There was a hesitant murmur of agreement.

Mackenzie cast his eye round the room. ‘Everyone up to speed? Good. Form your teams. There’s a lot of work to do.’

Cooper looked round in amazement as the meeting broke up. He caught DI Hitchens by the arm as he passed on his way to the door.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Cooper. ‘The body at the pub?’

Hitchens nodded towards the front of the room, where Fry had her head down talking to DCI Mackenzie.

‘Sorry, Ben,’ he said. ‘EMSOU – MC are keeping that to themselves.’

A few minutes later, Villiers turned to Cooper with a puzzled expression.

‘What did he mean about the wrong kind of wheels on the snow?’ she said.

‘Oh, that?’ Cooper smiled. ‘The dog handlers in Derbyshire are equipped with adapted Vauxhall Zafiras, which are underpowered anyway. They’re also front-wheel drive, and with all the weight of equipment and dogs at the back, they don’t go anywhere in snow.’

‘So what happens?’

‘Well, for four or five weeks in the average winter, our handlers are reduced to operating on foot, or begging a lift from a traffic officer in a four-wheel drive. Not many of the traffic boys like the idea of having a salivating long-haired German Shepherd sitting behind them on the back seat of the car, though.’

‘I can’t blame them really,’ said Villiers.

‘You don’t like dogs?’ asked Cooper in surprise. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d got an idea in his mind that Carol was a dog person. Horses, dogs, anything related to the outdoors.

‘Not when they remind me too much of a wolf,’ said Villiers.

Hitchens took Cooper aside for a moment.

‘Ben, Mr Mackenzie has asked us for a DC to work with DS Fry. Short term, of course.’

‘One of ours?’ said Cooper.

‘Yes. Who would you suggest?’

Cooper ran quickly through his team in his mind, dismissing Gavin Murfin immediately, following him closely with Luke Irvine. Fry would eat Irvine alive. Carol Villiers, or Becky Hurst? Both could cope with the assignment, and one of them would benefit from it tremendously.

‘DC Hurst,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell her?’

Hitchens nodded. ‘Yes, Ben. Good choice. And someone needs to liaise with the firefighters. Find out exactly what they saw.’

Cooper looked round. ‘Gavin, can you do that?’

‘I dare say it’s within my capabilities.’

Cooper turned as the DI left, and saw Fry scooping up the photos of the Pearsons. Murfin gave her a mock bow as he moved out of her way.

Fry nodded at him brusquely. ‘Gavin.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘I won’t be in the way. I’m off to talk to Trumpton.’

Fry turned to Cooper with a raised eyebrow.

‘Trumpton?’ she said. ‘Do police officers still talk like that in the middle of the twenty-first century?’

‘I didn’t hear it,’ said Cooper.

‘I see.’

In fact, it was the first time he’d ever heard Murfin use that expression, though it had been common at one time as a derogatory reference to the fire service. The children’s TV series had, after all, finished decades ago. He hoped Murfin wouldn’t address the Edendale crew as Captain Flack, or Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub.

Murfin was proving difficult enough these days, but Cooper had never been able to figure out Diane Fry. Never. And he didn’t think that was ever going to change now.

When she’d gone back to Birmingham to resolve the issues that had been haunting her for years, he’d imagined there might be some kind of closure for her, that she would be able to put the past behind her and start living a more normal life. Yet still he sensed a dark shadow in her life, one whose cause he couldn’t even guess at. She was far too complex for him to comprehend, and he was past the point where he wanted to keep trying. It was like grasping at smoke and expecting it to stay in one place. No matter what you did, or how hard you tried, it always slipped through your fingers and left you holding nothing.

‘Wait,’ said Cooper. ‘Diane, could you let me see those photographs again?’

Fry looked at him curiously for a moment, but flipped open the file. Cooper could sense her watching him closely. She had never known quite what to expect of him, but he couldn’t blame her. Right now, he didn’t know what to expect of himself.

The man in the photo was about thirty. He was leaning on a sports car, smiling at the camera with the sort of intimate smile that suggested he knew the photographer very well. He wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a slogan that had been made illegible by the angle of his arms stretching and folding the fabric. Cooper thought he could see a ‘the’. Perhaps it was the name of a band.

In the background, familiar hills and the glint of water. One of the major reservoirs in the Upper Derwent. Howden, he guessed. The picture could have been taken at one of the pull-ins along the single-track road that skirted the edge of the reservoir.

‘Do they look like hikers to you?’ asked Cooper.

‘I think Trisha was the outdoors type. She had a couple of horses back in Surrey, member of the RSPB, donated to animal charities.’

‘A bit of an odd couple, do you think?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Had they been to the Peak District before?’

‘Yes. They’d even stayed in the same cottage, but during the summer of the previous year.’

‘I see.’

‘And?’ said Fry impatiently.

But Cooper ignored her. There was something familiar not only about the background, but about the stance of the man, the intimate expression. But most familiar of all was the face – blue eyes, a shock of fair hair. Yes, a young Robert Redford, with a hint of Brad Pitt.

‘Do you fancy him, or what?’ said Fry.

‘No,’ said Cooper. ‘But I remember him.’

‘So when did you see David Pearson?’

‘I’m not sure.’

She glanced at him suspiciously. ‘You never were a good liar, Ben.’

He shrugged. ‘It might just be that I’ve seen the photographs before. In connection with the missing persons inquiry. I don’t know.’

Fry was silent, forced to accept it as a possible explanation. But he could tell that she still wanted to ask more questions.

‘He’s distinctive,’ she said at last. ‘Looks like a film star. I can’t quite remember which one …’

‘Robert Redford.’

‘Oh?’ She seemed to think about it for a moment. ‘Before my time, I think.’

‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? All the President’s Men?’

‘I can’t quite picture—’

‘Think of Brad Pitt, then.’

‘I suppose so. I prefer Johnny Depp myself.’

Cooper shook his head. ‘Wrong type altogether.’

‘So – you’ll be going over the ground again in the Pearson inquiry. Where are you heading first?’

He looked at her vaguely.

‘Back into the past, I think,’ he said.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t say it …’

‘What?’

‘Best place for you,’ said Fry.

‘No, you shouldn’t.’

Murfin was beaming at them from his desk, his phone poised in mid-air. He seemed reluctant to let Fry leave the office without a parting jibe.

‘Happy to be back among the sheep again, Diane? I bet you’ve been missing the little woolly darlings.’

Fry spun on her heel, an angry glower on her face.

‘Once I drive away from Edendale for the last time, I’m never going to leave civilisation again. Trust me, I’ll be happy if I don’t have to see another damn sheep ever in my life.’

As an exit line, it wasn’t bad. It was certainly one Cooper would remember.

8

It really was such a shame about the Light House. For generations, people had known where they were when they saw the pub. They had chosen it as a meeting place, as a halfway point on a journey, as a perfect spot to stop for a breather and admire the view.

The trouble was, not enough of them had actually been going inside, except to use the toilets. No one had recommended eating a meal there for years. No one even chose the Light House for a drinking session. It was impossible to include in a stag-night pub crawl because it was so far out of town. In its last few years it didn’t even have real ale on tap to attract the aficionados, and that meant even morris dancers stayed away. Reputation was everything in the pub business. The Light House had possessed a good reputation once. But that had long since trickled away – and with it the majority of its customers.