It felt as far away from the wild plateau of Kinder as it could possibly be, though it was barely a mile or two in reality, just on the other side of the A624 bypass.
‘People here call it the bypass,’ said Barrett, ‘but it doesn’t bypass anything. As you can see, it comes straight through the village and divides it in half.’
Barrett was still in jeans and work boots, a multimeter and a pair of wire strippers hanging from his tool belt. He was in his early thirties, lean and angular, with deep-set eyes darkened by a troubled frown.
‘When did you last speak to Faith?’ asked Cooper.
‘It would have been Friday, I think. We talked on the phone a bit. She was going to meet with her group the next day, of course.’
‘You didn’t go on the Kinder Scout walk,’ said Cooper. ‘Why was that?’
‘I don’t fit in,’ he said. ‘Not with that lot. I never understood what Faith saw in them. She couldn’t have got me to go on one of their stupid walks. And now look what’s happened.’
‘How long had you been in a relationship?’ asked Cooper.
‘A year. Two years. I’m not sure.’
Cooper felt sure Faith Matthew would have known exactly. There would probably be a note in her diary marking the anniversary of the date they met. A year or two sounded much too vague.
‘Were you going through any problems?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was wondering whether your relationship had any difficulties. Was Faith happy?’
‘Of course she was happy. We were fine. No problems at all. It’s not as if she was likely to go off and do anything stupid. She was sensible. Level-headed. It was one of the things I liked about her.’
‘Did she talk about Darius Roth much?’
Barrett scowled. ‘Yes, quite a lot actually. She was a bit taken with him.’
‘Taken with him? She admired him?’
‘She said he was passionate. About what he believed in, I mean. Not, you know . . .’
‘That can be attractive,’ said Cooper tentatively.
But Barrett shook his head. ‘I’m sure there wasn’t anything like that.’
‘Sure?’
‘Positive. Like I said, we were fine.’
‘OK. Have you spoken to Faith’s family?’
‘To her mother. Her parents don’t like me.’
‘That’s often the case,’ said Cooper.
‘But Faith has a brother too. He’s quite different.’
‘Jonathan.’
‘Yes. He might know more about Roth and that group.’
Villiers turned to Cooper as they left the Barretts’ home.
‘I suppose this means a trip into Manchester?’ she said.
‘I’m afraid so.’
The old semi-detached stood in a leafy street just off Withington Road in Whalley Range, South Manchester, near a Catholic grammar school and the International Centre for Krishna Consciousness.
All the houses here were faced in pale brick with decorative arches. The row of buzzers and flat names by the door were enough to indicate it was in multi-occupancy, even without the swarm of wheelie bins on the drive.
An aged four-wheel-drive Subaru Impreza was parked out front. It was about fifteen years old, judging by its registration number, but well maintained apart from some rust on its rear wheel arches. The colour was something quite queasy-making between blue and green, perhaps teal or viridian.
From the names on the buzzers, Cooper saw that Jonathan Matthew lived on the top floor of the house. When a tall, stooped young man with long hair answered, Cooper showed his ID.
‘Oh, is it about Faith’s accident?’
‘Yes, sir. We’ll need to get someone to take a full statement from you later. But we just have a few initial questions to help us focus our inquiries.’
‘All right. Come on in.’
Jonathan showed them into a small sitting room in what would once have been described as an attic flat but was probably listed as a loft apartment. It had been recently modernised, but its dramatically sloping ceilings and dormer windows gave away its origins.
‘I should be at work today,’ he said, ‘but I’ve taken the day off.’
‘Understandable. Your mother is at Faith’s house in Hayfield, by the way.’
‘Is she?’ said Jonathan vaguely.
‘I thought you might like to know, in case you needed to be there.’
‘I’ve spoken to Dad this morning. I don’t want to . . .’
‘What?’
‘To go over it all again. That’s what it would be like. Over and over again. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened. I can’t save Faith. There’s no point in trying to blame anyone, is there?’
He looked appealingly at Cooper and Villiers on the last phrase.
‘I’m sure no one is trying to allocate blame,’ said Cooper.
‘Really? Well, you don’t know my mother very well.’
Cooper glanced into the next room and saw instrument cases stacked against a wall.
‘What do you do for a living, Jonathan?’ he asked.
‘I work as a graphic designer, but I’m really a musician,’ he said. ‘I’m in a band, and we’re doing well. Really coming together. I reckon we could be going places before long. We have a gig next week, in fact.’
‘Where at?’
‘The Spinning Top in Stockport.’
‘I know it.’
‘You should come along. We cover some classic rock, as well as doing our own stuff. Some of the other guys are older and played in bands decades ago. But that’s what people want now. Tribute bands, or old rockers still touring. You have to start off like that and get your name known.’
‘Anyone I might know in your band, then?’ asked Cooper.
‘The guy who put it all together is Robert Farnley. He goes way back to the music scene in Manchester in the 1970s and he’s met everybody who was anybody.’
‘That’s before my time.’
