Cooper started to fidget. The woman with the trolley was watching him with a quizzical look. He gave her an apologetic smile and moved a bit further away.
OK, said Fry. So long as weve got that clear.
Right.
In that case, Ben, you can talk to me about your plans, she said. Well make an appointment some time, and well discuss it fully. I might have some suggestions about your future career.
Cooper was silent with amazement.
Thats the way its done in a properly managed department, she said.
If you say so, Diane.
He could hear Fry breathing and rustling some papers. He almost pressed the button to end the conversation, but sensed there was something else she wanted to talk about. Perhaps, even, the real reason for her call.
I expect you remember the Emma Renshaw case, Ben?
The missing student? he said. It was about two years ago.
Thats right. What was the general opinion at the time? Did everyone think she was dead?
Heck, I dont know. There was no reason for her to run away from home, as I recollect.
No, none that could be found.
Why are you asking?
Her mobile phone has been found, so we have a new line of enquiry. But most of the background I have is stuff inherited from West Midlands, which makes life a bit difficult.
You also inherit Mr and Mrs Renshaw then, said Cooper. I dont envy you.
Right. How come everybody knows about the Renshaws, except me? Isnt it practice to keep your colleagues informed around here? Or does everyone think its a big joke?
It isnt my fault, Diane, protested Cooper.
Fry was silent for a moment. Cooper found it frustrating talking to her on the phone. He needed to be able to see her face, to try to read what he could from her expression. There was something so taut and thinly stretched about her these days, a tension that was emphasized by her narrow shoulders and lean cheekbones, and the way she had cut her hair even shorter. It meant he always found himself looking for what Fry was thinking in her eyes, rather than listening to her words.
I suppose Mondays out for a meeting? she said. Youll be too busy with the Rural Crime Team.
Sorry.
Well make it some other time, then. Oh, and Ben? Id take your lady friend up on that offer, if I were you.
Cooper put his phone away and looked over his shoulder. The woman with the trolley winked at him.
The car park in front of the supermarket was full of the sound of smashing glass as couples in estate cars queued up to unload a weeks worth of wine and beer bottles into the recycling bins. Cooper wondered if this routine had replaced Sunday-morning church worship a few minutes spent in Somerfields car park helping to save the planet instead of sitting in a draughty church trying to save their own souls.
The man with the stick had been lurking, ready to take up his conversation where it had left off. Unfortunately, Cooper had completely forgotten what he had been talking about.
Ive got their numbers you know.
Sorry? said Cooper.
The burglars. The thieves. Ive taken their car registration numbers.
Im sure the officers investigating have found that very useful.
No. They wont even look at them.
Oh.
Cooper was starting to come to the conclusion that he had inadvertently become attached to a DOB a Daft Old Bloke.
There was even a burglary the other side of the estate at the big property, Southwoods Grange. It belongs to the National Trust, that does. The burglars got away with antiques worth a fortune. And they must have come right past my house to get there. But you cant tell the police anything. They havent time to listen to the likes of me.
Im sure theyve taken note, he said. They probably have a lot of other lines of enquiry to follow.
You sound like one of them top detectives, when they go on TV to explain why they havent caught a murderer or found some missing kid. They always say they have too many lines of enquiry. Youre not a top detective, are you?
No, said Cooper.
I didnt think you could be. I suppose you just watch too much telly, like me.
Youre probably right.
Anyway, its bollocks. They dont have any lines of enquiry at all. They dont have a bloody clue, if you ask em. Not a bloody clue. And when I offer to help them, they dont want to know. What do we pay our police for, I ask you?
Not much.
But I bet you, if I accidentally forgot to do my trousers up in the street again, theyd be down on me like a ton of bricks.
Cooper began to edge away towards his car, manoeuvring his trolley so that the wheels moved sideways. The man with the stick followed him.
Where do you live? he said.
Oh, miles away.
I thought you must do. You know nothing about Edendale at all.
After Ben Cooper had got his shopping home and unloaded, there was time for a glance at the Sunday paper. For some reason, he always picked up the Telegraph, though he knew he would never get around to reading all the sections even if he had any interest in buying a historic property in Suffolk or worrying about a fall in the FTSE 100 index.
Later, the next stage in his Sunday routine was a visit to the Old School Nursing Home, where his mother was currently living, in remission from the schizophrenia that had forced her family to accept they couldnt look after her in her old home at Bridge End Farm any longer. Cooper looked at his phone, tempted to switch it off for the rest of the day. But he decided against it.
An hour later, he was sitting with his mother in the lounge at the Old School, trying to analyse the smells that were partly masked by disinfectant. It was then that he got the fourth call of the day.
10
Scenes of crime officer Liz Petty shook her head. She was crouching in long grass next to a path that ran between trees at the edge of a field.
Ive taken samples from everything in the surrounding area, she said. But there are no signs of disturbance, and I cant see anything that looks like blood. Of course, it depends on the timescale. If it was here a long time, the rain would have washed most traces away by now. But the lab might be able to find something.
Dont worry. Im not hopeful, said Diane Fry.
Beyond the trees, a new crop was showing bright and green in the field. Fry had no idea what the crop might be. She was only glad that the field didnt contain livestock she didnt get on with livestock.
She looked towards some distant farm buildings surrounded by a series of limestone walls. The road behind her was narrow, and ran between two more walls. It was no more than a byway that wandered between rural lanes, and she had seen no buildings since shed turned off from the last village, just outside Chapel-en-le-Frith. She tried to call up a picture of Emma in this place, but she failed. She couldnt imagine any reason why Emma Renshaw should have been here.
No, it doesnt make sense.
More likely somebody stopped at the roadside and chucked the phone over the wall, said Petty.
Almost certainly.
