Blind to the Bones

by Stephen Booth

  ‘Beast?’

  ‘Some sides have a hobbyhorse, or something like that. We have a rat. Obvious, really.’

  ‘What we’re doing is re-enacting the killing of the rats that lived in the tunnels when they were being built. It’s symbolic.’

  ‘But if you want to know any more, maybe you’d better talk to the vicar,’ said Scott.

  ‘Mr Alton? What has he got to do with it?’

  ‘He’s the bloke who knows about the history – the symbolism and stuff.’

  ‘He knows about the history of the dance? Does he approve of it?’

  ‘Approve? You’re kidding. He’s been dying to join the Border Rats ever since he came to Withens. He used to be one of those hanky-waving types – Cotswold morris dancers. This is the proper thing.’

  ‘More real?’ said Cooper, thinking of the Renshaws.

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  Cooper knew the four young men couldn’t wait to get out of his presence, but they looked a bit abashed – not by him, but by the tongue-lashing Lucas had given them. For a few minutes, at least, they were trying to make polite conversation, as if that might make up for trying to scare him to death in their yard. And almost succeeding.

  ‘Wasn’t Neil Granger in the group, too?’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Scott. ‘He was the Bagman – the secretary, sort of thing. But he had new ideas.’

  ‘What sort of ideas?’

  ‘Well, this year, he wanted everyone to go and dance up the sun on May Day.’

  ‘Dance up the sun? You mean a ceremony at dawn?’

  ‘That’s it. Neil said it was a tradition in other places. If you ask me, he’d got that from the vicar. But Dad told him it’s never been a tradition here, so we weren’t doing it. And that was that, really.’

  ‘So there was a disagreement? Was that why Neil left the rehearsal before anyone else on Friday night?’

  ‘Could have been,’ said Scott. ‘But he was stubborn, was Neil. He didn’t give up on the idea, did he?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I reckon that’s why he was up there by the air shaft next morning. He said that was the best place to see the dawn come up. I think he went to prove a point and show it was possible. But none of us would have gone up there with him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Sure. Dad would have killed us.’

  The others nodded and laughed. They began to wipe their faces, smearing their black make-up into grotesque patterns as they waited for Cooper to leave.

  Fran Oxley took Cooper through into the next room to get away from the young men, who had raided her fridge for cold drinks.

  ‘It was just something I wanted to tell you about Neil,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but I had to say it.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know your lot will be assuming he was up to no good and got himself killed through his own fault.’

  ‘Well, not necessarily …’ began Cooper, wondering how she had seen that so clearly. Was the thinking of the police really so predictable?

  ‘You don’t need to deny it. I know how it works. I’ve seen it often enough round here. For what it’s worth, I wanted to tell you that Neil was all right. One of the best. He was a hard worker, and he was honest, too. He wouldn’t have got involved in anything he shouldn’t. Well, not unless …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, he had his views on what’s right and what’s wrong, that’s all.’

  Cooper wondered how far he could push his luck with Fran Oxley. But he was here now, so he might as well try.

  ‘You know the young woman who went missing – Emma Renshaw? What do you think Neil’s relationship with her was?’

  Fran laughed. ‘Oh, that theory again. You’re totally blinkered when you get an idea into your heads, aren’t you? Neil must have attacked Emma Renshaw, mustn’t he? He must have done her in somewhere. He was just the type, after all. That would be very convenient.’

  Cooper began to shake his head. ‘That’s not quite the way it works.’

  ‘No? Well, you can forget it. Because Neil wasn’t in the least bit interested in Emma Renshaw. For a very good reason.’

  ‘You mean because he was gay?’

  ‘You know? Who told you?’

  ‘Neil’s brother.’

  Fran frowned. ‘Philip told you? But why?’

  ‘I’m sure he thought he was helping. He wants us to find the person who killed Neil and not waste our time looking at things that aren’t relevant.’