‘It’s all coming back, you know, that kind of stuff. The kids appreciate good music. We’ve all learned a lot from Rob.’
‘I’m glad to hear it’s going well.’
‘Oh, we’re doing a demo, and some proper promotion,’ he said proudly. ‘We’ll get there.’
As Cooper watched him, Jonathan was fiddling with something metallic, turning it over and over in his hand. Cooper noticed that he had long fingers, like a lot of musicians.
‘Mr Matthew, did you ask your sister for money?’ he said.
Jonathan looked up. ‘How did you know that?’
‘It was something your mother said.’
‘Oh yeah, she would. Well, I did mention to Faith that I needed some cash. She had a big nest egg put aside, you know.’
‘But she said no?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
He flushed. ‘What are you getting at? I was disappointed, that’s all.’
‘When did she tell you that she wouldn’t give you money? Was it the day of the walk?’
‘No, before that.’
‘When?’
‘The day before, if you must know. All right, I was a bit pissed off. I thought I could rely on her.’
‘But she let you down.’
‘Just this once. But she was my sister. She meant a lot to me.’
‘Is that why you went on the walk?’
‘Because she asked me to, yes.’
‘I have a feeling you weren’t impressed by Kinder Scout,’ said Cooper. ‘Or by the history of the Mass Trespass.’
Jonathan smiled. ‘The only thing I liked about it was the alien evacuation.’
‘The what?’
He put the metallic object down on a table. It was only a capo for the neck of his guitar.
‘Don’t you know the story?’ said Jonathan. ‘There was this guy back last century who said he’d been contacted by extraterrestrials. They told him the world was going to
end, but they could rescue some members of the human race. He formed an organisation, the Aetherius Society, and they came up with a list of mountains around the world where the aliens would come and evacuate people at the right time. “Magic mountains”, they called them.’
‘And?’
‘And Kinder Scout was one of those mountains. There’s a rock up there with a cross painted on it and the guy’s initials. GK – his name was George King. That rock is the exact spot his society said the aliens would evacuate from.’
‘And when is this evacuation going to take place exactly?’ asked Villiers.
‘Well, they said it would be 2015.’
‘That’s a bit disappointing.’
‘It’s a good story, though.’
Jonathan went suddenly quiet, and his face darkened. He’d been enjoying himself for a moment, and now he was angry at his own apparent callousness. It was probably the words ‘a good story’ that had penetrated his exterior.
Cooper recognised that feeling. Sometimes you heard a phrase coming out of your mouth and it struck deep into your own heart while meaning nothing to anyone else who heard it.
Now Cooper regretted having led him down that path.
‘I’m really sorry about your sister,’ he said.
Jonathan looked away. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But nothing will help with the guilt.’
‘You feel guilty for her death?’
‘Of course I feel guilty,’ said Jonathan. ‘I should have been there with her. She always looked after me when we were kids – you know, the big-sister thing. But I wasn’t there when she needed me. I lost sight of her in the fog and she died.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Cooper. ‘Everybody was disorientated. The group had split up. You were lost. You were all suffering from cold and exhaustion.’
Jonathan’s expression didn’t change.
‘It doesn’t matter what you say. You can make all the excuses for me you like. The fact is, I wasn’t there for her. I let Faith down. I’ll always feel guilty for that.’
Cooper nodded. Despite what he’d said to Jonathan Matthew, he fully understood those feelings of guilt. He’d suffered them himself, and was still experiencing them now, those sharp pangs of despair whenever he thought about what had happened to his fiancée Liz. He’d been there when the abandoned pub had been set on fire, trapping them both in the blazing building. He’d been unable to save her. He should have been able to bring Liz out alive, but he hadn’t.
That kind of guilt didn’t respond to logic. And he supposed it would never go away.
‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm your sister?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Harm her? Are you saying she was deliberately killed? I thought it was an accident?’
‘We’re not sure yet. But I have to ask. Can you think of anyone—’
‘Nobody at all. Faith got on with everyone. Why would anyone want to do something like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Cooper. ‘That’s what we’d like to find out.’
What he could have said to Jonathan Matthew was that he’d lost count of the times he’d heard friends and family members say that a victim ‘got on with everyone’. Sometimes they were in denial. But often there was always a small, secretive corner of someone’s life that was unknown even to the people closest to them.
Jonathan stared miserably at Cooper.
‘You’ve got to be wrong,’ he said. ‘What happened to Faith – it must have been an accident.’
Cooper sighed. ‘I wish I could tell you that, sir. But I’m not sure it would be true.’
Chloe Young had been accompanied down to the body by a crime scene examiner and was wearing a safety harness provided by the Mountain Rescue team, in case she inadvertently went too close to the edge.
Ben Cooper stood on the overhang and watched her working. Mist still surged below Dead Woman’s Drop, masking the distant valley bottom and making the fall from here seem even further. He felt as though he’d be falling for ever through the cloud if he lost his footing.
Each stage of the process was photographed from every angle as Young inspected the body bit by bit, then gently began to turn it onto its side.
