The media will have a field day says Tate. We need to be ready.
I am ready.
We’ll need to get our press team prepped.
Of course.
We’ll be working for weeks without sleep.
Fine.
Then I’ll get the papers signed and we’ll bring him in.
Good says Brindle. Good.
BRINDLE CALLS MACE as he is driving in. As he is driving up the valley. Down the dale.
There are fields on either side. Stone walls containing him.
He counts the poles that carry the wires and the pylons that carry the wires and he thinks about folk crimes. Stories in the soil. Skeletons. Girls under water.
He thinks about Yorkshire. About the Dales. The country.
The dark country. The spaces between the places. The black water.
The wind whipping across it.
The sound of lapping.
Flesh peeling off and floating upwards. Fish feeding on it.
Be ready he says when Mace picks up.
Now?
Yes. Does your editor know?
I’ve told him about Rutter.
Have you told him about Pinder.
No.
Good – wait on that. And don’t tell him I’m taking you up there. Not yet.
We’re going up there now?
Yes now. Is that a problem?
No – it’s just that –
You wanted the story. And if you’re going to tell this story you need to commit to it totally – you need to be ready. You need to be there in the moment.
Are you going to arrest him?
Of course says Brindle. But first I need to speak to Ray Muncy.
Why?
Consider it a courtesy call.
Why can’t I tell my editor?
Because I’m going to do this my way. This is about trust – remember? Or lack of it anyway. Trusting no one. Not even the people you think you trust.
You did it your way last time.
That’s why I especially want to do it my way this time. To rectify.
I’ll need a photographer there. I’ll need to tell—
You’ll need to tell no one. You don’t need a photographer. You can get all the photos you need afterwards.
How many officers are you bringing?
None.
None?
Just me.
Just you?
Yes. And you.
They’re not sending a full support team with you? asks Mace.
No.
Why?
Because I can’t trust anyone at this stage.
Not even Cold Storage?
When Brindle says nothing Mace says you trust me though and Brindle hesitates for a moment.
Against all judgement – yes. It seems that way.
Won’t you get in trouble? says Mace. I mean isn’t there some sort of protocol to follow here? Warrants and precautionary measures and all of that.
I have the warrants. Anyway – it’s me that is meant to worry about protocol not you. Your job is to record and document. Be the eyes and the ears and weave the narrative. Use that literary flair that you say you have.
What if things turn nasty?
Nasty how?
I don’t know says Mace.
Why – are you scared?
I don’t know.
You should be says Brindle.
Why?
Because the world is a dark and chaotic place that is ruled by disorder and desire and impulse. Because there is no sense to any of it and if you think about it too much you will want to end your life immediately.
Jesus.
Just be ready says Brindle. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
NOW HE IS here. Deep in the earth. Now he is in Acre Dale Scar. Resting up. Rustling the tarp. Its contents soft and acrid. He is feeling the ammonia rather than smelling it. The girl softening within. Becoming fluid. Burning holes in it.
Rutter lies back and Rutter lays the parcel across his chest and holds it. Rutter cradles it. Rutter treasures it.
He has found a hollow up one of the steep bank sides. He is in the shadow of a boulder and he has pulled ferns fronds over to him – over the two of them – so that they are covered. So that they are camouflaged.
The quarry is thick with balsam and ragwort and wild grasses and some of the larger trees have nearly grown to ground level out of the sunken scar and their branches are in full bloom with leaves.
Visibility is limited and his gun is beside him. Anyone climbing up or down will be heard before they are seen. Rutter allows himself a cigarette. Rutter allows himself two cigarettes. His head hurts. He drifts off.
Rutter has no dreams and Rutter has no nightmares and he is glad of the sleep. When he awakens it is later in the day and he stands and stretches and urinates and then he eats some biscuits and drinks some water and then he needs to excrete so he does that too. He turns the parcel away from him so that she doesn’t have to see this even though she is dead and has no eyeballs and her flesh is bubbling with the burning effect of the chemicals that he has carefully sprinkled over what is left of her face and torso and especially her fingertips.
When it is fully dark Rutter picks up the bundle and leaves Acre Dale Scar and walks across the open moor.
A BREEZE SWEEPS across the fell side above them. It draws swirling patterns in the grass.
So says Mace in the passenger seat. We’re just going to roll up there and knock on Rutter’s door?
No.
Because he might see us coming.
Try saying something less obvious says Brindle.
At a passing place the detective parks the car and turns the engine off.
Come on. We’ll walk down.
They leave the car and follow the road down into the hamlet. Brindle sneezes and then removes a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose.
Hayfever he says.
What are you going to say to Muncy?
He needs to know what’s going on. That we’re going to search the reservoir. It’s right on his doorstep. He needs to know.
What if he does something stupid.
Like what exactly?
Attack Rutter.
I won’t tell him about Rutter. I’ll talk to Muncy then I’ll bring Rutter in. I’ll keep them separated. They will never again see one another except in a courtroom.
