Dead in the Dark

by Stephen Booth

  ‘Lacey,’ said Cooper, ‘are you aware that your father is missing?’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve known since Monday.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Naomi Heath. She sent me a message through the college.’

  ‘She doesn’t have your phone number?’

  ‘Dad does,’ said Lacey. ‘But I’ve told him that if he lets Naomi phone me I’ll ditch my phone and change my number.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where your father might be?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. All kinds of places. You could try that woman he was having an affair with at work.’

  ‘Madeline Betts?’ said Cooper. ‘We’ve checked with her. She hasn’t seen him.’

  ‘Some other woman, then. How would I know? I don’t keep track of what he’s up to.’

  ‘You don’t approve of your father.’

  Cooper felt he was stating the obvious. Lacey was eighteen and it was perfectly normal at that age.

  She pulled an exaggerated expression of disgust. ‘What’s to approve of?’

  ‘So have you been to Bakewell recently?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘Yes, actually. A couple of days ago. I’d booked a place at a psychic investigation.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A psychic investigation,’ repeated Lacey more slowly.

  ‘A ghost hunt?’

  ‘If you want to call it that. There’s a group that organises investigations at special locations. This one was at Bakewell Town Hall. It’s an interesting place, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that. You mean interesting ghosts?’

  ‘Spirit manifestations.’

  ‘Did you go home while you were in Bakewell?’

  ‘Home?’ she said. She swept an arm around the flat. ‘This is my home.’

  ‘I mean the house in Aldern Way, as I’m sure you know. Where your father lives, the house you lived in yourself until you came here.’

  ‘No, I haven’t been back for a while.’

  ‘Any particular reason for that?’

  ‘Have you been there?’ said Lacey.

  ‘Yes, I was there just this morning.’

  ‘And did you meet Naomi?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then why do you need to ask?’ she said. ‘There’s your reason, right there.’

  So she neither approved of her father nor of his new partner. Or perhaps it was because of his new partner. And Lacey knew about her father’s affair with Madeline Betts too. That was interesting. It was supposed to have ended years ago, when Lacey was a small child.

  Lacey was watching him still.

  ‘Do you have any theories about where’s he’s gone?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.

  That was smart of her. Cooper made a mental note not to underestimate her just because she was eighteen and listened to music he didn’t understand.

  ‘We are currently exploring the possibility that Mr Bower’s disappearance is connected with your mother’s ten years ago,’ he said, waiting with interest for her reaction.

  ‘Oh, I get you,’ she said.

  Now she looked more subdued. So she cared about her mother more than her father. Cooper glanced at Murfin to see if he’d recovered.

  ‘You were very young when your mother went missing,’ said Murfin on cue. ‘It was very confusing for you. When it happened, you didn’t know who you could trust, not even the police.’

  Lacey looked at him more closely, frowning.

  ‘Have I met you before?’ she said.

  ‘I was on the inquiry team at the time.’

  ‘You came to the house, didn’t you? With that inspector.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Lacey smirked. ‘Ten years. You’ve put on weight.’

  ‘I’m ten years older,’ said Murfin, ‘that’s why. But you’re ten years older too. You’re not that same eight-year-old girl who didn’t know what was happening. You’re an adult now.’

  Cooper nodded in approval. Lacey was looking uncertain. She didn’t know how to react to Gavin Murfin, or perhaps to the memories that he was evoking. A familiar face or the sound of a voice could take you back so easily to a time you’d almost forgotten.

  ‘You spent some time with your aunt and uncle in Over Haddon, didn’t you?’ said Cooper. ‘After your father was arrested, you went to stay with them. That must have been strange. They’re very different people. Your Aunt Frances is a teacher, and a bit of a disciplinarian, I bet. Your Uncle Adrian is a very talented woodcarver. I’ve seen the tawny owl he’s carved for the show …’

  ‘The owl is beautiful,’ said Lacey, gazing into the sky over the city.

  ‘Yes, it is. Beautiful.’

  She was quiet for a moment. Cooper moved a step closer. Just one small step.

  ‘I’m sure you must have thought about it a lot since then,’ he said. ‘About your mother, I mean. You must have spent some time wondering what happened to her.’

  ‘What do you think I am?’ she snapped. ‘Obviously I have. I spent years going over and over it in my mind, trying to work out what it all meant, thinking up scenes in my head where Mum would turn up at the door one day, smiling and looking just the same as she always did. It never happened.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, I don’t do that now. She’s gone. One way or the other, she’s gone for good and that’s it. I know she’s never coming back.’

  Her voice cracked, and she turned away, pushing a lock of hair from her face as she gazed out of the window. Was she picturing her mother somewhere out there in those hazy hills?

  ‘My boss was in charge of the case then,’ said Cooper. ‘Detective Superintendent Branagh. She was what we call the senior investigating officer.’

  ‘I don’t know her,’ said Lacey over her shoulder.

  ‘You might not have met her. Though I gather you saw Detective Inspector Hitchens and some other officers, including my colleague here, who was a detective constable on the case.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘You weren’t asked any questions at the time, Lacey, because you were so young. So we were wondering whether you had any memories from the time your mother disappeared.’