  But Fran continued to look baffled.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Cooper. ‘Have I spoiled your revelation?’

  He regretted his tone as soon as her mouth screwed up into an expression of contempt. He might have ruined his one chance of getting some information voluntarily from one of the Oxleys.

  ‘I suppose you’d better go, then,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.’

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ said Cooper, as she stood to see him out.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What about Craig?’

  Fran stopped quite still. ‘Craig?’

  ‘Your brother, is he? Or another cousin?’

  She stared at him speechlessly. Cooper knew he was close to something. But would she tell him? He was pushing his luck.

  ‘Come on, Fran. Talk to me about Craig.’

  She walked towards the door, and Cooper thought he had lost the chance. But then Fran turned, and her eyes glittered when she spoke. Her voice had risen, too. It was as if she had put distance between herself and Cooper to give space for her anger.

  ‘You want to know about Craig, do you?’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll tell you about Craig. He got himself into trouble and ended up in court. That had happened before, but the last time it was serious. When they sentenced him, he should have gone to a local authority secure unit, but there were no places available. They said it was because they’d been having a crackdown on persistent young offenders, and the secure units were all full.’

  ‘So he was sent to the young offenders’ institution at Hindley,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Yes. But he’s not there any more.’

  ‘He’s out? Where did he go?’

  Fran turned her face away, and didn’t answer straight away.

  ‘He’s back here in Withens,’ she said.

  Cooper frowned. Had the Oxleys been hiding Craig after all?

  ‘In that case, I need to speak to him,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yes? If you’ve got psychic talents, go ahead. But other than that, you’re wasting your time.’

  Cooper’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean, Fran?’

  ‘It’s as near as you’ll get, without going to the graveyard.’

  Fran’s attempt to seem unconcerned wasn’t working. Cooper could see her face starting to redden and become strained with the effort of holding back tears.

  ‘Craig couldn’t stand it in Hindley,’ she said. ‘He didn’t see any way that he was ever going to get out of places like that, because he thought the system had him marked down for a life in prison. Worse, he couldn’t cope with being away from the family for so long among all those strangers. There was no one he could talk to, to tell them what he was feeling. He was on hourly checks, but it wasn’t enough. In the end, he hanged himself in his cell. He wasn’t the first, so we’re told. And I don’t suppose he’ll be the last.’

  Diane Fry and Gavin Murfin were almost home when Fry took a call on her mobile from Sarah Renshaw. It was almost as if they had known she was thinking about them. It was getting very late, but she’d given the Renshaws her number in case they thought of anything useful. And when Sarah rang, she sounded almost panicky.

  ‘There’s a teddy bear missing,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘One of Emma’s teddy bears is missing.’

  Fry stared at Murfin in astonishment. This was a bizarre turn, even for Sarah Renshaw. Murfin
leaned over to try to listen to the call, and the car veered towards the centre of the road. But it was quiet at this time of night, and there was hardly any traffic.

  ‘I don’t think that concerns me, Mrs Renshaw,’ said Fry.

  ‘But where has it gone?’

  ‘Does it matter? It’s only a teddy bear. There are plenty more.’

  ‘No, this was a special one,’ said Sarah. ‘We were looking for it to put on display for our Emma Day, but it isn’t there.’

  Fry sighed. Another special one. The first that her parents had given her, which now sat on the leather settee. The last one they’d given her, which sat at the breakfast table. So what was special about this one?

  ‘This is a Chiltern golden plush teddy from 1930,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s worth at least five hundred pounds.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They’re rather rare.’

  ‘An antique teddy bear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fry sat bolt upright with interest. ‘When did you last see this bear?’

  Outside the Deardens’ house, Shepley Head Lodge, the night was far from quiet for anyone who knew how to listen. Rats began to scurry along the outer walls of the house, stopping suddenly to sniff at small objects and roll them in their claws as they scavenged for food. Tiny pipistrelle bats spilled out of a gap in the roof tiles of the outbuildings and flitted backwards and forwards across the yard, darting at moths and night-flying insects.

