The Murder Road: A Cooper & Fry Mystery

by Stephen Booth

‘Can we get impressions from them?’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  A few hundred yards away a recovery truck was backing slowly up Cloughpit Lane to begin the task of removing the obstruction. The beep of the reversing alarm came loud and clear through the air. They would surely be able to hear it from the houses at Shawhead.

  Cooper looked up at the sky. ‘We’d better get forensics up here straight away, before the rain comes again.’

  At the end of the afternoon, as dusk was falling, Ben Cooper left the forensics team still working at the scene, lit by the harsh glare of their mobile lighting.

  They’d finished their examination on the cab of the lorry and the recovery vehicle had edged it carefully free from the bridge.

  The sight of the tow truck had been a relief. They might soon be able to open the road for the residents of Shawhead to get through. But he was anxious that he didn’t allow the scene to be contaminated too soon. The forensic evidence was minimal already. He would hate to find that he’d lost something vital because of his decision.

  After the lorry had been freed, Network Rail engineers had declared the structure of the bridge safe. Mac Kelsey had left only a few superficial scrapes along the stonework to show that he’d ever been there.

  So the trains had started running over the bridge again. Cooper didn’t feel at all happy about hundreds of members of the public peering out of their carriage windows at the police activity below the embankment, lit by those arc lights like a film set. Some of them would be taking photographs on their mobile phones, no doubt. It went against all the instincts to have people passing over an active crime scene, if not actually through it.

  He could imagine what Wayne Abbott would have to say about it. Circumstances beyond his control at a scene were intolerable. But that was part of the job – competing demands had to be balanced. The transport system couldn’t be disrupted for ever.

  The search team had turned up nothing yet, but they’d barely touched the surrounding fields by the time the light failed. Tomorrow would be different.

  Before he headed home, Cooper called in at West Street in Edendale. He drove through the barrier into the staff car park behind E Division headquarters, parked in one of the bays behind the station. He hung his police-issue blue lanyard round his neck, with his identity card on a quick release clip. He couldn’t walk around the corridors at West Street without one. Then he keyed in the access code to enter the building.

  He had his own office now, a room that had changed little since it was occupied by his old DI, Paul Hitchens. On his desk he found a file waiting for him. His new detective sergeant had arrived in Edendale without any advance warning and he was wondering why. The situation was unusual. He needed to spend a few minutes discovering exactly who this person was that he was expected to work with.

  10

  The streets of Edendale were quiet tonight. Apart from a few people waiting at the bus stops at the end of Clappergate, Cooper could see only a young couple sitting on the steps of the war memorial in the Market Square and a man using the cash machine at Barclays Bank, close to the front door of the Red Lion.

  It was one of the reasons Gavin Murfin’s farewell party had been arranged for a Tuesday. There wasn’t as much demand on police time as there was on a Friday or Saturday, when the town’s pubs were heaving with drinkers and the pavements were littered with drunks. Then it was all hands on deck for the uniformed section to keep the worst of the disorder off the streets and deposit the most belligerent of the revellers in the cells at the custody suite in West Street.

  The upstairs function room at the Red Lion had been booked for the party to celebrate Murfin’s retirement. It was one of the largest and most convenient venues in the centre of town, and the pub manager was glad to have the business during the quietest time of the week. Well, he would certainly have plenty of business. Off-duty police officers didn’t hold back when they came in sight of a bar.

  As Cooper entered the Market Square, he was aware of figures emerging in ones and twos from the surrounding streets, where they’d been dropped off by spouses or paid off a taxi. He recognised an officer he knew from B Division in Buxton, who was standing in the light spilling from the window of Ferris’s the butchers. A cloud of smoke rose into the damp air and Cooper realised he was having a cigarette before going into the pub and facing the smoking ban.

  There would be quite a few smokers hanging around outside the doors of the Red Lion later on. Before the end of the evening, when they’d had too much to drink, they might become the sort of anti-social mob that the police would normally want to move on.

