The Kill Call

find restaurants to serve their horse meat, weren’t they?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Fry. She took another long gulp of her drink. ‘But they already had wind of the trichinosis outbreak. The restaurant must have been desperate to avoid any suggestion they were serving horse meat. Reputation is everything in that business. Neil Connelly was already trying to distance Le Chien Noir from the bad publicity.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’
    ‘Suggest that Environmental Health pay a visit to Le Chien Noir.’
    Cooper noticed that she was having a bit of difficulty saying the name of the restaurant. The third time it had definitely come out wrong.
    ‘Diane, are you all right?’
    ‘Why does everyone keep asking me if I’m all right?’
    ‘Well … I don’t know why everyone else does,’ said Cooper. ‘But I just noticed you seemed to be drinking quite fast. For a lunchtime, anyway. I didn’t know you were a day-time drinker.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Except in exceptional circumstances.’
    Cooper laughed uneasily. ‘You almost managed to say that without slurring.’
    ‘I don’t slur. I’ve never slurred in my life. I’m a positively slur-free zone.’
    Overwhelmed with relief that the moment had passed, Cooper began to feel giddy with the idea that had come into his head.
    ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘I think we should go for a walk. A bit of fresh air will do us good. Did you bring your boots?’
    ‘It’s raining,’ protested Fry.
    ‘No, it’s stopped. It’s nice and fresh out there.’

38
     
     
    They crossed the road at Middleton Dale, then walked up through the Tarmac site at Darlton Quarry, its sides terraced like a huge amphitheatre. Excavators were loading dumper trucks in the bottom of the quarry. A hydraulic drill probed at the rubble, splitting the larger stones. Nearer by, a giant shovel sculpted the edges of the worked-out areas.
    Black Harry Lane was marked with wooden sign posts etched with horseshoe symbols. A bridlepath, then. Fields would be separated by gates, not stiles. But Cooper could see that this wouldn’t be easy going for a horse. One section of bridleway was so split and crevassed that it looked as though it had been involved in the same earthquake that had left those giant gashes on Longstone Edge.
    It struck Cooper that Naomi Widdowson and her boyfriend had been almost a modern equivalent to Black Harry as they waylaid the unsuspecting Patrick Rawson, though the actual robbery had been left to Sean Crabbe.
    Along the edge of the lane were a few skeletal hawthorn trees shattered by the wind, their branches broken, their buds blotched with leprous patches of lichen. They passed a dried-up watering hole, where sheep had stepped into the mud in search of the last inch of water. The concrete lining must have cracked, so that no amount of rain would ever fill it up again.
    ‘Deborah Rawson says she believed her husband was having an affair,’ said Fry, ‘and that might be true. But I think Patrick Rawson did something quite unforgivable in Deborah’s eyes, and it wasn’t to do with another woman.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He proved that Erin Lacey was right about him. At heart, he was just a dodgy Irish horse dealer. That must have been the killer for Deborah Rawson.’
    ‘What – the fact that he’d gone back to horse dealing when she thought he was becoming a respectable businessman? Or the fact that Erin Lacey had been proved right?’
    Fry nodded. ‘Both. There was certainly no love lost between those two women. So it was a double whammy. Can’t you just hear Mrs Lacey’s reaction?’
    ‘“ Blood will out ” – that sort of thing.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘So if he hadn’t been tempted by the call that Naomi Widdowson made …’
    ‘He might still be alive now. Yes, that was what sealed his fate, I’m sure of it.’
    ‘But Deborah would rather let people think that he was having an affair, betraying her with another woman.’
    ‘Image,’ said Fry breathlessly. ‘It’s all about image.’
    From Black Harry Gate, a path ran eastwards through a steep-sided dale that squirmed its way towards Calver. But Cooper continued to lead the way towards the rakes on Longstone Moor, where the sheep were still playing chicken with the quarry lorries. Who would be the last to get out of the way? From the stubborn expressions on their faces, these sheep didn’t realize how unequal the confrontation was.
    Finally, he stopped to allow Fry to get her breath,