Graceless, now, she really likes people, he said. Whenever somebody new comes to the house, she always wants to
What?
Well, she likes to sniff their trousers, if you know what I mean.
Their trousers?
If you know what I mean.
Oh, yes.
Not everybody likes it, said Jarvis.
No, I can imagine.
But shes only being friendly. Im wasting my time trying to stop her. Shes a big lass, and if she wants to go somewhere, she goes. She doesnt mean any harm by it, but some folk get the wrong idea when they see her coming.
Yes.
She hates it, said Jarvis, with that jerk of his head again.
Your wife? Well, it must be a bit embarrassing when you have visitors.
What visitors?
Business not good, sir?
Jarvis gave him a sour look and wiped the moisture from his hands on the legs of his jeans.
It had been dry on the porch, but now Cooper was glad hed put on his jacket before he left the car. It was the one hed taken to the Black Mountains with him for the weekend, so the pockets were full of all kinds of odds and ends, but it kept him dry as he waded through the long grass in the rain.
Litton Foot lay deep in Ravensdale, above Cressbrook village. Ash woods hung above the stream here, deep and dank. Ivy had wrapped itself around the tall, slender trunks of the trees, spiralling high into the canopy, seeking a bit of sun. Everything at ground level was covered in moss so thick that it was difficult to tell what was stone, what was wood, and what was something else slowly rotting in the damp air.
Just downstream, he knew there were two rows of cottages built for the workers at Cressbrook Mill, but they werent visible from here. Stepping stones crossed the water down there to help climbers reach the limestone pitches on Ravenscliffe Crags. On the wet margins of the stream grew clumps of a plant that Cooper didnt recognize something like a ten-foot-high cow parsley with purple stems and spotted leaf stalks, furred with tiny spines.
Theres a footpath at the bottom of your land, isnt there, sir? he said.
It isnt the footpath thats the problem, said Jarvis. Thats been there for centuries, as far as I know. Its this new law they brought in. This what is it? right to roam. Some folk think it gives them the right to go traipsing all over the shop. There was a bunch of them came right down through the paddock and tried to walk across the weir. I dont mind admitting, I were fair chuffed when one of them fell in the stream. She were near to drowning, judging by her noise.
Finally, they reached the patch of ground that had been dug out around the remains of the unidentified woman. Blue-and-white police tape still clung to the trunks of nearby trees, some of it trailing on the ground now in sodden strands, one loose end rattling sporadically in the breeze. Cooper couldnt tell now how wide an area the search had covered.
He hadnt brought any of the scene photos with him, but could remember them well enough to picture the position of the skeleton. The skull had been at the far end of the excavation, close to the roots of an ash tree; the arms had been slightly bent at the elbow, so that the fleshless hands rested somewhere in the pelvic region, while the legs were laid out straight and close together, with the feet near to where he was standing now.
Cooper looked up through the canopy of trees to locate the sun. The cloud cover wasnt heavy, and a gleam of brightness was visible, despite the rain. Higher up, on the moors, he could always orient himself if he could see the sun. But down here, among the winding dales and shelving banks of woodland, it was easy to lose his sense of direction.
Most of the available sunlight seemed to be coming from beyond the trees to his left. Since it was morning, that should be approximately southeast. Cooper patted the pockets of his jacket. Somewhere here, he was sure ah, yes. He pulled out a small Silva compass and swivelled it until hed oriented the needle to the north. He looked at the grave again. Head there, feet here. He nodded. But it probably meant nothing.
What are you doing? said Jarvis.
Cooper had almost forgotten him. The man had been so silent and so still that he might as well have merged into the trees. He was standing under the boughs of an oak, with water dripping on to his sweater. He hadnt bothered to put on a coat before they came down to the stream. In a few more minutes, hed be as wet as the ground he was standing on.
Nothing important, sir, said Cooper. Just checking some details.
Routine?
Jarvis said the word as if it summed up everything that was wrong with the world. This was a world that wouldnt leave him alone to sit in peace on his porch with his dogs.
Whats on the other side of these woods? asked Cooper, pointing across the stream to the east.
Its part of the Alder Hall estate.
Ive never heard of it.
Its part of the Alder Hall estate.
Ive never heard of it.
Its not exactly Chatsworth though they say it belongs to the Duke again now. The house has been empty for the last two years, anyway. This stream is the estate boundary.
