Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue

Cooper shrugged. ‘I’ve managed to keep out of it so far. I prefer the individual sports. But I am in the Derbyshire Police Male Voice Choir.’

‘You are kidding.’

‘No, it’s good fun. We do a few concerts – for the old folks mostly, that kind of thing, especially around Christmas time. The old dears love it. It’s good PR.’

‘Do you sing soprano?’

‘Tenor.’

A couple of miles down the road towards Edendale, Cooper turned the Toyota off on to a side road and headed back out of the valley.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Fry.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said. ‘Something that came to me when we were talking about DI Armstrong.’

‘What exactly do you mean?’ said Fry, with a warning note in her voice.

‘You remember I said she was “poached” by B Division?’

‘Are you still harping on that?’

‘No, no, you don’t understand. I was thinking about poaching.’

‘Come again?’

‘Just up here there’s a big estate, the Colishaw Estate. That’s an “estate” as in a large area of privately owned land. Not a housing estate.’

‘I think I’ve got that, thanks.’

‘The Colishaw Estate runs shoots. That means they breed a lot of pheasants. There are deer on the estate too. Not to mention rabbits and hare and partridge.’

‘Is this a nature lesson? If so, could we possibly do it tomorrow?’

‘Obviously, it’s a big target for poachers,’ said Cooper patiently.

‘Right.’

‘The professional gangs used to be a big problem, but they don’t bother so much any more. There’s no money in it now. But the local men still get down there.’

‘Chasing the pheasants and rabbits.’

‘You don’t exactly chase them.’

Cooper pulled the Toyota on to the verge near a patch of woodland, where signs warned ‘Private Property’. There was little traffic on the road, and the night was totally black but for the stars in a clear sky. The Toyota’s sidelights illuminated a wall and a length of barbed wire.

‘There’s an old hut down there,’ he said, pointing into the wood. ‘It’s always been a favourite for poachers to lie up in. It’s well away from where the keepers patrol, even when they bother. Jackie Sherratt was a notorious poacher. He used to use it all the time. He must often have taken his son Lee there. As part of his training.’

‘Sherratt? Hold on. You think –?’

‘It’s possible. I think Lee could have chosen the hut to lie up in. No one will have thought of checking this out. It’s too distant from Moorhay. But a lad like Lee wouldn’t think anything of moving this far.’

‘Don’t tell me – you want to check it out?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right here and now?’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night!’

‘I’m going down anyway,’ said Cooper. ‘You can wait here if you like.’

He got out of the car, pulling a sturdy torch from the glove compartment.

‘We can’t do this.’

‘I can,’ said Cooper. ‘You’ll obviously have to go by the book, won’t you?’

He climbed over the wall and began to walk into the wood, finding the start of a narrow path that had been invisible from the road.

‘Hold on, for God’s sake,’ said Fry, slamming her door.

He smiled and keyed the electronic locks.

‘Can’t be too careful.’

They set off close together, sharing the light of the torch. Cooper had always felt a part of the world he worked in, especially when he was out working in the open. But Diane Fry, he thought, would be for ever a stranger to it. He was alert for any sounds in the wood, but she seemed completely absorbed in herself, as if the darkness meant not only that she couldn’t see, but also that she could neither hear nor smell what was around her, nor even feel the nature of the ground underfoot. Cooper was listening hard. Any countryman knew that the sounds that animals made could tell you whether there was a human presence in the area.

At that moment, he could hear the echo of a faint screech deep in the wood, a fleeting sound like the scratching of a nail on glass, or chalk across a blackboard, but with a plaintive falling note at the end.

‘Little owl.’

‘Eh?’ said Fry.

‘Little owl.’

‘What are you talking about? Is it Cowboys and Indians? You Big Chief Little Owl, me squaw?’

‘I’m talking about the bird. Can’t you hear it?’

‘No.’

They both listened for a moment.

‘It’s gone now,’ said Cooper.

Fry seemed genuinely reluctant to go into the woods in the dark. He was surprised by her behaviour. Afraid of the dark? Surely not Diane Fry; not Macho Woman.