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and tattoos, and one even had a red mohican, which was exactly how she would have pictured them, if asked. But a few of the protestors were middle-aged women, positively respectable looking, wearing walking boots with thick socks rolled over their ankles, and carrying little rucksacks. They reminded her of the Greenham Common women who had impressed her when she was a small child, because they always seemed to be on the TV news.
    A couple of the sabs were carrying video cameras, others had mobile phones they were using to take photographs. Maybe they were also keeping in touch with another group somewhere, with a person in charge of co-ordination. Or perhaps they really were just a disorganized rabble letting off a bit of steam.

    On the other hand, she could see now that video cameras and mobile phones weren’t the only equipment the protestors were carrying.
    She saw Inspector Redfearn, and wound her window down.
    ‘Inspector, do you know some of those animal rights people are carrying whips?’
    ‘Yes, it’s usual. Its one of their tactics for confusing the hounds.’
    ‘Shouldn’t you seize them? Wouldn’t you consider them offensive weapons?’
    ‘Ah, but look at the huntsman, and half of the riders. They all have whips or riding crops. We can’t seize them from one side and not from the other.’
    ‘So it’s all in the cause of impartiality?’
    ‘Yes, Sergeant.’
    Fry shook her head. If the two sides had both been armed with baseball bats, knives, or AK-47s, there’d have been no question how the police would react. But nice, middle-class people couldn’t have their whips taken off them, could they?
    The inspector’s radio burst into life, and he listened for a moment.
    ‘Uh-oh. It seems to be kicking off on the other side of that copse.’
    ‘So there is another group of sabs.’
    ‘Sounds like it. This lot are probably just the diversion.’
    Fry got out of her car and waited to see what would happen. It was so difficult to tell what was going on. A confusion of shouting, horns blowing, car engines revving, hooves clattering on the tarmac. She smelled a chemical spray on the air, almost as if tear gas had been fired. Four police officers ran down the track from where she’d last seen the hounds. A radio crackled, someone uttered a short, sharp scream.
    She walked a few yards further up the track, feeling completely out of her depth.
    ‘Do you need help?’ she called.

    ‘It’s usually all over and done with in a few minutes,’ said the inspector. ‘It’ll just be a question of who’s left with the most bruises.’
    Four men in camouflage jackets trotted past her. They were all big men, bulky under their jackets, and one of them was carrying a pickaxe handle. He gave Fry a hard stare as he went by, and she felt sure she’d seen him before, possibly in court, or occupying a cell in the custody suite. If she’d seen those four sitting in a car within fifty yards of a bank, she would have been tempted to call in the response team to arrest them on suspicion of planning an armed robbery. Today, though, they all wore baseball caps that said HUNT STEWARD . The unmistakable scent of violence hung on the air.
    ‘I see the hunt have their own heavies, Inspector,’ said Fry.
    ‘The stewards, yes. They were stood down for quite a while, but they seem to have been re-formed for the occasion.’
    ‘Looking for a chance to teach the protestors a lesson, I suppose.’
    ‘We do try to keep an eye on them. But with an event like this, things can be spread over a wide area. The hounds are in one place, the riders another, and the car followers all over the shop. That’s why we tend to watch the sabs. The trouble happens where they are, one way or another.’
    An officer came up and spoke to the inspector.
    ‘OK, thanks.’ He turned back to Fry. ‘It seems some hunt supporters blocked the sabs’ van in with their vehicles and let the tyres down. That’s pretty tame stuff, really.’
    ‘What about