But theres a fence up there above the trees. That looks as though it ought to be the boundary.
That fence is new. It marks the end of the access land.
Of course.
The walkers who found the human remains at Litton Foot had been here only as a result of their new freedom under the Countryside and Rights of Way Act. The so-called right to roam legislation had opened up a hundred and fifty square miles of private land in the national park to public access for the first time. Otherwise, the remains might have lain undiscovered for years yet. In a different location, theyd probably have been found months ago, before they deteriorated beyond hope of identification.
Bad business, it being a woman, said Jarvis.
Yes.
She doesnt know. The wife, I mean. She gets upset about stuff like that. Hates these ramblers coming across our land. But I suppose Id better tell her.
Itll be in the papers anyway, said Cooper.
Aye.
Cooper almost slipped on the stones, and put his hand on to the wall to keep himself upright. The moss covering the wall was thick and fibrous to the touch, like a cheap carpet that had been soaked in a flood and never dried out. It held water as effectively as a sponge, and no air could penetrate it. When he raised his hand from the wall, Coopers fingers smelled dank and woody.
Well, thank you for your time, sir, he said. I think Ive got what I need for now.
Aye? You dont need much, then.
As they walked back towards the house, Cooper noticed an enclosure next to the paddock. A row of old pigsties stood on a concrete apron surrounded by muddy ground and a stone wall, mortared to give it extra stability.
Do you raise livestock, Mr Jarvis? he said.
No. These dogs are enough livestock for me.
Cooper dug into an inside pocket for one of his cards.
If you do happen to remember anyone, sir I mean if the facial reconstruction rings any bells later on you will let us know, wont you? The photographs should be in the papers in a day or so, too. You can contact me at the office on this number, or leave a message.
Jarvis took the card and glanced at it before tucking it away somewhere in his clothes.
Cooper. Thats you, is it?
Yes, sir.
Cooper braced himself for the inevitable question. Tom Jarvis was local. He would surely know all about Coopers father and how hed met his death. Memories were long in these parts, and he didnt expect he would ever escape it, no matter how long he lived.
But Jarvis just gave him a quizzical look, no more than the lifting of an eyebrow and a momentary understanding in his dark eyes. And Cooper suddenly found himself liking the man much more.
He walked back through the overgrown garden, the only sounds the swish of his own footsteps in the wet grass and the rattling of raindrops on rusted metal. The place had an air of dereliction, a sense of things that had been left to rot in peace.
Tom Jarvis didnt come with him to the gate but stood and watched him from the top of the porch steps, with the dogs sprawled at his feet. When Cooper reached his car, he turned to say goodbye.
Well, Graceless hasnt bothered me at all while Ive been here, he said.
No, youre right, said Jarvis. The old bitch must not fancy you, then.
Diane Fry watched DI Hitchens tapping a pen against his teeth and swivelling in his chair. Some of his mannerisms were starting to annoy her, but she tried not to show it too much.
The two calls werent linked straight away, said Hitchens. I didnt know about the second one myself until this morning, and there was no chance to tell you about it.
Fry hadnt bothered looking at the transcript yet. She felt too angry. Where was the call made from? Wardlow again?
We dont know, Diane. It was too brief to be traced. But they were only a few minutes apart, so its a good bet.
She looked up at the map, finding Wardlow easily this time. Its an entirely different kind of message, isnt it?
Yes. The similarities between them are the voice distortion and the timing, otherwise the connection might not have been made at all.
Hes being very specific: a cemetery six miles wide. And what does he mean by the dead place? Or a flesh eater?
Well analyse it later, said Hitchens. Was your funeral director any use?
Mr Hudson did manage to remember who a few of the mourners were at Wardlow. Theres the family, of course. And they had some local dignitaries and business types in the congregation, people whod worked with the deceased councillor, so Ive got a decent list to be going on with. And when we talk to the family, we can get more names. That would be a good start.
Yes, said Hitchens, without enthusiasm.
Fry took off her jacket. I appreciate were talking about over two hundred people, sir. But if we put a couple of enquiry teams on to it, we can add more names with each interview until we build up a picture of the whole congregation. We should be able to narrow the possibilities down to a few individuals who nobody knew. And one of those will be our man.
That probably wont be necessary, said the DI. But well bear it in mind.
Fry looked at him. Why wont it be necessary?