Are you sure of that? asks the journalist.
Until something has happened you can never be sure says Brindle. So no. But that is my intention. As we speak my boss is putting his full weight behind this. Two dozen detectives have been told to drop their cases and make this a priority. They’re being brought on to check every shred of information. We’re linking up with the Lister investigation and internal have been briefed about Pinder. Press statements are being prepared. I’m bringing it all down – that I can tell you.
You’ll be on the telly says Mace.
No. No I won’t. That is one thing I won’t be doing.
You’ll be a fucking hero.
I very much doubt that either.
The men reach Muncy’s long drive.
You need to disappear says Brindle. While I speak to Muncy.
Where to?
I don’t know. Give me five minutes.
There’s nowhere to go.
There is an infinite number of places to go. Five minutes.
Brindle turns and walks up the driveway. Brindle is about to ring the doorbell when the front door opens. A frail frightened-looking woman peers round it. Her hair is cropped. It is uneven and near bald and Brindle can see small cuts on her scalp. It is alarming. One bandaged hand holds onto the door.
Oh – I thought you were Ray coming back she says.
Brindle is hesitant. Brindle is surprised.
Mrs Muncy?
Have you seen him?
No. But I’d like to speak to him if possible. Are you – are you alright?
He went out but he’s not come back she s
ays.
Brindle looks into her eyes and sees that June Muncy has gone somewhere far away.
When did he leave Mrs Muncy?
Before. Have you seen him? He was very angry.
No. But I was hoping to catch him. I’m a policeman you see. A detective.
You can’t come in she says. He told me not to let anyone in – ever. I’m not even meant to answer the door.
There is a tremor in her voice. She grips the door with her hand to steady it.
Are you alright Mrs Muncy? Are you hurt?
I just want Ray back. Have you seen him?
Why was he angry?
Her face drops.
I hope he’s not started up all that again.
Started up what Mrs Muncy?
All that carry-on.
What carry on?
June Muncy’s eyes search Brindle’s face.
You’d not heard? Getting into arguments. He’s fallen out with most of them in town; reckoned they’d tried to make him do things he didn’t want to do. Wouldn’t say what. My Ray’s his own man. A good man. Treats us well. He’s even fallen out with that daft one up the hill now.
Who is that then?
She opens the door wider and with her bandaged stump of her hand points higher up the valley side.
The pig man she says. Aggie Rutter’s boy.
Did you know Mrs Rutter well?
She was alright with me was Aggie says June Muncy. People called her all sorts but she brought no trouble to our door.
And what about Steven?
Well they had a row didn’t they?
Who did?
My Ray and Steve Rutter. I heard them. Ray said he’d fix the lot of them. He was fuming. It’s this place. This valley. People always fighting. Families falling out. And if it’s not raining it’s snowing and if it’s not snowing it’s blowing a gale. It’s cursed is this place.
Brindle tries to hide his surprise. He raises a hand to halt her. Palm up.
Wait a moment. When was this?
I told him we should move but he’s stubborn is Ray. He said we’d lose money on the house if we sold now. He said he grew up here and was going nowhere. Stubborn. He hated him off the telly as well. He wrote and told him so.
Larry Lister?
Called him all sorts of names.
When was this? Brindle asks again.
Reckoned it was the recession.
When did Ray say he was going to fix them Mrs Muncy? When did he write to Larry Lister?
She shakes her head.
Do you know what it was about?
Again she shakes her head.
How long ago? asks Brindle. Before Christmas?
June Muncy stares off into the distance. When the words come they are vague.
I don’t know.
Before Melanie –?
Maybe she says. Maybe.
If I came back could we speak some more?
Will you find my Ray? Will you bring him back with you?
I’ll try Mrs Muncy says Brindle. I’ll try.
THEY WAIT. THEY wait for hours for a sign of movement. They wait for Rutter to leave the house so that Pinder can lure him onto the moors or into the woods so that he can shoot him even though his hands are trembling but when they see nothing – no curtains being opened and no animals in the yard and definitely no Steve Rutter – Skelton gets annoyed and tells Pinder to get up there and bang on the door and get inside the house and end Rutter and let’s get this over with and don’t even think of doing a runner or else I’ll start by cutting Valerie’s tits off with scissors so then Roy Pinder walks up the hill to the Rutter farm and he bangs on Rutter’s door and he looks through Rutter’s windows and he checks Rutter’s outbuildings and then he tries the door again but still there is no sign of Steven Rutter so he walks back to the top of the track and looks down the hill to where Skelton is sitting in the car and he opens his arms and shrugs as if to say what now? and Skelton decides that this is procrastination and this is bullshit and that if you need a job doing properly you have to do it yourself so he gets out of the car and takes out his gun and he shoots Roy Pinder in the face from thirty yards away and the gun sounds like nothing but a man spitting out a shred of tobacco and then he walks up the hill and drags the policeman’s body down the track and Roy Pinder’s face is like a blooming flower and he hoists him into the boot of his car.