That was when Cooper caught his first glimpse of Faith Matthew’s face, shockingly pale against the red of her jacket. There was blood around her right temple where she’d hit the rock. Young examined Faith’s face and neck, then checked the limbs that had been hidden under the body.
Young turned and looked up, as if judging the distance of the fall. She caught Cooper’s eye and gave a small smile and a shake of the head. Cooper wasn’t sure what that meant.
‘In my opinion,’ said Young, when she’d returned to the top of the cliff and freed herself from the harness, ‘and it’s a provisional view, you understand . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, the victim was already turning round when she fell.’
‘Turning?’
‘The position of the body and the location of the injuries would be consistent with that scenario.’ Young twisted her own body to demonstrate a half-turn, as if looking at something over her shoulder. ‘You see, one arm and leg were underneath her. She fell sideways.’
‘Which means she didn’t just step off the edge in the fog,’ said Cooper.
‘I think she would have fallen at an entirely different angle.’
‘Perhaps she was turning because she heard something behind her.’
‘Possibly.’
Cooper thought of the angled shoe mark he’d seen. If that was found to match one of Faith Matthew’s boots, it would support the idea that she was turning away from the drop.
‘I can see what you’re thinking, Ben,’ said Young. ‘Obviously I can’t offer an opinion on what happened up here.’
‘Of course not.’
But Cooper had the certainty that Chloe Young agreed with him. Faith Matthew hadn’t fallen from Dead Woman’s Drop. She was pushed.
12
The room at Ripley was much more pleasant than any interview room in a custody suite that Diane Fry had ever seen. It was as if she was sitting down for a budget meeting or a staff appraisal. She must be wary not to be lulled into any false sense of security by her surroundings.
Her interviewer introduced himself as Martin Jackson, an investigator with the Professional Standards Department. He was aged around forty, with sleek brown hair, a well-fitting suit and a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
He smiled at Fry as he sat down, trying to establish a friendly relationship perhaps, the way salesmen did. She was determined it wasn’t going to work.
‘DS Fry,’ he said, ‘you’re aware that you’re entitled to be accompanied at these interviews by a representative of your staff association or a colleague to act as your “friend”?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘And you’ve decided not to take up that opportunity today.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘So is it all right with you if we make a start, then?’
‘I can’t wait.’
His smile was slightly crooked, she noticed, the left side of his mouth barely moving as if he might have suffered a mild stroke at some time. It undermined his demeanour, made his affability look like a disguise, a persona adopted by an actor. But then, all good interviewers were actors in one way or another.
‘I take it you’re familiar with the College of Policing’s Code of Ethics, dated July 2014,’ said Jackson. ‘I have a spare copy here for you, if you’re not.’
He tossed a booklet down on the table between them. The natural instinct would be to pick it up, or at least to pull it towards her side of the table. But Fry resisted the impulse. She didn’t touch it, or even look at it, deliberately ignoring his gesture.
Jackson met her stare with that slightly crooked smile.
‘The Code of Ethics sets out the Principles and Standards of Professional Behaviour for the Policing Profession of England and Wales,’ he said.
/>
‘I’m familiar with it, of course.’
‘Excellent. Well, might I draw your attention first of all to Section Three – the ten Standards of Professional Behaviour.’
‘Do you want to know what they are?’ said Fry. She began to count on her fingers. ‘Number one, “Honesty and Integrity”. Number two, “Authority, Respect and Courtesy”. Number three, “Equality and Diversity”. Number four—’
He held up a hand. ‘We’ll get to number four in due course,’ he said. ‘But let’s take things a little more slowly. We have other matters to deal with first.’
Fry clenched her jaw to control her expression as a surge of unease ran up her spine. Number four in the Standards of Professional Behaviour was ‘Use of Force’. He was deliberately making her think back over all the possible incidents in her career that might fall under that heading.
Jackson was watching her carefully. ‘For your reference, DS Fry, we’ll be dealing with issues under standards one, two, four, seven and nine.’
‘Very well.’
She’d been thinking so hard about number four that now she couldn’t remember what seven and nine were. The copy of the Code of Ethics still lay on the table between them. But having ignored it when he tossed it there, she couldn’t pick it up now to check.
‘Remind us of number one again,’ he said.
‘“Honesty and Integrity,”’ she repeated. ‘And you shouldn’t need reminding.’
‘Indeed.’ Jackson looked down at his notes. ‘The code offers several examples under this section for assessing your honesty and integrity. Shall we just run through a few, with regard to your personal choices?’
‘If you like.’
‘Would you agree with these statements, then, DS Fry? Please answer as directly as you can. Do you ensure your decisions are not influenced by improper considerations of personal gain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you knowingly made false, misleading or inaccurate statements in any professional context?’
‘No.’
‘Have you either solicited or accepted the offer of any gift, gratuity or hospitality that could compromise your impartiality?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And finally, have you ever used your position to inappropriately coerce any person or to settle personal grievances?’
Fall Down Dead Page 8