  Later, a pair of foxes heaved over the dustbin, scattering rubbish on the path and snarling at each other as they argued over the dried carcass of a roast chicken. There was a sudden swish through the air, and a barn owl’s talons thudded into the breast of a pigeon that had chosen its roost carelessly. The victim’s wings flapped a few times as the owl shifted its grip, then launched itself back into the night. Three grey feathers spiralled to the ground, where they settled and began to soak up the dew. A hedgehog poked its head out of a hole in a pile of dead branches and checked the scents in the air to make sure that the foxes had gone. Its spines scraped against the bark as it came out on to the wet grass and began to hunt for slugs and beetles. As innocent as it looked, it was the most successful predator of them all.

  27

  Thursday

  In the mist that followed a grey dawn, the Reverend Derek Alton unlocked the door of St Asaph’s church and let it swing slowly open in front of him. As usual, he looked for signs of intruders or vandalism, but could see none. The church had been given a wide berth ever since the news of Neil Granger’s death had spread. But perhaps it was just the frequent police presence in the village that was making the difference, rather than any sense of respect.

  It was right here in the porch that Alton had last seen Neil on Friday night. He wasn’t sure whether he had really experienced a premonition as they had stood close together in the darkness and listened to the noises from the village. It felt that way now, but hindsight was deceptive. And, of course, feelings could be even more deceptive.

  Alton heard a distinctive engine noise that grumbled to a halt beyond the churchyard wall. It was muffled by the trees and the dampness that hung in the air, but it was enough to make the vicar turn away from the door and steady himself with one hand against the oak frame of the porch entrance. The smooth wood was cold to the touch and running with moisture. Alton shivered as he caught the click of the latch on the gate hidden behind the yews.

  It seemed to Alton that the figure approaching him through the mist in the churchyard was one that should not have been there at all. It appeared at first to be a shape returned from the grave. Or, if not actually yet in a grave, then escaped from its drawer in a mortuary freezer to haunt the church porch. And to haunt Derek Alton’s conscience.

  He recognized the creak of a leather motorcycle jacket and saw something familiar about the darkness of his visitor’s eyes. Neil Granger had never owned a motorbike, of course. But his brother did.

  ‘Morning, Vicar.’

  ‘Philip?’ Alton stared at the young man. ‘This is a bit early in the morning for a call. You’ve only just caught me.’

  ‘Sorry. But I have to be at work in Glossop in an hour.’

  ‘Come into the church,’ said Alton. ‘It isn’t much warmer inside than out, I’m afraid. But at least it’s dry.’

  ‘No, it’s OK. This won’t take long.’

  Alton frowned at the young man’s tone. Philip wouldn’t meet his eye, but fiddled with the strap of his motorcycle helmet and stroked the smooth surface. The movement of Philip’s hands drew Alton’s eyes to the helmet. It was bright red, and looked glaringly out of place in the church porch against the dark stone. There were several scratches on it, as if the helmet had already saved its owner from serious injury in an accident. Alton wanted to suggest to Philip that he should replace it with a new helmet, in case it had been damaged and weakened. It might not protect him next time.

  But the vicar recognized that his mind was merely reacting to an impulse to change the subject whenever he sensed a difficult conversation approaching. It was one of his weaknesses. He had to learn to face the fire, and hope that he would be made stronger by the flames.

  ‘Well, out with it, then,’ said Alton. ‘Is it about Neil?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s such a difficult time for you, Philip. Especially without any immediate family around you to offer support. But I spoke to your uncle a couple of days ago. He explained that it would be a question of cremation, when the time comes. I mean, when the coroner releases … when the final arrangements can be made. And a humanist service, I gather. That’s perfectly understandable – though I did think your brother was becoming a little more interested in the church in recent months. I was quite hopeful, you know …’

  Alton realized he was babbling, and ground to a halt. Philip appeared to be paying no attention to his words at all, but kept his eyes turned down, thinking about something else entirely. The vicar felt himself beginning to grow warm under his coat.