HE WALKS WITH as much purpose as he can muster and he does not use the torch and instead relies upon his innate understanding of the landscape. He knows which blackened bogs to avoid – perilous even during a dry spell – and where the first of the season’s heather burning has taken place and where there are dangerous drops into the foundation pits of dwellings abandoned since tin miners and peat cutters and shepherds lived up here.
Because Rutter is more than someone passing through the landscape. He is the landscape. He is the dirt and the roots and the tumbledown walls; he is the sheep skulls and the rabbit warrens and the buried secrets and as he walks he feels as if he is a man on a planet that only he can navigate. That only he understands; a world that others consider barren and inhospitable and alien. A large and lonely place where sound is consumed by a vacuum and the dust and rocks are scentless and the water runs as red as blood.
There’s a larger ruined building up ahead. They say it may have been an ancient hunting lodge built back in the 1600s when red deer were the landowners’ prized quarry. Others say it was an old farmhouse with barns built on its ends. Or maybe it was a makeshift base for the old quarry teams. A dynamite store perhaps.
They said a feral man had lived here seventy or eighty years or more ago. Certainly it is over fifty years since it was occupied.
Rutter doesn’t know about any of that; he is too embedded in the present – too much a part of the landscape – to gain the necessary distance that perspective provides. Like the rocky outcrop or stagnant sump pool or the fallow paddock Rutter simply is.
To him this ruin was a place of solace and shelter from the elements as a child and as he passes by now he has to resist curling himself into one of its stony corners with the foaming remains of the burning girl and going to sleep. Because they would be found here. They would be found and their story would be told in disrespectful detail in newspapers and on television and they wouldn’t understand him and he does not want that.
No. He does not want that all. Rutter wants nothing but silence and nothingness. Rutter wants to be a question mark.
Yes. A question mark.
A mystery man.
Yes. The both of them. Yes. The two lost lovers.
Because this is – he thinks – a tale of romance and eternal love.
Yes. Just because she is dead – that has never mattered to him. No. Not at all.
No he says out loud. No. Because love endures and love lives on and love conquers and this is a love story.
It has always been about love.
COME ON.
Brindle walks across the turning circle to where Mace is waiting outside the post office. He is leaning against the window and smoking a cigarette.
Have you see this? says Mace jerking a thumb at the window behind him. It’s shut.
So?
Shut for good. The Laidlaws must have sold up. Or gone bust. The post office is the last link to civilisation for the hamlet. This is big news.
So tell your editor then says Brindle walking past him.
What’s got up your nose?
Come on.
Mace follows behind Brindle.
How did he take the news about the reservoir search?
Mace says this to the back of the detective’s head.
He didn’t.
Why? says Mace but Brindle does not reply so then he says was he not there?
No.
Well where is he?
I don’t know. Dead maybe.
Mace stops.
Hang on – Muncy’s dead?
Brindle continues walking so Mace runs to catch him
up. They are leaving the hamlet by the old back lane that cuts up through a field towards the copse above the Rutter place. A circuitous route.
I spoke to June Muncy.
What was she like?
A ghost says Brindle. A maimed ghost.
And what did she say?
Brindle stops and turns to Mace. He looks around to check that there is no one nearby even though they are beyond one of the most remote hamlets in the north of England. He lowers his voice.
June Muncy suggested that her husband may have frequented a certain cinema in the city. Or certainly had incurred the wrath of those that did.
Mace whistles in disbelief.
Fucking hell. She told you that?
As good as. And she said that he had rowed with Rutter and was going to fix the lot of them. Her words.
When was this?
Before Christmas and—
Before Melanie says Mace. So they’re linked in more ways than one. Not just by here – not just by this piss-hole hamlet.
Yes says Brindle. It would appear that way.
A revenge attack.
Maybe.
By Rutter though?
By Rutter acting on orders.
From who?
From whoever is behind all this.
Pinder?
No. Maybe. Others too though.
Seems like an extreme measure.
When people want their secrets to stay that way they do extreme things says Brindle. Rutter’s the stooge here. Rutter’s disposable.
Christ says Mace.
The track takes a tight turn and the two men climb over a stile and start the uphill climb.
But what does it all mean? says Mace. I don’t understand.
It means Rutter had something over Muncy – or vice versa. Seems like our man Ray had a falling out with the special gentlemen’s club who congregated at the Odeon X. He knew too much but they left him alone.
But then they acted.
Yes.
Because he knew all about the place. And maybe he was about to spill the beans?
That’s a possibility. A very strong possibility.
Even though it closed says Mace.
Just because the building closed doesn’t mean activity ceased. There are allegations against Larry Lister from as recently as six months back. I’ve seen the statements; he didn’t always act alone. One girl described other men being present. Other men watching.
Turning Blue Page 29