  Cooper pushed open the doors of the pub and looked around. Even the bar of the lounge downstairs was lined with short haircuts and thick waistlines, warming up for the main part of the evening. He walked through to the stairs and suddenly found himself part of a purposeful crowd, all heading in the same direction. They barged into the room like the drugs squad executing a tactical entry.

  And the place was already packed. Every old-school copper in Derbyshire was here tonight, along with many who’d retired in the last few years and were now working as pub landlords or driving instructors. They were all busy catching up on the station gossip, laughing at the latest example of insanity from the senior management team. The noise level generated by a room full of old bobbies was deafening.

  Cooper got himself a beer from the bar. He turned at a tap on his shoulder and found Gavin Murfin himself swaying unsteadily in front of him, a silly grin on his pink face. He’d obviously started the celebrations a bit earlier in the afternoon.

  ‘Ben. How the hell are you? Well, you look great.’

  ‘Thanks, Gavin.’

  Murfin threw his arms wide, spraying liquid from a bottle dangling from one hand.

  ‘And what about me?’

  Gavin had never really made much effort towards sartorial elegance in all the years that Cooper had known him. But now he was in danger of letting go completely. His wife had probably stuffed him into his clean shirt and freshly pressed suit for the evening. But the shirt was already hanging over his waistband and the bottom button had popped, exposing the occasional glimpse of wobbling stomach. The jacket had been slung over the back of a chair and there was a dark stain on the leg of the trousers. It was only beer. Probably.

  ‘Are you having a good time?’ said Cooper, avoiding the question.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Murfin. And he repeated twice, with more emphasis. ‘Brilliant. Just brilliant.’

  ‘Everybody’s here, I see.’

  ‘Everybody. Just everybody. It’s brilliant.’

  Cooper looked around the room. Here and there senior officers stood uncomfortably clutching their drinks, looking round for an escape route as if they’d found themselves trapped in a den of villains and their cover was about to be blown. Perhaps they were afraid a fight might break out any time and put them in a compromising position. Given the character of some of Murfin’s acquaintances, it wasn’t impossible.

  Some of those senior officers had passed briefly through Edendale CID on their way up the ladder, before going on to better things. A few months at a desk job in force headquarters at Ripley made you forget what front-line police officers were actually like. It wasn’t always pretty.

  ‘Diane Fry is here,’ said Murfin.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Murfin grinned. ‘She gave me a hug earlier, can you believe it?’

  ‘You never liked her, Gavin.’

  ‘True, true. I suppose I might have passed a derogatory comment now and then. But only when she deserved it. Which, let’s face it, is most of the time.’

  Murfin looked at Cooper, noting his silence with a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘And your new DS, then. What’s his name? I must have missed it.’

  Cooper was glad that he’d gleaned a few facts from Sharma’s personnel file. He was likely to be asked about Sharma again tonight and he would look an idiot if he knew
nothing about him at all.

  ‘Devdan Sharma,’ he said. ‘He’s transferred from D Division. He has several commendations on file.’

  Murfin nodded. ‘He’s a Muslim, like.’

  ‘No, he’s a Hindu, not a Muslim,’ said Cooper.

  ‘He doesn’t wear a turban.’

  ‘No, he’s a Hindu, not a Sikh.’

  He waited for Murfin to say something like ‘same difference’, but he didn’t. From the bleary gleam in his eye, Gavin was probably just trying to wind him up anyway.

  Cooper looked across the room at Sharma. He was conscious of his own ignorance of other cultures, though it wasn’t as abysmal as Murfin’s. Well, an insight into the Asian community was probably too much to expect in rural Derbyshire. He knew there were almost as many Hindus in the East Midlands as Muslims, though they lived mostly in the cities. He wondered how they felt about being constantly mistaken for members of a different religion. Perhaps he could ask Dev Sharma one day, if he ever got to know him well enough. And if it wasn’t considered an offensive question.