  ‘I went to see the police yesterday,’ said Philip.

  ‘Yes, of course. Are they any nearer …? Did they give you an idea …? It’s been nearly six days now. Surely –’

  Philip shook his head in a gesture of impatience ‘Please, Vicar.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  A little bit of sun appeared through a break in the mist that hung between the yew trees. It looked as if someone had switched a light on. For now, it was pale and yellow, and ringed with a faint halo. But soon, it would dissipate the mist and the day would be fine.

  ‘It was more a question of me giving them information,’ said Philip. ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Information?’ said Alton.

  ‘Well, among other things, I thought I ought to tell them that Neil was gay.’

  For some reason, Alton found himself latching on to the wrong phrase. ‘What other things?’

  Philip looked at him then, with an enigmatic smile. ‘Nothing else that concerns you, Vicar.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But obviously, the police will be wanting to talk to people again now. People who were involved with Neil in some way.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘I thought you ought to know.’

  Alton had promised himself that he’d make a determined attack on the overgrown churchyard today, provided the weather was fine. That was why he was early this morning, so that he could be outside and ready for action as soon as the mist had gone. He had neglected the job too long already, and no one was going to help him now. He was on his own.

  Philip Granger was watching him, waiting for a reaction. ‘You get what I’m saying, Vicar? It’s something you ought to know.’

  ‘Yes, Philip. Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  ‘It’s a good thing to tell what you know, isn’t it?’ said Philip. ‘That is, unless there’s a very, very good reason not to.’

  Derek Alton nodded. But all he could think of were the dock plants growing
in his churchyard. He couldn’t quite explain why the leaves of the docks disturbed him so much more than the other plants. When he pulled at them, they stretched and wrinkled in his hands, like aged skin. They might be warm on the surface, where they had been touched by the sun. But underneath, they were always cold and damp, like the grave.

  Philip Granger mounted his motorbike and put on his helmet. He looked across the bridge at Withens. He had one more job he wanted to do, one more person to see. Then, perhaps, he could get on with his life and pretend that everything was OK. Then he could leave it to others to sort out the mess.

  As he rode north through the village, he looked for his uncle and cousins near Waterloo Terrace, but could see no signs of them. Philip smiled. He knew that the Reverend Alton would be able to tell where he was heading by the sound of his bike engine, but he didn’t care. There was, after all, only one place he could be going once he had passed through Withens in this direction.

  When Michael Dearden had finishing inspecting the locks and bolts on the doors of the house, he went around all the windows. There were a lot of windows in Shepley Head Lodge, some of them in out of the way corners that could be reached unobserved from outside. He might have to block a few of them up some time.

  Gail said it wasn’t logical to check the security of the house in the morning when he got up, as well as at night before he went to bed. She said it was obsessive. But Gail knew nothing. If their security had been breached during the night, it was vital to be aware of it straight away. There would be evidence to be gathered, a crime scene to be preserved intact for the arrival of the police. Not that the police would come, of course. But at least they wouldn’t be able to blame him for not having followed the proper procedures.

  So Dearden made it a regular routine to carry out his inspection first thing every morning before he did anything else, particularly before Gail started drifting around the house, disturbing evidence without even noticing anything was wrong.

  When he was finally satisfied that the lodge hadn’t been ransacked during the night, Dearden looked outside. Because of the elevated position of the house, he had a good view of the frontal approach, where the drive swung up off the road. There was no sign of anyone out there this morning. The postman might be along later on, if he came at all. Dearden had once investigated the possibility of buying the last hundred yards of the road from Withens and closing it off. The road wasn’t adopted by the highways authority beyond the village, so it wasn’t an official highway. But it had turned out that this section belonged to the farmer who owned the land on either side, and the farmer wouldn’t listen to reason when Dearden raised the idea.