It wasnt very polite.
Youre not polite either, said Josie to her sister. You say arse.
Cooper wondered for a moment if he was being selfish. He hadnt wanted to hear a retired bobbys stories about his father. In fact, hed been worried that this ex-copper might have been one of those called to the scene of Sergeant Joe Coopers death, and would therefore be carrying a picture in his head of the body lying in its pool of blood. He definitely didnt want to go there.
Youre not polite either, said Josie to her sister. You say arse.
Cooper wondered for a moment if he was being selfish. He hadnt wanted to hear a retired bobbys stories about his father. In fact, hed been worried that this ex-copper might have been one of those called to the scene of Sergeant Joe Coopers death, and would therefore be carrying a picture in his head of the body lying in its pool of blood. He definitely didnt want to go there.
But Amy and Josie might want to talk about their grandfather with someone whod known him, someone other than a member of their own family. It might help them understand what had happened.
Cooper shook his head. That was something else he wasnt going to take responsibility for. Matt could negotiate that minefield himself.
At the corner of High Street and Clappergate, a few yards short of McDonalds, Cooper saw two of the Hanson brothers across the road. He recognized them without any problem. Hed arrested them himself before now, and in fact had been to school with their oldest brother. These two had failed to answer to bail given them by a lenient magistrates bench and had been rumoured to have left Derbyshire altogether, for fear of ending up back inside. Cooper reached automatically for his mobile phone, only now realizing that he had forgotten to switch it back on after the cave rescue exercise.
Then he noticed Amy watching him with the sort of expression that only a child could manage, an expression that came from her natural occupation of the moral high ground when dealing with adults.
Youre off duty, she said. Youre not supposed to be finding criminals today.
Cooper looked at her, pausing with his finger on the first button. He was supposed to take the girls to McDonalds and buy them a Happy Meal before he took them home to Bridge End Farm, preferably safe and uncorrupted.
Yes, I know, he said. But sometimes they seem to find me. Thats just the way it is. And he continued to dial.
5
The bus from Ashbourne to Edendale was almost empty. Mansell Quinn took a seat near a back window, where other passengers couldnt see him. He watched the scenery gradually change to the familiar White Peak pattern of fields and drystone walls, until a rash of limestone quarries erupted from the landscape near the A6. They were so noticeable on the edge of the national park that Quinn was surprised they were still working.
In Edendale, he went to find the well in Spa Lane. The water still ran from its brass pipe, and people were queuing with plastic containers. A man with a tray of two-litre bottles was collecting gallons of it. Quinn waited until theyd all gone, then bent to take a drink in his cupped hands. Hed expected the water to be cold, like a natural stream. But it was strangely tepid and had a faint mineral tang not as hed remembered it at all.
All the way from Sudbury, hed been building up courage to enter a shop. Hed passed several charity shops on the way to the well, and had noticed that all the assistants were women. As were most of the customers. He was worried that women tended to notice too much.
Then he saw a couple heading towards the door of the Oxfam shop in Clappergate, and he walked in behind them, almost hanging on to their coattails to help him over the threshold. He bought a faded check shirt for two pounds fifty. Encouraged, he moved on, and found a pair of jeans the right size for him in Scope a few doors away.
But he had to choose a coat carefully. He wanted something that was light but rainproof, one with a hood. Hed be outdoors a lot, but he didnt want to be weighed down by anything too heavy in the hot weather. Quinn had a momentary panic when he realized that the same women hed followed into Oxfam were also in Help the Aged. But they took no notice of him, and he guessed there must be some kind of circuit that people did of the charity shops. Everyone liked a routine.
In Cancer Research, by the delivery entrance to the Clappergate shopping centre, he found exactly the right thing. It was a black Wynnster stowaway smock, waterproof and breathable, but light enough to roll up and carry. It had a peaked hood and a velcro fastening at the back, a storm flap that buttoned up to his face and a drawstring to pull the hood tight. It must have cost about thirty or forty pounds new. This one had a slight rip down one side and the lining was worn inside the collar, but that wouldnt bother him. It smelled faintly of oil, as if someone had worn it while working on a car engine. That didnt worry him either.
