what they want to see, and ignore anything unpleasant.’
A black pellet dropped into her gloved hand.
‘Is that it?’ said Mackenzie.
‘No,’ said Fry. ‘There’ll be more shotgun pellets over this way.’
‘Where?’
‘In the trailer.’
‘But it’s full of…’
‘I know. So?’
The DCI grimaced. ‘How did they get here?’
‘Some of the pellets missed their target,’ said Fry. ‘At that range, you wouldn’t miss. Not unless your target moved suddenly.’
‘I see.’
‘And now, given the velocity and trajectory, we’ll be able to calculate exactly where the shooter was standing when he fired.’
Mackenzie bent to look at the pellet in her hand.
‘I’ll get the ballistics expert back.’
He called over one of his DCs to send him after the forensic scientist, who was probably washing his hands before departure.
‘By the way,’ said Fry, ‘when they searched Matt Cooper in the custody suite, was there anything in the pockets of his jacket?’
The DC checked his notebook. ‘I can tell you that.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Fry. ‘A seventy-millimetre cartridge casing, and a plastic wad.’
‘Yes, exactly right.’
Fry nodded. A sea of conflicting emotions was seething inside her. She loved those moments when she was proved right. Everybody did, didn’t they? It was pretty much what she lived for, that brief surge of adrenalin and excitement that made her heart quicken and her breath catch in her throat. But the credit in this instance wasn’t hers. Not truly. It belonged to the same person who had so often snatched the glory from her in the past. Even now, when he shouldn’t even have been speaking to anyone involved in the investigation. How did he manage to do that?
An incongruous shape caught her eye. Something round and shiny, a curious object to be nestled in a heap of cow manure. Fry reached in a hand. It was fortunate that she was still wearing her gloves. She took hold of the object and drew it slowly from the manure. It kept coming – more than three feet of it; a length of pale, smooth wood sliding into the light and becoming thicker as it emerged. A baseball bat.
‘Well I think that’s pretty clear,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’
An hour later, DCI Mackenzie was preparing to leave the farm. Before he got into his car, he turned to Fry with an ironic smile on his lips.
‘You’re a real farm girl, aren’t you? A proper expert in rural life. I was thinking of offering you a job with my team in Derby, but you’re obviously more at home here in the country.’
‘What?’ said Fry, outraged. ‘ What? ’
Mackenzie laughed as he opened his car door, wiping the soles of his boots carefully on the grass.
‘Look at this stuff. I don’t want to take any of this back to the city with me, do I?’
Fry stood stunned as Mackenzie and his team left the farm.
‘A farm girl? Me? ’
At West Street, Cooper had just returned from a session with Superintendent Branagh and DI Hitchens, justifying the exercise to empty and examine the slurry pits outside Riddings.
In any other inquiry, it would have been out of the question. But these were no ordinary low-priority burglaries they were dealing with. This was a high-profile case, and for once the budget had been stretched. It was important to be seen to be doing something, and officers with shovels and expensive machinery were just the ticket.
Gavin Murfin was very subdued today. Cooper looked at him, aware that Murfin wasn’t on the rota for duty this weekend.
‘Should you be in, Gavin?’ he asked.
‘No, but they couldn’t manage without me.’
‘Overtime, then?’
‘Oh? It hadn’t even crossed my mind.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Well, I’m here to help, anyway.’
‘Thanks, Gavin,’ said Cooper.
‘First of all, there’s a message for you. William Chadwick phoned. He and his wife want to talk.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘Do you think they might be involved in some way? In connection with the deaths of the Barrons, or Martin Holland?’
‘Not really. I did think at one time of finding out about the incident at Chadwick’s school. Checking out the family of the pupil involved.’