Are you all right, Diane?
Fry looked at the SOCO in surprise. She had worked with Liz Petty a number of times, and saw her often around West Street. They had exchanged small talk at crime scenes, and recently had found themselves having a drink together in a corner of the room at the leaving party for their divisions old DCI, Stewart Tailby. But surely only friends asked you if you were all right in that tone of voice.
Yes, Im fine, she said.
I just thought you seemed a bit down today.
Down?
Fed up. I dont want to intrude, but if you ever wanted to have a chat, you know, we could go out for a drink some time.
Fry tried to remember what they might have talked about at Mr Tailbys party. Had she given the impression she wanted to be friendly? Surely she hadnt told Liz Petty anything about her private life?
Well, thanks for the offer, she said.
Thats OK, Diane. Just let me know. Petty stood up and stretched her legs, rustling in her white protective suit. Anyway, Im about to pack up here. Theres a suspicious death up in Longdendale they need some assistance with.
Yes, I know, said Fry. I heard.
Youre not going to be working on it?
Apparently, not. I have enough to contend with at the moment.
Petty clambered over the wall and began to put away her equipment in her van. It probably wont be anything interesting anyway, she said.
Fry looked at the grass where Emma Renshaws mobile phone had been found, and thought of Emmas parents, perhaps waiting even now for their daughter to come home.
Probably not, she said. But at least it might be something in the real world.
The police officers protecting the scene at the air shaft were starting to get a bit edgy. The place was difficult to find, and it had taken a couple of attempts by the fire service to guide them up the track. Another patrol car had been positioned at the gateway off the A628, but there was no sign yet of the rest of the team the forensic medical examiner, the CID, the Scientific Support van, or the senior officer who would take charge.
The gradual arrival of daylight made the scene look even worse than it had in the light of their torches. PC Greg Knott was the more experienced officer. He had attended sudden deaths before, and he knew from the smell, and the condition of the area surrounding the body, that this death had occurred some time ago. The gases building up in the body as decomposition set in had begun to expel the contents of the stomach and intestines, and blood from the victims nose and ears caused a confusing picture of the injuries he had sustained.
Worst were the eyes, though. In the place where they should have been there were black, clotted pools that almost seemed to match the unnatural colour of the victims face.
With every moment that passed, PC Knott was getting more and more worried that there were things he ought to be doing. It had been a long, tedious night shift. And now, right at the end of it, Knott and his partner actually had an interesting call to attend. They were FOA at a suspicious death the first officers to arrive. And that brought sudden responsibilities, the knowledge that the actions they took, or didnt take, right now could affect the whole investigation, if it turned out to be a case of murder.
Their first priorities had been to assess and protect the scene. And he knew the first rule was not to interfere with anything at the scene, once they were sure that the victim was actually dead. But he hated standing around doing nothing. It went against his instincts. Knott wanted to poke around, to identify the victim, to try to figure out what had happened.
As more time passed, the urge to do something was becoming stronger. Knott told himself it would impress the senior officers when they arrived. But he looked at his partner, who was trying to find something secure to fasten the end of the blue-and-white tape to, and he was glad he wasnt on his own. A bad mistake would be too easy to make. Above all things, any evidence at the scene had to be preserved from contamination. Knott looked at the sky, praying that the rain would hold off, because they had no means of protecting the body if the weather broke.
There was the noise of a car engine, whining as it approached.
Whos that coming? said Knott.
Lets hope its the medical examiner.
They both looked down the hill, watching the spot where the track crested the rise and emerged from the banks of heather. Nothing appeared. Yet the sound of the engine became louder and louder, until it almost seemed to be on top of them.
Bloody hell! said Knott, spinning round. A black Mitsubishi pick-up was only a few yards away from them. But it was travelling down the hill, not up.
Where did that come from?
I dont know, but hes going to drive right through the tape, if we dont stop him, said Knott.
Hed better not, or were dead meat.
Stop him, then.
They both began waving and running towards the vehicle. The driver had already slowed to a crawl as he bumped over the stony track, and he finally came to a halt a few feet from the air shaft. He lowered the drivers window.
Whats the problem? he said.
Im afraid you cant come through here, sir. This is a crime scene.
A what?
A crime scene, sir. Theres been a fatality.
Oh.
So if you dont mind, sir
Has somebody been hurt, then?
Yes, sir.
Who is it?
We dont know. But Im afraid Ill have to ask you to reverse back up the track. You need to turn round and go back the way you came.
The driver leaned out of his window to look down the track. I could just about squeeze past. The grounds quite dry here, so I think the four-wheel drive could cope.
No, sir. Go back, please.
Its a damned nuisance.
Could I ask your name, sir?
Its Dearden.
And whereabouts do you live?
Over the other side of the hill. Shepley Head Lodge.
Knott looked at his partner, who shrugged. Surely you could take the road through Withens, Mr Dearden? he said.
Maybe.
It would be much easier than negotiating this track, I would have thought. Youll get a lot less damage to your suspension and your tyres, anyway.
I suppose so.
Where are you heading for, sir?
Glossop.
Glossop? Well, this isnt even a shortcut. Youd have to go back up the A628 to where the Withens road comes out anyway.
All right, all right. Im going.
He revved the Mitsubishi, looked over his shoulder and began reversing up the hill towards where the track widened out at the old quarry.
Knott looked at the body of the young man. If Mr Dearden lives nearby, maybe we should have asked him if he recognized the body, he said. He might have been able to give us a quick ID.
This lad wont be from round here, said the other officer confidently.
You sure?
They never are. Besides
What?
I didnt like the look of Mr Dearden too much. What was he doing driving over this way, when he could have gone up the Withens road? It would have been a lot easier and quicker for him. It doesnt make sense.