It made him feel like a real landowner when he patrolled his small estate. His old Land Rover had admittedly seen much better days, but he was confident it still exuded effortlessly an image of ancient, solid, county aristocracy. Pike, although happily fostering for as long as he could remember a deep hatred of rich people and everything associated with them, did on occasions allow himself the self-indulgence of feeling, and he took for granted, looking, quietly regal – but only when he thought nobody was watching. He had been feeling uncomfortable at the thought of lamping. The night of the murders, with the strange eyes staring at him, had given him a few sleepless nights. But the local butcher had asked him for a couple of dozen rabbits and he’d used the magic word. ‘We’re talking “cash” rather than “please”.’ That was all it took for him to overcome his fear. Besides, he had his gun and his dogs, and surely, no harm could come to an armed man in the British countryside.