  Lacey looked over her shoulder at him. If there had been a tear in her eye when they spoke about her mother, she’d surreptitiously wiped it away.

  ‘Memories?’

  ‘Anything, even if it doesn’t seem significant.’

  She hesitated, as if deciding whether she could trust him.

  ‘I do remember a cave,’ she said.

  ‘A cave? What cave, Lacey?’

  The repetition of the word ‘cave’ seemed to be having an effect. Lacey’s shoulders drooped and she hugged her arms to her body. She looked suddenly smaller, as if she’d somehow shrunk to that eight-year-old in her own mind.

  ‘It might have been nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Can you tell us about it? Is it still clear in your mind?’

  ‘Not really. I haven’t thought about it for a while.’

  ‘What exactly do you remember?’

  ‘Well, just this cave,’ said Lacey. ‘Water was pouring out of it.’

  ‘Yes …?’

  ‘That’s it, I’m afraid. I just remember standing with my dad, looking at the water.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, we might have a location in mind,’ said Cooper. ‘Would you be willing to go there with us to have a look, to see if it jogs your memory? It would be very helpful if you could identify the cave.’

  ‘I suppose that will be all right.’ She glanced at her laptop. ‘I do have work to do just now.’

  ‘It won’t be today. I’ll let you know when we need you.’

  ‘Okay then. But it’s only a vague memory, you know. I’m not sure it will help.’

  ‘Why do you associate that particular recollection with your mother?’ asked Cooper.

  Lacey shrugged. ‘I can’t
say. It must have been about that time. The two things are imprinted on my mind together. My mum going missing, and the cave. I don’t know what it means. I never have done.’

  ‘Have you never asked your father about it?’

  ‘No. No, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We never talked,’ she said. ‘At least, we never talked about what might have happened to Mum. It was all unspoken. I suppose we dealt with it in our ways. Me, running through fantasies in my mind, fantasies where Mum came back home to us. And Dad, well … Dad getting on with life in his own way. Meeting Naomi Heath, moving her in to the house, taking on her child, having another one with her. You know, all that stuff. Mum became something that happened in the past as far as he was concerned. But she wasn’t for me. That’s why we couldn’t talk about it. You can’t communicate with someone who’s on an entirely different plane of existence.’

  Cooper listened with interest. Wasn’t that what Lacey had been trying to do with her psychic investigations? Communicate with people on a different plane? She wanted to make contact with the dead. Yet she couldn’t talk to her own father about what troubled her most.

  That had also been Lacey’s longest speech so far, and her most vehement.

  ‘Do you think you actually know what happened to your mother, Lacey?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  But she didn’t look certain. Not at all.

  ‘And have you ever told anyone else about your memory of the cave?’

  ‘It was a secret,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know if it was true, or something I’d imagined. So I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.’

  ‘Not anyone?’

  ‘Well, hardly …’

  She paused. Murfin made a small movement, but Cooper shook his head and he relaxed.

  ‘Who did you tell, Lacey?’ said Cooper gently.

  ‘Just one person. There is only one person I’ve ever been able to talk to about anything to do with my mother.’

  ‘Your Aunt Frances?’

  ‘No, not her. I can’t stand her.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  She scowled down at her hands, apparently deciding how much she should tell him. Cooper knew not to press her at this moment. People had to be allowed to make their own decisions when it was so important to them.

  ‘Like I said, there’s only one person,’ said Lacey. ‘My grandfather. And he let us all down.’

  When they left Lacey Bower, Murfin paused in the corridor outside the flat. The music had already started up again behind the door. It was louder than ever. Cooper thought they should probably get out of here before the neighbours came round to complain.

  ‘I don’t supposed they’ve got the lifts mended while we’ve been in there,’ said Murfin.

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  Murfin was panting and sweating by the time they reached the ground floor and got out into the fresh air.

  ‘So is seven still your lucky number?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘I’m seriously rethinking it.’

  ‘Can you rethink a superstition?’

  ‘In this case, definitely.’

  Murfin was looking anxiously around the street as he waited for Cooper to unlock the Toyota.

  ‘No pie shops, Gavin,’ said Cooper.

  ‘What? There must be millions of them in Sheffield.’

  ‘Just get in the car.’

  Cooper began to work his way through the streets of Sheffield, heading for those Derbyshire hills he’d seen from the seventh floor of the tower block. He wondered what it would be like to live up there permanently, to be able to glimpse the Peak District in the distance but not to be in it. He wasn’t sure he could bear it for very long – even if the lifts were working.

  ‘Gavin, first thing in the morning, I’d like you to check out some industrial units in Bakewell, near Reece Bower’s home,’ he said. ‘See if anyone who was working at the units when Annette Bower disappeared is still there.’

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘The owner of a red Nissan. I’ll leave the details on your desk.’

  ‘It was ten years ago, Ben.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cooper. ‘It’s a long shot. But it’s a lead that doesn’t seem to have been followed up properly at the time.’

  Murfin sniffed and fiddled uncomfortably with his seat belt.

  ‘Is there a problem, Gavin?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘No, boss.’

