Outdoors, they sometimes managed to get quite interesting lighting effects. In one of the Ravensdale photographs, Cooper could make out the dappling effect of sunlight through the canopy of trees. The sun had swung round to the south by the time the shots were taken, so it must have been around the middle of the day. The photographer would have been wondering when hed get a chance for his lunch.
There was also a sketch plan done by one of the SOCOs, complete with arrows indicating the points of the compass. It confirmed what Cooper had noticed at the site: the feet of the victim had been pointing to the east and the head to the west.
He had a feeling there was some significance in that alignment. It was one of those half-remembered things, a vague superstition in the back of his mind. He couldnt have said who had put the idea in his head, or when. Maybe it was only something hed overheard as a child, a whispered conversation among elderly relatives at a funeral, a bit of local folklore.
East to west. Yes, there was some significance, he was sure. But the alignment of the body was just as likely to be a coincidence, wasnt it?
From the fragments collected at the scene, the dead woman seemed to have been wearing a rather plain, light blue dress, underwear, tights and blue strappy shoes with one-inch heels. No coat, nothing worn outside the dress. It was unlikely that shed walked down to the stream at Litton Foot herself, but not impossible.
The skeleton had been incomplete when it was found, with several small bones missing. And there was no jewellery that might have been used for identification. No engraved bracelets, no wedding ring. This woman had been someones daughter and mother. But had she been someones wife, too?
Cooper knew he might never be able to get a lead on how the woman had died. Not from the remains, at least. Forensics could perform wonders, but not miracles.
And there was the question of what had happened to Jane Raven Lees body after her death. The possibilities were bothering him. The dead woman hadnt been buried, shed been laid out and exposed to the elements. The whole thing had too much ritual about it. Cooper wished there was someone on hand who could tell him whether he was discerning a significant fact, or just imagining things again.
The evening briefing didnt last long. There wasnt much to report, after all. A forensic examination of the scene had found no signs of a struggle near Sandra Birleys car, which suggested her abductor had given her no chance to make a run for it, and had probably used a weapon to subdue her quickly. The Skoda had still been locked, and there was no sign of the keys.
The concrete floor of a multi-storey car park was hell for a fingertip search. Who could say whether an item found on the oil-stained surface had been dropped by Sandra Birley, her attacker, or one of a thousand other people who had used Level 8 in the past few weeks? Scores of fibres had been recovered from the retaining wall and the ramp barrier. Partial footwear impressions were numberless. And the SOCOs had collected enough small change to pay their coffee fund for a week.
One question Id like answered, said DCI Kessen, is whether our man knew which CCTV cameras were dummies, and which werent. And if so, how? Theres no way of telling just by looking at them, is there?
I dont think so, said DI Hitchens. Maybe hed worked there himself, or he knows somebody who does. Anyway, DC Cooper is already on to the employees angle.
What do we make of the husband? What are the odds well find a green Audi on the CCTV footage?
Hitchens shrugged. He seemed genuine enough to me. He says he was at home when his wife phoned him. We should be able to confirm that from phone records.
So not much to go on at this stage.
We do have two confirmed sightings of Sandra Birley prior to her abduction, said Hitchens. She was seen leaving her office and walking down Fargate in the direction of the multi-storey car park between seven fifteen and seven thirty. Even allowing for a margin of error on the part of the witnesses, she ought to have reached her vehicle by around seven forty.
Hold on, said Fry. When was the last sighting of her exactly?
Hitchens consulted his notes. No later than seven thirty. A shopkeeper in Fargate saw her passing his shop.
He was in his shop at seven thirty? What sort of shop is this? I thought everything in Edendale closed by six at the latest.
Its a shoe shop. And yes, it was closed. As luck would have it, the proprietor was in the store room stock-taking hes closing down and selling up soon, so hes doing a full stock check. But he could see through the shop on to the street. He said hed seen Sandra Birley many times, and he knew she worked at Peak Mutual, though he didnt know her name. We showed him the photos, and hes positive about the ID.
OK.
Fry picked up the transcripts of the two phone calls. The fax sheets had been sitting on her desk only since this morning, but already they were getting smudged and creased at the corners. It was a plain paper fax, and they were supposed to be a lot better than the old thermal rolls. Maybe it was something to do with her hands. Too much heat.
She checked the information at the top of the first page, though she knew both messages almost by heart. Soon there will be a killing All you haveto do is find the dead place.
