“We’re almost certain it was an accident, Mr. Padgett.” But another thing that had occurred to Winsome since she started the job was that someone might have been following Ross, trailing him, chasing him between farms even, and that might have contributed to the accident. Palmer, the driver coming the other way, hadn’t noticed any cars approaching from the same direction as Caleb after the crash, but he was probably in a state of shock for a while, and he had pulled over to the far side of the road, away from the drop. He could easily have missed something. “Did you notice any other cars around when Mr. Ross arrived?”

“No. But I wouldn’t. You can see for yourself, this is a well-­hidden track. We can’t see what’s happening down on the Mortsett Road from here, so I wouldn’t have noticed even if there had been. We had no other callers here, I can tell you that.”

“Could anyone have gained access to Mr. Ross’s van while he was here?”

“No. We were standing out here, just like you and me are now, and the van was where your car is. I remember he had the window open and that blooming music he likes blaring out. Fair scared the wits out of my chickens. Put them off their laying, nearly.”

“Could anyone have tampered with your fallen stock before it was picked up?”

“I don’t see how,” said Padgett. “I follow all the correct storage regulations. They were bagged, tagged and locked in the barn until Caleb came for them.”

“No signs of illegal entry?”

“None at all. Where are you going with this, lass?”

“You’ll have heard rumors that he was carrying more than he should have been. That’s really all I can say for the moment.”

“The human body parts, you mean?”

“You’ve been watching the TV news, then?”

“Well, you’ll know the truth, I suppose.”

“That I do, Mr. Padgett.”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t come from here. Mrs. Padgett’s still very much alive and well.”

“I’m sure she is. We’re interested in Caleb’s state of mind. Could he have been drinking, or anything like that?”

“Not Caleb. I happen to know he’s a teetotaler, and he certainly didn’t behave as if he was drunk. No, as I said, he was just a bit keen to get going, as if his mind was running ahead of him.”

“What about drugs? We know that Caleb smoked marijuana from time to time. Did you see any signs of that in his behavior?”

“I wouldn’t know what to look for. But he seemed normal to me. And if he did smoke that stuff, like you say, he kept it well to himself.”

“What about a woman?” Winsome ventured. Some of the farms were isolated, and if Caleb had taken up a dalliance with one of the farmers’ wives, or a milkmaid, if such creatures still existed, it might both distract him and cause him to hurry.

Padgett just laughed. “Caleb? If you’d have known him, lass, you wouldn’t have said that. Devoted to Maggie, he was, for a start. And for another thing, he wasn’t exactly your Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, if you know what I mean.”

Winsome laughed. “He wasn’t really close to the end of his rounds,” she said. “So it’s unlikely he was in a hurry to get home. In fact he had a few hours to go. Was he late when he arrived here?”

“Not so far as I’m aware. It’s not an exact science, his business, though you could usually depend on him to arrive close to when Vaughn’s said he would. Dependable firm.”

“Do you know if he ever made any unscheduled stops?”

“I wouldn’t know about that. Shouldn’t think so, mind you. Caleb was an honest man. He took his work seriously. I can’t see him taking jobs on the side and trying to put one over on his employers.”

Neither could Winsome. For a start, it wasn’t the kind of job on which you could really take anything on the side, though she supposed he could accept untested animals over the age limit for a few quid and have some sort of out-­of-­the-­way burial spot he used for them. And for the human remains he was carrying. The idea seemed a bit far-­fetched to her, though. It must have been something else that made it appear as if his thoughts were elsewhere and he was in more of a hurry than usual. She didn’t even know yet whether he had Morgan Spencer’s body parts in with the load at that point, let alone whether he knew about them. Perhaps he was looking forward to picking up his marijuana later on the route?

Winsome thanked Padgett for his time and got back in her car. Only another six farms to go before Belderfell Pass. Just before she got to the next stop, her mobile rang.

“Winsome. Hello, it’s Terry. Terry Gilchrist.”

Winsome pulled over. “Terry. Have you remembered something?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.” He sounded disappointed. “Is work all you ever think of?”

“No, of course not. I’m just very busy right now. What is it? How was the trivia?”

“The trivia was fine. We won. ‘In which country would you find the Simpson Desert?’ ”

“I don’t know. America?”

“Australia. I got it.”

“Congratulations. What is it, then? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. At least I hope not. Why must something be wrong for me to just want to talk to you?” He paused. “Look, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. There’s a nice bistro on Castle Hill, or there’s that Italian place, if you like. I can book us a table.”

“What?”

“Don’t make it so hard, Winsome. It must be obvious I like you. It took me long enough to pluck up courage to ask you out. I know I’m a bit of a gimp, but—­”

“No, no. I’m just a bit stunned, Terry, that’s all. Dinner?” Winsome didn’t get many dinner invitations, and the whole thing had knocked her sideways. She wasn’t at all used to being asked out. In fact the last time she had been out for dinner it was with Lisa Gray. But she couldn’t think of an excuse to say no on the spot. And she didn’t really want to say no. In the end, she said, “Well, yes. I mean, if you like. Yes, that would be nice.”

“Seven-­thirty OK?”

“That’s fine.”

“Bistro or Italian?”

“Bistro, please,” said Winsome.

When she had ended the call and got back on the road, she felt apprehensive. Had she agreed too easily? Wasn’t Terry still a witness? Could it affect their investigation? Then she put all the silly questions out of her mind and got on with the task at hand. She looked at her watch and realized she could manage at least another two or three farms until she had to go home and try to scrub the farmyard smell off her before her date. She could do the rest tomorrow.

BANKS’S PORSCHE rode the wind along the edge of the moors to Whitby. On the way he played some Nick Drake, and Annie didn’t seem to object. She even said she thought “Northern Sky” was not bad at all. They remained silent for most of the journey, having run out of ideas on where Michael Lane might have gone after he had paid to park his car in Scarborough and disappeared.

They drove into the town, picturesque in its little harbor, the Esk estuary dividing it into two distinct halves. One consisted of old streets of cottages and gift shops specializing in Whitby jet, and 199 steps led up the hill to the ruined seventh-­century abbey and St. Mary’s church and graveyard, where Mina saw the long black figure bending over Lucy in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The other side of the bridge was a bit more commercial, with more bed-­and-­breakfasts, fish-­and-­chips shops, amusement arcades and a “Dracula Experience” on the front by the fish market, where the fishermen landed their catches. The tide was in and small fishing boats were bobbing up and down in the harbor. The sea didn’t seem as wild as at Scarborough. Whitby had suffered dreadfully in the previous year’s floods, when the water breached the seawalls and flooded the lower town, but it was quickly getting back on its feet.

It was Denise Lane’s day off, they discovered at Tesco, and they found her on her own in a small house not far from the hospital.