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. Murfin had left his car in Bakewell, so they had to make a fifteen-mile detour.

  ‘What about this ghost-hunting thing?’ said Murfin after a while. ‘That’s a load of rubbish, if ever I heard it.’

  ‘Some people believe in it, Gavin.’

  ‘That’s true. My missus for one.’

  ‘Does she go to psychic investigations?’

  ‘Not likely. She does her own haunting. But sometimes it seems as though everyone else goes.’

  Cooper wasn’t surprised. Derbyshire was full of ghost sightings, and it had been for centuries. Some people called it ‘the dead centre of England’. That might be because of its geographical position in the middle of the country. Or it might not.

  ‘You don’t think young Lacey is hoping to see her mother’s ghost? To make contact, like?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ admitted Cooper.

  ‘She’d be better going to a medium in that case. They can produce anyone you like from beyond the grave. Or so they say. People fall for it all the time.’

  ‘I don’t think Lacey Bower is so gullible,’ said Cooper.

  Cooper thought about Evan Slaney’s cottage with all his ancient lamps and dark corners. He imagined Mr Slaney sitting there during the evening with his Conan Doyle stories, perhaps projecting himself into the gas-lit world of Holmes and Watson. Was Mr Slaney still convinced he’d seen his daughter alive? Cooper wasn’t sure. But he was less confident of being able to get Mr Slaney to admit any doubt, after all this time. When you’d stuck to a conviction for ten years, it must be very hard to admit that you were wrong. Perhaps impossible.

  And what of Annette Bower herself? She had disappeared into the shadows ten years ago. And somewhere between those shadows was his answer.

  Before they could get back to Bakewell, Ben Cooper took a call from Dev Sharma at West Street.

  ‘Inspector, we have a significant find reported. I believe it’s relevant to your missing person case. Mr Reece Bower.’

  ‘Has he been found?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘No, not exactly,’ said Sharma. ‘But I’m afraid it looks like bad news.’

  21

  The ruins were just visible through the trees. To reach them, Ben Cooper had to cross a wooden footbridge, with the River Lathkill no more than a trickle below it.

  The house had been standing derelict for more than a century, slowly collapsing and decaying into the hillside. It had been a two-storey limestone structure once, with mullioned windows and a wide set of steps up to the front door. A few walls still remained, a doorway and a fireplace. But its roofless shell was only a broken memory of a home.

  Carol Villiers was already on scene, despatched by Dev Sharma to cover until Cooper arrived.

  ‘I’m told it’s called Bateman’s House,’ she said. ‘Apparently, it was built as a home for the company agent.’

  ‘The lead mining company,’ said Cooper. ‘Mandale Mine.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It was probably quite grand in its day.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to live here now.’

  The whole valley here exuded an atmosphere of mining history. The six and a half miles of Lathkill Dale might look untouched to the casual visitor, but for many centuries it had been mined for lead. The shafts, drainage channels and spoil heaps had all been absorbed into the natural landscape.

  Cooper looked at the steps, imagining the lead miners gathering at the end of each week, exha
usted and filthy, to collect their pay from the agent.

  ‘This is the interesting bit,’ said Villiers.

  Behind the house was the entrance to a shallow mineshaft. He could reach the bottom down an iron stairway bolted to the wall. It was a steep descent, and the only safe way to go down was backwards, clinging tightly on to the handrails. It wasn’t very deep, but at the bottom he felt immediately anxious as he turned to look up at the sky and get a glimpse of the trees.

  This had been part of a working mine. Now it was a tourist attraction. A hand-cranked electric generator had been installed, and visitors could wind the handle to produce enough light to peer over a wall and view a second, deeper shaft.

  The second shaft wasn’t easily accessible. The single light bulb powered by the generator lit the sheer, rocky walls and a glitter of water, a stream running deep below. But the bulb was too weak to show anything much on the bottom.

  Now two crime scene examiners in scene suits were working in the shaft. They’d set up their own lights, and one of them had climbed an aluminium ladder down to the bottom. Cooper was almost blinded by the flash of his camera bouncing off the walls.

  ‘Two visitors who came to look at Bateman’s House had brought their own torch,’ said Villiers. ‘They shone it into the shaft to see the water. And they saw this instead.’

  ‘A wallet,’ said Cooper.

  ‘It’s Reece Bower’s. His credit cards are still in it, and some cash, even a few business cards. So there’s no doubt about it.’

  ‘Lots of latent prints,’ said Cooper, examining it through the sides of the evidence bag.

  ‘And DNA,’ said Villiers.

  ‘Where?’

  She pointed at a dark stain in the creases of the brown leather of the wallet.

  ‘Blood,’ she said.

  ‘So it is.’

  ‘But the SOCOs say there’s no sign of a struggle here in the shaft. It’s more difficult to tell on the surface, because the ground is pretty trampled by visitors.’

  Cooper climbed back up the ladder and looked around him at the deep valley and the slopes dense with trees and tangled undergrowth. He would have to organise a search. And it wasn’t going to be small scale.

  ‘Carol, call the duty controller at Derby Caves Rescue Organisation,’ he said. ‘We’ll need them.’

  ‘Okay.’