This second call was received by the control room at Ripley shortly after three thirty yesterday afternoon, she said.
What of it, DS Fry?
He appears to be warning us of his intentions. Soon there will be a killing. Thats what he says.
Yes.
Fry dropped the sheets. If Sandra Birley was the victim he was talking about in his phone calls, it means he had four hours to drive into the town centre and either set up an abduction hed already planned in advance or choose a victim.
Still, its possible.
What we dont want to face is the possibility that Sandra Birley isnt the victim he was warning us about. That his killing is yet to take place.
Well probably get another call from him, Diane. Hes obviously an attention seeker, so hell want us to know this is him. No doubt hell think hes being very clever.
What did the psychologist say? asked Kessen.
She told us to listen to the phone calls, said Fry.
Hitchens scowled. Actually, that wasnt quite all Dr Kane said. She gave us some useful ideas about what the caller is trying to tell us.
Are we expecting miracles from her? asked Fry.
Kessen looked at her for the first time that day. And Fry knew that hed seen everything, heard everything, and taken it all in. She found herself fooled by his manner every time.
We can always hope, DS Fry, he said.
Then the DCI turned back to Hitchens.
By the way, he said, let me make one thing clear. Nothing goes from us to the media about these phone calls. Not a word. Otherwise well have every lunatic in the country calling in. And one lunatic at a time is quite enough.
A few minutes later, Cooper knocked on the door of the DIs office to explain his problem. With the briefing over, Hitchens was already getting ready to go home. Cooper caught the chink of bottles, and saw that the DI was checking the contents of a carrier bag. From the frown on his face, he was wondering whether hed bought the right wine for dinner tonight.
I could use some advice on the Ravensdale human remains case, sir, said Cooper. If I might be allowed to consult
The DI held up a hand. If youre going to mention anybody who charges for their services, Ben, the answer is no. Weve already met the cost of a facial reconstruction on your case. Forensic artists dont come cheap, you know. Unless you can come up with enough evidence to turn the case into a murder enquiry, youre on your own.
But, sir, there could be unusual areas of significance subjects I dont know anything about.
Im sure everyone understands that, Ben. But youll have to cope for a while. We have other priorities at the moment.
Well, mightnt there be ?
But the DI shook his head. He tucked the bag under his arm and rattled his car keys impatiently.
Cooper went back to his desk. He separated one of the photographs of the facial reconstruction from its stack and clipped it on to the copy holder attached to his PC screen. The room was emptying, and no one paid any attention to him, or noticed that Ben Cooper was talking to himself again. It was just one sentence anyway, spoken resignedly to the photograph next to his screen.
Its just you and me then, Jane, he said.
The face of Jane Raven Lee gazed back at him silently the muddy brown flesh, the random streaks against her skull, the blank eyes awaiting an identity.
8
When Cooper got back to his flat that night, the light on the answering machine was flashing and the cats were demanding to be fed. One was always more urgent than the other, so it was a few minutes before he pressed the button to play back his messages. There were three of them.
Ben, its Matt. Give me a call.
The first one was a very short message, but it made Cooper frown. His brother didnt usually call him unless it was really necessary. In fact, Matt was always scrupulous about not phoning his mobile because he knew he used it for work. He supposed hed have to call back and see what was wrong. But there were two more messages to listen to yet.
Ben. Matt. Give me a call as soon as you can. Its important.
Now Cooper began to feel uneasy. He pressed the button for the third message.
Ben, please give me a call. Its very important. Then a pause. Its about Mum.
Turning her Peugeot from Castleton Road into Grosvenor Avenue, Diane Fry finally pulled up at the kerb outside number 12. The house had once been solid and prosperous, just one detached Victorian villa in a tree-lined street. Its front door nestled in mock porticos, and the bedsits on the top floor were reached only by hidden servants staircases. But now most of the occupants were students at the High Peak College campus on the west side of town.
Fry often found her flat depressing, especially when it was empty. But shed found Wardlow depressing, too. The very ordinariness of the place had made the calls from the phone box near the church seem even more disturbing.
Though Wardlow had been bad enough, at least it wasnt the real back of beyond, the area they called the Dark Peak. Up there was only desolation bleak, empty moorlands with nothing to redeem them. She recalled the road sign shed seen last time she was there: sheep for 7 miles. Seven miles. That was the distance all the way across Birmingham from Chelmsley Wood to Chad Valley, taking in a population of about a million people. But here in Derbyshire you could find seven miles of nothing. That just about summed it up.