  ‘I bet he hates being mistaken for a Muslim,’ said Murfin. ‘I reckon I could wind him up about it, for a bit of fun. Shall I?’

  ‘No,’ said Cooper.

  Murfin chortled into his beer. ‘Just kidding.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Gavin.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be here long anyway,’ said Murfin.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Come off it. He’s in E Division as part of his progress up the ladder. He’s just learning what it’s like out here in the sticks. He’s getting his diversity training.’

  Cooper didn’t know what to say to that. He ought to argue. But deep down he had a suspicion that Murfin might be right.

  ‘So what case have you been working on today?’ asked Murfin.

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that, Gavin. Not any more.’

  Murfin didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Luke says you’ve been in New Mills, though.’

  ‘Well, yes. That much is true.’

  ‘Inbredonia,’ said Murfin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Inbredonia. You can tell the outsiders when they take their shoes off. If they only have five toes on each foot, they’re not really from New Mills.’

  ‘You can’t say that, Gavin.’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘But—’

  Murfin waved a hand. ‘I’m not a slave to the tsar of political correctness. Not any more. And thank God for it. I’m leaving all that to you, mate.’

  Cooper was overcome with a surge of pity for Murfin. He was trying too hard, going way over the top with the non-PC attitude, as if trying to recapture the old DC Gavin Murfin for one last time before he disappeared for ever. But he was failing. This wasn’t the Gavin that Cooper had known. He was almost a caricature of himself. Desperation oozed from him in every word. It was very sad. But there was nothing he could do. Like everyone else, Murfin had to adjust to reality.

  ‘Gavin – you’re not sorry to be going, are you?’ he said.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Murfin. ‘There are no jobs for the likes of me any more. You’ve got to admit that, Ben. I’ve heard they’re looking to recruit more and more volunteers.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘Somebody will be doing my old job for less than a handful of peanuts soon, then. They’re getting rid of the monkeys and replacing us with donkeys.’

  Cooper didn’t reply. He couldn’t disagree, so it was best to say nothing.

  But Murfin was right. A lot of vacancies had been advertised for what they called police support volunteers. After a year-long trial of the volunteer scheme in the High Peak and Derbyshire Dales, it was being rolled out across the force.

  Support volunteers were being recruited to maintain equipment for operational police officers, to clean vehicles and stock them with first aid kits and police tape, to support Farm Watch or the Licensing Team, or to help keep response officers out on patrol longer by doing their routine photocopying, inputting data and writing reports. CCTV monitoring had turned out to be such a popular activity that there were far more volunteers than the system needed.

  But why were volunteers so willing to give their time for free? What did they get out of it? According to the recruitment adverts, it helped their professional development, boosted their CV and gave an insight into policing in Derbyshire. It also saved the force money, of course. So a win-win all round.

  ‘You youngsters will be the ones to lose out in the end,’ said Murfin. ‘Eventually it will dawn on some clever bugger at Ripley. Why should they pay police officers proper wages when folk are falling over themselves to do the job for nothing?’

  Cooper didn’t think of himself as a youngster any more. There were much younger officers here. Two of them were in his own CID team, DCs Luke Irvine and Becky Hurst. No one knew what might be in the future for them when they were ready to move up the promotion ladder.

  He could see Irvine and Hurst now, in the middle of a densely packed dance floor, where a DJ was belting out rock classics from the 1970s, Gavin Murfin’s era. Irvine and Hurst weren’t actually dancing together – that would be too much to expect. He was surprised that they would even respond to the same music, since they seemed to agree on so little.

  Carol Villiers was here too, though he’d caught only a glimpse of her. He would have liked to have bought her a drink, but he couldn’t avoid the impression that she was avoiding him. He might have some work to do there. He couldn’t do without Carol’s support.

