Cooper came in as they were finding a ruler, and Hitchens called him. Ben, just the lad we need. You know this area, Im sure.
Yes, sir. What is it youre looking for?
The DI explained, while Fry checked the scale of the map and used the ruler and a pen to draw a rough circle around the location of the public phone box in Wardlow, helpfully marked by the OS with a capital T and a little blue handset.
Why the six-mile radius? asked Cooper.
Weve got some clues from the tape. Or we think theyre meant as clues.
Continuing the westward arc of her three-mile circle on to the other side of the map was tricky, but finally Fry managed it.
Well get somebody to do a proper job of it, but this will do for now, said Hitchens, oblivious to the exasperated look that Fry gave him. What do you make of it?
Cooper bent over the map. Well, youve got an area that includes a dozen villages and one small town. Several dales on the western side, including part of the Wye Valley. The main A6 between Bakewell and Buxton is down here, and near the top theres a smaller trunk road that cuts right across the A623.
A busy area, would you say?
Only parts of it, sir. The two main roads carry a lot of traffic. And there are some popular tourist spots, such as Tideswell and Monsal Head. And Eyam of course, on the eastern side.
Thats the plague village, isnt it?
Plague? asked Fry.
Oh Ben will tell you the story some time.
Ill look forward to it.
Cooper moved a hand across the map, spanning his fingers over tight clusters of contour lines and long bands of green woodland. But there are much quieter corners here, too. This is part of the Derbyshire Dales Nature Reserve. Only walkers can get into some of these smaller dales, and the woods on the valley sides are quite dense. What roads there are tend to be single track and too narrow to take a vehicle of any size. On the other hand, the eastern and northern parts are limestone plateau. Thats farming country, with a few small villages and the odd abandoned quarry thrown in.
Fry watched Cooper and Hitchens poring over the map. They looked like two schoolboys marshalling their armies of toy soldiers to act out a desktop battle.
Were looking for somewhere within this area that might be referred to as the dead place, she reminded them.
Cooper stood up and drew a hand across his forehead. The possibilities are endless.
Fry sighed. Ben, that isnt what we wanted to hear.
Im sorry.
Its not your fault, said Hitchens. Lets think about this logically. What are the possibilities.
The dead place said Fry. Well, does he mean the place itself is dead, or is he referring to a place for the dead.
As in a cemetery? said Cooper.
Hold on, lets take the first option, said Hitchens. What did you say where the place itself is dead?
Yes. It depends what sort of bee he has in his bonnet.
What do you mean?
Well, it could be some kind of anti-quarry protest, or some farmer driven to the end of his tether by Foot and Mouth Disease. Are there any disposal pits for incinerated cattle around here?
Not that I know of. Foot and Mouth never reached these parts, but there were some farms affected down on the Staffordshire border.
Factory closures, then. Any major employers gone under?
Not since the pits closed in the east of the county. Lots of communities almost died out there. But not here.
Toxic waste dumps?
OK, wait yes, theres one near Matlock.
Hitchens shook his head. Too far. Its way outside of the six-mile zone.
What about a place for the dead, then? said Fry. A cemetery. What better place to hide a dead body than among hundreds of others?
Hed still have to bury it, or conceal it in some way, said Cooper. People visit cemeteries all the time. Im sure they wouldnt be used to seeing a fresh body left lying around.
There must be some abandoned cemeteries, said Fry.
Well, plenty of closed churchyards. Most of the older ones are full now and dont have room to expand. In a lot of villages they have to send you to the municipal cemetery, or to the crematorium.
Mostly the crem these days, isnt it? I dont think Ive ever been to a burial in my life. Everyone Ive known who died has been cremated.
But the churchyards are still there.
OK. Anywhere else you can think of, Ben?
It depends what you mean by a cemetery. There are plenty of burial places, some of them thousands of years old Neolithic sites, remains of chambered cairns. A lot of them are in fairly remote locations, but hikers like to visit the more historic sites. You couldnt leave a body in full view for long without it being discovered.
Like the Nine Virgins, said Fry.
Exactly.
Cooper remembered the Nine Virgins well. The body of a murdered mountain biker left inside the stone circle had been found within minutes of her death. No such luck in this case, though.
Some sites arent so well known, of course, he said. Theres the Infidels Cemetery, for example.
The what?
The Infidels Cemetery. Oh, its really a tiny, neglected nineteenth-century graveyard on the road between Ashford in the Water and Monsal Head. Last time I saw the place, it was waist high with nettles and weeds. And its in the middle of nowhere youd drive right by without knowing it was there.
