Not any more.’ In the sitting room, Fry began to open the drawers of a small dresser, her gloved fingers moving through the contents. Some CDs, spare batteries, a pair of gloves. Luke Irvine was examining a desktop PC on a table in the corner. Was Tarrant the type to send a lot of emails? She doubted it, but you had to check. Just as Cooper came into the room from the kitchen, she touched something solid in the drawer. Her fingers closed around an unusual shape. ‘That’s odd.’ Cooper came over to her. ‘What have you found, Diane?’ ‘I’m not sure.’ Fry showed him the object she’d found in the drawer – a small, flared brass and copper tube, no more than nine inches long. ‘Those things aren’t easy to use,’ said Cooper. ‘It takes a lot of practice to get it right.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘A hunting horn, of course.’ Carefully, Fry bagged the horn for evidence. ‘Adrian Tarrant must have had it,’ she said. ‘So it looks as though the kill call was real, after all – and Tarrant was the one who blew it.