And then, at the back of the shop, he came across a small rucksack. It was a dark khaki, not the useless garish colours that hed seen in the shop windows. This one might have been army surplus stock at some time. It looked as though it dated from the 1950s, but it was well made, sound enough for the use he had in mind.
Its a bit warm for hiking, isnt it?
What?
Quinn had his cash ready in his hand, having worked out the total amount before he went to the till. He expected to be able to hand over the money, take his purchases and go, without giving the woman behind the counter anything to remember him by.
Hiking, she said. Your rucksack and waterproof I assume youre going hiking?
The woman was folding the smock and finding a plastic bag to put it in. She was only making small talk, and Quinn knew there ought to be an answer he could give that shed think was normal.
Yes, he said. But not here.
She looked up at him then, and smiled. Quinn felt she was forcing him to fill the silence.
Wales, he said.
It was the first place that had come into his head. But he knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. If there were reports about him in the newspapers, they might mention he was from Wales.
We went there last year, said the woman. Aberystwyth. I wouldnt go hiking in Wales, though. There are far too many mountains for my liking. Im getting too old for all that.
She gave him a quizzical look. Quinn knew she was trying to assess his age, and soon shed be wondering why he was going hiking on his own with an ancient rucksack and a ripped waterproof.
He could feel himself getting angry. The tremors were starting in his hands, his temples throbbed, and he could hear the hissing inside his head the sound of blood rushing to his brain.
Are you going to take the money? he said.
He put his notes on the counter and picked up the carrier bag.
Wait. You need some change, she said.
It doesnt matter.
Quinn paused outside the shop to check his purchases, afraid that he might have left something behind. Instinct made him look back through the plate-glass window, where the woman whod served him was standing at her counter. She was watching him. Her look made him feel as if someone had seen straight through him and knew exactly what he was planning to do.
He walked quickly away from the shop. She probably wasnt even looking at him at all she was more than likely staring at something behind him across the street, or admiring her own reflection in the window. Then Quinn remembered that it didnt really matter anyway. By the time he was a hundred yards away, he had calmed down; he began to walk more slowly.
The Vine Inn was still here, anyway. Hed drunk in the pub a time or two, but it was done up now to attract a better class of customer. It had been re-painted, and the chalk boards outside offered specials from a food menu.
Then Quinn noticed the brass plaque fixed to one of the stone flowerbeds outside the pub, and the lettering caught his eye. In memory of SergeantJoseph Cooper. He stared at the wording, reading it over to himself several times before he looked up and remembered where he was. In memory ofSergeant Joseph Cooper.
At least he could get out of the town now. The last few items on his list wouldnt be found in any charity shop, so hed have to go elsewhere. But he had to move on. There were things he had to do. And there wasnt much time.
On the last leg of his journey, Quinn closed his eyes and tried to rest. By the time he looked out of the window again, he was already in the Hope Valley. The familiar hills gathered close around him, welcoming, drawing him in.
The familiarity of it caught at Quinns throat as he got off the bus and walked through a field towards a line of trees. Tiny flies rose from the seedheads of the long grass as he brushed through it. He broke off one of the heads and put it in his mouth to chew. It tasted nutty, but reminded him of oats, too. He thought of a bowl of muesli, and then of sitting at the kitchen table in the morning, pouring milk, smelling coffee, listening to the children getting ready for school.
And then somewhere he heard a gate creak. He was supposed to have fixed the gate. More than fourteen years ago, hed promised to oil the hinges. That sound alone was enough to take him back to 1990, to wipe away the intervening years as if theyd never existed. The side gate creaked, and here was Mansell Quinn standing listening to it, expecting at any moment to hear his wifes voice reminding him that hed promised to attend to it.
Quinn experienced a moment of confusion. He could see himself opening the door of the garage, sighing with exasperation because hed been distracted from doing something more important. He could picture lifting a can of WD40 from the shelf, coughing at the dust as he moved a box of tools, brushing off an old spiders web, and noticing the spare set of spark plugs hed been looking for. He could even remember the texture of the breeze-block wall behind the shelf, and see its colour pale blue, because they had some paint left over when the kitchen was decorated. He recalled spraying WD40 on the hinges of the gate, and watching the rusted metal darken as the liquid soaked in and began to run. He could smell the alcohol fumes as the spray drifted back into his face.