Cooper was on a quiet stretch of road half a mile from Bridge End Farm. The road became very narrow and winding here, and the surface deteriorated, as if it was about to peter out into a farm track, the way some Peak District roads did. Only if you were familiar with the area did you know that you had to drive on for a few hundred yards to emerge on to a decent surface again, where the road crested the brow of the hill and began a descent into the valley.
The lights of the town would come into view by the time he reached that point. But here, with the trees overhanging the dry-stone walls, there was no light to speak of.
He glanced in his mirror.
‘What the heck …?’
The car behind him was approaching too fast.
He felt a violent bump, and the Toyota slewed sideways, the nearside front wheel almost slipping into a shallow ditch just short of the stone wall.
Cooper fumbled to unfasten his seat belt. But by the time he’d opened his door and struggled out of the car, the vehicle that had bumped him was gone, disappearing into the darkness. He knew it was white, that was all. A white pickup. He couldn’t be sure of the make, though he vaguely thought it looked Japanese. He had no clue about the number plate. It might have been obscured with mud. He might just not have been looking.
He cursed quietly. He’d be useless as a witness. With an hour or so, he’d be wondering whether the shunt had really been deliberate, or if it could just have been an unfortunate accident.
Still shaking slightly from the shock, he got back in his car, reversed it on to the road and carried on. What else was there to do?
The field barn hadn’t been used for a while. Not for its proper purpose, anyway. At some time it had become surplus to requirements on whichever farm it belonged to. Too inconvenient for storing hay, too expensive to maintain, impossible to get planning permission for a conversion. So it had stood, damp and deteriorating, half of its roof fallen in, the ground around it scattered with sheep droppings.
Cooper steered the Toyota off the road and into the gateway. He killed the engine, but left the headlights on for a moment as he examined the building. It was big for a field barn, divided into two sections by a brick wall that was completely out of keeping with the pale limestone the building had originally been constructed from. The side nearest the road had been occupied by sheep in recent months. The other half had been used for housing farm equipment, and the doors were high and wide enough to get a tractor in. The roof was more intact too, with only the occasional missing tile that would show light through in the daytime.
Recent tyre tracks ran in from the road. The doors at the far end of the barn stood open, and he looked for the glint of a headlight or reflector that would indicate a vehicle parked partially out of sight. It was difficult to tell in the dark, with his headlights only just reaching, but he thought the barn was empty.
He got out of the car, locked it carefully and took a few paces into the field.
‘Hello?’ he called.
But there was no answer, except for a chattering of rooks in a copse of trees across the road. No traffic passed; there were no houses in sight. The field itself was empty too, the grass looking as if it might have been reseeded and left to establish itself. He turned and looked at the gate. An old chain hung from it, but it was broken off where it had been attached to an iron bolt in the stone wall.
‘Hello?’ he called again. ‘Anyone there? It’s Ben Cooper, Matt’s brother.’
Still silence. He didn’t know how many people were here to meet him. He couldn’t even be sure of their intentions at second hand. In other circumstances he would never have come alone, without backup. He certainly would have made sure someone knew where he was going. But this was different. It was more personal.
And someone did know where he was, of course. Matt had arranged this meeting, or had at least passed the message on. His brother was complicit in whatever happened. That ought to be reassuring.
He moved forward a few more feet, smelled the odour of sheep from the open end of the barn. There were no sheep here now, but they’d left their mark in more ways than one. His boots squashed a carpet of black pellets underfoot as he moved.
‘I arranged to meet someone here,’ he called. ‘Where are you? Come on out and let me see you.’
No answer. No sound of movement, no light of a torch to let him see where someone stood in the darkness. He took half a dozen more steps. The further he got from the road, the darker it seemed to become. That must be an illusion, because there were no street lights out here. The entire area was deep in that true darkness you only ever got in the countryside, when the sky was overcast with cloud as it was now. No stars, no moon, no glimmer of illumination from a nearby village or lights of traffic on a main road.
‘Damn,’ he muttered.