  And, as Murfin said, Diane Fry was here too. She’d made the trip from Nottingham for the occasion, despite the fact that Murfin had infuriated her beyond measure when they were forced to work together. Had she come to help soften her image? A Diane Fry who was supportive of her colleagues was quite a new phenomenon to most of the officers here.

  Fry was talking to a female inspector from the uniformed section. But now and then Cooper could feel her eyes on him across the room. It was a physical tingle on the back of his neck, a burning sensation on the skin of his ears. His whole body was aware of her gaze.

  For a while he tried hard not to look at her, but he couldn’t help himself. Fry’s presence was drawing his attention like a powerful magnet. When their eyes finally met, it was as if everyone else in the room ceased to exist for a second. The roar of drunken voices fell away and the crowd of faces blurred into an indistinct background. He felt as though he existed for that fleeting moment in an entirely different place, one where the unexpected could happen – and had happened.

  Cooper felt a smile forming automatically as he looked at her. Fry didn’t smile back. But she tilted her head, lifted her glass and gave him a look across its rim. Her eyes said it all, with a subtle glint that transformed her normally severe expression, sending out a suggestion of something private and intimate. Cooper felt himself almost blushing as their thought waves met in a hot embrace in the middle of the room.

  The inspector Fry was talking to noticed her gesture and turned to follow her gaze. Cooper quickly looked away, though he knew it was too late. Police officers were a suspicious lot by nature and they loved a bit of station gossip more than anything. Questions would be asked, rumours would spread, jokes would be made behind his back.

  But perhaps that was happening already. It was difficult to keep anything secret in this job. Cooper knew he had better be careful.

  Gradually, he became aware that Gavin Murfin was still talking. He seemed to have been to the bar in the last couple of minutes, since he was clutching a fresh drink. Or more likely some passing acquaintance had shoved it into his hand without him even noticing.

  ‘And that will probably be my first assignment,’ Murfin was saying, ‘when I start work next Monday.’

  ‘Assignment?’ said Cooper.

  ‘At the agency. You know – Eden Valley Enquiries, my new employers? Pay attention, Ben. You’re not old enough to have a senior moment. That’s my privilege.’

  Coo
per shook himself. ‘Sorry. You were talking about your new job with EVE. You need a licence now, don’t you? From the Security Industry Authority?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry,’ said Murfin. ‘I’ve been through all the checks, filled out all the forms. And my licence has come through. So I’m legal.’

  ‘You’ve still got as much paperwork to do, then?’

  Murfin sighed. ‘Almost. What was it someone once said? Nothing is certain in life except death and paperwork.’

  ‘Benjamin Franklin,’ said Cooper. ‘And it was taxes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Taxes. It was taxes he said were certain in life.’

  ‘Well, plenty of folk have proved that isn’t true recently,’ said Murfin sourly. ‘I think he must have meant paperwork.’

  Cooper didn’t have much experience of private enquiry agents. But he knew that business had changed dramatically for them over the last few decades. At one time their bread and butter would have been earned from work on divorce cases. They would have spent the whole of their time conducting surveillance on straying spouses, following them from home to assignation and back, or sneaking surreptitious photographs of their adulterous encounters.

  But adultery no longer held the same legal significance and courts no longer required the same level of proof. Suspicious husbands and wives had abandoned the employment of enquiry agents as an unnecessary evil. The slightly seedy, anonymous little man in the mac had disappeared from the profession.

  Cooper took another glance at Gavin Murfin. Well, he supposed there was always room for a few of the old school, just as there was in the police service. Murfin had merely switched from one to the other in a seamless conversion. But his new employers had diversified now, taking on a bit of crime, some corporate clients, the occasional missing persons case the police weren’t interested in.

  And Cooper remembered his last conversation with an employee of Eden Valley Enquiries – a man called Daniel Grady, who had described himself as a property enquiry agent. He had the job of checking up on the prospective neighbours for house purchasers. That was a new line of business, but Cooper could see the potential. Anyone who’d thought of buying a property must have wondered who they might find themselves living next door to.