be an injured party.’
Superintendent Branagh waited while the meeting broke up. She was wearing a dress this morning. It was dark blue, with a pattern of enormous white flowers, and it was cut so badly that it made her shoulders look even broader than usual. Watching her stand up and come towards them made Fry think of a window ledge that the plant pots had fallen off.
‘I wonder what her vital statistics are,’ whispered Murfin. ‘She’d look good in the front row of the scrum.’
‘Women don’t have vital statistics any more, Gavin.’
‘Ah. Political correctness. Maybe I should get myself sent back in for re-education again. I obviously need my ten thousand mile service.’
As everyone went back to work, Fry noticed that Ben Cooper had sneaked into the back of the room, too. He looked as if he wasn’t sure how welcome he would be, or whether his presence could be regarded as official, even.
It turned out that Branagh had noticed Cooper, too. She turned to Hitchens and Fry.
‘DC Cooper is supposed to be on leave, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Fry regarded her with a certain respect. A woman who could memorize the duty rosters must have a ruthlessly efficient administrative brain. Most senior officers wouldn’t even have bothered looking.
‘He heard we were short-handed and came in to see if he could help,’ explained Fry. ‘But I can send him home, if –’
‘No, why would you do that? We should be encouraging such enthusiasm, DS Fry.’
‘Of course.’
A few minutes later, Fry found Mr Enthusiasm himself standing at her desk.
‘You didn’t mention any trouble with the hunt,’ he said.
‘It was all a storm in a teacup.’
‘Sabs, I suppose?’
‘Yes, but there were hunt stewards involved. I didn’t like the look of them too much, Ben. There were one or two familiar faces, I’m sure.’
‘Customers of ours?’
‘Almost certainly. When I get hold of their names, I think there’ll be a few counts of affray and GBH on record. Some potential suspects there, well capable of cracking a person’s skull. If we could link one of them to Patrick Rawson, then tie it up with the forensics …’
‘You’re focusing on the hunt stewards rather than the saboteurs?’ said Cooper.
‘The protestors were a motley bunch. But some of them looked as though they wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. They’d probably be too afraid of violating its rights.’
Cooper perched on an adjacent desk. ‘The sabs are pretty clever and sophisticated now. They’ve had a lot of experience over the years. In fact, some people say successful hunt sabotage needs as much knowledge of hunting techniques as hunting itself. You have to understand the direction a scent travels, possible lines a fox might take. And good communication is vital.’
‘According to Inspector Redfearn, there are mainly hard-core activists left since the ban. They seem to be convinced that hunts are trying to break the law every time they go out.’
‘Not all hunts,’ said Cooper. ‘The Eden Valley have developed a bad reputation with the sabs. Some of the neighbouring hunts, like the High Peak, are considered pretty clean and law abiding. But, yes, there are definitely some extreme groups. A while ago, there were a bunch called the Hunt Retribution Squad, who were alleged to have been responsible for a series of fire bombings. That was after the deaths of two young saboteurs in incidents involving hunt vehicles.’
‘Deaths? Really?’
‘It was a few years ago.’
Cooper had got Fry’s interest now, and he could see it. He sat down at his PC and did a quick search, soon coming up with the details.
‘Yes, they were both in 1993. One in Cheshire, and one in Cambridgeshire. The sabs who died were aged eighteen and fifteen. The fifteen-year-old was crushed under the wheels of a horse box.’
‘That’s just a child,’ said Fry.
Cooper nodded. ‘Funny thing is, the angle of the media reports at the time damaged the
Superintendent Branagh waited while the meeting broke up. She was wearing a dress this morning. It was dark blue, with a pattern of enormous white flowers, and it was cut so badly that it made her shoulders look even broader than usual. Watching her stand up and come towards them made Fry think of a window ledge that the plant pots had fallen off.
‘I wonder what her vital statistics are,’ whispered Murfin. ‘She’d look good in the front row of the scrum.’
‘Women don’t have vital statistics any more, Gavin.’
‘Ah. Political correctness. Maybe I should get myself sent back in for re-education again. I obviously need my ten thousand mile service.’
As everyone went back to work, Fry noticed that Ben Cooper had sneaked into the back of the room, too. He looked as if he wasn’t sure how welcome he would be, or whether his presence could be regarded as official, even.
It turned out that Branagh had noticed Cooper, too. She turned to Hitchens and Fry.
‘DC Cooper is supposed to be on leave, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Fry regarded her with a certain respect. A woman who could memorize the duty rosters must have a ruthlessly efficient administrative brain. Most senior officers wouldn’t even have bothered looking.
‘He heard we were short-handed and came in to see if he could help,’ explained Fry. ‘But I can send him home, if –’
‘No, why would you do that? We should be encouraging such enthusiasm, DS Fry.’
‘Of course.’
A few minutes later, Fry found Mr Enthusiasm himself standing at her desk.
‘You didn’t mention any trouble with the hunt,’ he said.
‘It was all a storm in a teacup.’
‘Sabs, I suppose?’
‘Yes, but there were hunt stewards involved. I didn’t like the look of them too much, Ben. There were one or two familiar faces, I’m sure.’
‘Customers of ours?’
‘Almost certainly. When I get hold of their names, I think there’ll be a few counts of affray and GBH on record. Some potential suspects there, well capable of cracking a person’s skull. If we could link one of them to Patrick Rawson, then tie it up with the forensics …’
‘You’re focusing on the hunt stewards rather than the saboteurs?’ said Cooper.
‘The protestors were a motley bunch. But some of them looked as though they wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. They’d probably be too afraid of violating its rights.’
Cooper perched on an adjacent desk. ‘The sabs are pretty clever and sophisticated now. They’ve had a lot of experience over the years. In fact, some people say successful hunt sabotage needs as much knowledge of hunting techniques as hunting itself. You have to understand the direction a scent travels, possible lines a fox might take. And good communication is vital.’
‘According to Inspector Redfearn, there are mainly hard-core activists left since the ban. They seem to be convinced that hunts are trying to break the law every time they go out.’
‘Not all hunts,’ said Cooper. ‘The Eden Valley have developed a bad reputation with the sabs. Some of the neighbouring hunts, like the High Peak, are considered pretty clean and law abiding. But, yes, there are definitely some extreme groups. A while ago, there were a bunch called the Hunt Retribution Squad, who were alleged to have been responsible for a series of fire bombings. That was after the deaths of two young saboteurs in incidents involving hunt vehicles.’
‘Deaths? Really?’
‘It was a few years ago.’
Cooper had got Fry’s interest now, and he could see it. He sat down at his PC and did a quick search, soon coming up with the details.
‘Yes, they were both in 1993. One in Cheshire, and one in Cambridgeshire. The sabs who died were aged eighteen and fifteen. The fifteen-year-old was crushed under the wheels of a horse box.’
‘That’s just a child,’ said Fry.
Cooper nodded. ‘Funny thing is, the angle of the media reports at the time damaged the
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