The Kill Call

die tomorrow, so none of it mattered?
    That was the moment I changed. In that one, bright, devastating flash, I realized what I had to do. No matter how long I had to wait, I knew who the person was that I needed to kill.

31
     
     
    Saturday
    A series of gritstone buildings stood at the end of a long drive, guarded by a locked gate. Fry could see nothing grand about any of the buildings, nothing to justify their secluded position. This was hardly Chatsworth House, or any other stately home.
    ‘Take a closer look,’ said Cooper, passing her the binoculars.
    ‘What is this place?’
    ‘The hunt kennels.’
    ‘The Eden Valley Hunt?’
    ‘Right,’ said Cooper. ‘This is where the hounds are kennelled.’
    Many of the structures were single storey, their slate roofs darkened by rain. A couple of vans with muddy wheel arches stood in the yard. Fry could hear the distant sound of barking dogs.
    ‘The huntsman and kennel man live on the premises,’ said Cooper. ‘The building to the right is the flesh house.’
    ‘The what ?’
    ‘Well, you know about the flesh run?’
    ‘Jesus, do I want to?’

    ‘Like a lot of hunts, the Eden Valley provides a service for farmers,’ said Cooper. ‘It collects fallen stock – dead and sick animals, or ones that just don’t happen to have any value. They pick the dead ones up from the farm, or put live animals down humanely, if necessary. It’s a real boon for farmers. Fallen stock would cost them the earth to dispose of, otherwise. The regulations make incineration expensive, and you can’t bury animals on your own property, the way a lot of farmers used to.’
    ‘But what do the hunt want with dead livestock?’ asked Fry. She turned her head to listen to the sound of high-pitched barking drifting from the kennels – a wild, haunting sound that must have struck terror into the heart of many a fox. ‘Oh God, I think I know already.’
    ‘You do?’
    ‘There are about forty damn big dogs in there.’
    ‘Hounds. Eden Valley Hunt have sixteen and a half couple – thirty-three hounds.’
    ‘And big dogs take a lot of feeding, don’t they?’
    ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Cooper.
    Fry felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t bear to look at the innocuous grey stone buildings any more, couldn’t stand to hear the barking any longer. The images in her mind were too vivid, and too bloody.
    ‘Can we get away from here, please?’
    She knew what Cooper was doing – he was trying to make her see the hunt differently, to convey a picture of some kind of essential cog in rural life, regrettable but necessary. So far, it wasn’t working.
    But Cooper hadn’t finished yet.
    ‘The kennel man does the flesh run, collects the fallen stock from farms all across the hunt’s area. He uses a captive bolt pistol to kill any animals that need putting down. Then he skins them, guts them, and feeds the carcasses to the hounds. A pack like the Eden Valley’s can get through a lot of raw meat in a day.’

    ‘This place is no better than the abattoir,’ said Fry.
    ‘Well, they’re serving a similar purpose.’
    ‘If you say so.’
    Fry lowered the binoculars. The hunt was gathering again for the second time this week. Something called a lawn meet, she was told. It sounded ridiculous, and created images in her mind of people playing croquet on horseback.
    ‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Cooper. ‘The Eden Valley Hunt aren’t doing anything illegal. Neither are the owners of the abattoir where horses are slaughtered. So anyone who tries to interfere with their legal activities by obstruction or intimidation is committing a crime, and is liable to be arrested. Right, Diane?’
    Fry could feel her jaw tighten. Strange, but she’d thought this would be a safe subject, a way of keeping Cooper off more personal topics. So why was it that he seemed able to make any subject unsettling?
    ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We could never condone vigilantism, by animal rights activists or anyone else.’
    ‘I’m glad about that.’
    ‘But it’s still disgusting.’
    Cooper looked at her, but she couldn’t meet his eye.
    ‘Everything ends the same way, Diane,’ he said. ‘Animals don’t live for ever. Farm livestock are there for a purpose.’
    Everything ends the same way. She supposed that was right – for humans, as well as animals. It was just a question of how much pain you had to go through first.
    Cooper suddenly seemed to lose interest in the direction of the