And why is it there?
I think it was actually the graveyard for a community of Baptists. They werent regarded very highly by their neighbours, I suppose.
Why infidels?
Well, the story is that the inscriptions were recorded by a local historian, who noticed that none of the epitaphs contained references to the Bible, God or Jesus. That was so unusual at the time that it was considered very suspicious.
Between Ashford in the Water and Monsal Head? Fry remembered the DI mentioning Monsal Head. Its not far from Wardlow, then.
Very close.
Lets go take a look. Id like to get the lie of the land around Wardlow anyway.
She looked at Hitchens, who nodded. I can handle everything here. Its going to be a question of waiting at the moment.
Do you have time, Ben? asked Fry. Youre the obvious candidate for a guide.
Ill get my coat.
In the CID room, Gavin Murfin had seen Dr Kane leave after the meeting.
In the CID room, Gavin Murfin had seen Dr Kane leave after the meeting.
You know, I didnt realize they made profilers so young, he said.
Actually, she doesnt call herself a profiler, said Fry.
Oh no, of course not. Not since the Washington Snipers, and the Rachel Nickell case. Not to mention Soham, when the SIO took the wrong advice. Even profilers start to get themselves a bad name after too many disasters. So obviously they have to change their name to something else.
For once, Fry didnt try to shut him up. It was DI Hitchens who started to look annoyed. As a matter of fact, DC Murfin, the real professionals have always tried to play down the hype that the press generate around psychological profiling. Dr Kane has asked us to refer to her simply as a specialist advisor because she wants to avoid publicity.
To keep a low profile, in fact, said Murfin, and laughed.
Hitchens went a bit red around the ears. It was interesting to watch, because the DI was known as a man who found amusement in winding up his own senior officers. Some people said it was why he hadnt made chief inspector by now.
Dr Kane is an investigative psychologist, he said. Shes trained in behavioural science and criminology, so she can provide a useful insight into the investigative process. Shes been an advisor on a number of cases for other forces.
Fry gave Murfin a warning glance, and he tried hard to look chastened. No offender profile then, sir?
Hitchens shook his head, still edgy. We dont have enough information at this stage. We dont even know what sort of offence were looking at, if any.
Murfin seemed to think about what else to say, then changed his mind and kept quiet. Hitchens waited for more comments, fidgeting a little, before turning to go back to his office.
Besides, he said, she isnt all that young. Thirty-three.
7
Twenty minutes later, Coopers car was climbing out of Ashford in the Water. The River Wye took a sharp turn here as it came down from the north, so an observer standing at Monsal Head seemed to be looking up two separate valleys. A small road dropped down from a Bavarian-style hotel and an adjoining café before running north into the woods of Upperdale and Cressbrook Dale. To the south there was no road, only a footpath that clung to the slope for a while before slithering down to the river and crossing a bridge to the opposite bank.
A few walkers were on the five-arched viaduct that spanned the valley. The Wye narrowed as it ran underneath, and less adventurous visitors could be seen sitting on the banks of smooth grass enjoying an hour of September sunshine. But the walk down to the river was steep, and many people stayed to have lunch at the café or eat an ice cream while they enjoyed the view.
Fry shaded her eyes against the sun in the south-west. Whats that place on the side of the hill up there? It looks like the ruins of a house.
Hob Hursts House, said Cooper. It isnt really a house.
And I suppose there was never really anyone called Hob Hurst?
Well, no.
How did I guess?
Its the name of a character in local folk stories. A goblin or a giant, Im not sure which. What you can see there is actually the result of a landslip, but it does look like a ruined house from a distance, if you have a bit of imagination.
Whoever built that hotel certainly had a bit of imagination, said Fry. Some romantic Victorian, I suppose, fresh from a trip to the Alps.
Probably. You know, when this viaduct was built for the railway line, there was a campaign against it. Everyone said it would ruin the view, just for the sake of getting from Bakewell to Buxton more quickly. Now its one of the most popular sights in the area.
They almost passed the Infidels Cemetery without seeing it, although it was right by the roadside. Cooper had driven a few yards beyond it before he braked suddenly and reversed. Part of the wall that had once protected the graveyard had been knocked down. A wire fence was all that barred the gap, though the deep beds of stinging nettles behind it looked pretty hostile.
It was much quieter here than at Monsal Head. Across the valley they heard a shepherd calling to his dog, his voice a high, harsh cry like a moorland bird. Somebody was shooting on the opposite hill. As always in the countryside, the sound of gunfire didnt seem out of place, let alone worth commenting on.