Passing the prison sign and the officers’ mess to return to the car, Diane Fry took one more look at the violently colourful display of bedding plants and sneezed. A few seconds later, she sneezed again. She could feel the membranes inside her nose swelling and her eyes starting to water. Damn. Hay fever.
The pollen count must be up today. She’d been told she should always try to breathe in through her nose instead of her mouth, to filter out the dust and pollutants in the air and prevent them from reaching her airways. Her grass pollen allergy had been worst in her late teens and early twenties, but it still hit her now and then, forcing her to resort to sunglasses to reduce the irritation to her eyes – even if it meant having to put up with cracks from the station wits about her having deserted E Division for the LAPD.
She got back into the car with Murfin, and they were soon heading towards Ashbourne on the A515. As they passed a tractor dealer’s, Fry looked across the fields to the rows of cream-coloured huts that formed the prison, with several large greenhouses lined up behind them. She thought of how hot it would be inside those glass buildings among the plants. Stifling.
‘Get anything useful?’ said Murfin, unsettled by her silence.
‘Yeah. Everything I could possibly want.’
Andrea Lowe stopped her brother at the door, her hand on his arm enough to communicate her concern.
‘Stay here,’ she said.
Simon shook his head. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Jackie will be worried sick.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Anyway, there are things to do at home. The plumber is coming first thing in the morning, and if I’m not there to let him in he might not be available again for weeks. And I have to let them know at work what’s happening.’
Andrea was staying at their aunt’s house in Castleton. She was the sort of person who needed company for reassurance, so being constantly under Dawn’s eye would suit her.
‘You can’t go back to work, Simon,’ she said.
‘No, of course not. There are just a few things to sort out – jobs I was in the middle of yesterday when they called me. You know what I mean. I’ll come back here as soon as I can.’
‘I don’t like you being on your own,’ said Andrea. ‘Not now, Simon. If Mum hadn’t been on her own yesterday …’
Simon squeezed her shoulder and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’
‘You should tell the police, shouldn’t you?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Andrea held the door and stood on the step, still reluctant to let him go. He could see her studying the houses in the close, as if afraid that they were being watched from behind the curtains at any one of half a dozen windows. Simon thought she was probably right. It was one of the reasons he had to get away.
‘Well, take care, then,’ she said. ‘Simon, take care.’
Simon nodded and walked quickly to his car. The whole day had been spent indoors, most of it in unfamiliar surroundings, among unsettling sounds and smells. A bit of fresh air was what he needed, and a chance to get things straight in his own head, before he had to go over it all again with his fiancée back in Edendale. Everything that had happened during the day, all the questions the police had asked him, every emotion he’d felt in the past few hours – Jackie would want to know the lot.
He drove down into the centre of Castleton and parked in the market square, intending to take a walk by the river. But when he saw the pubs in Castle Street, Simon realized that what he really needed was a drink. Or perhaps a couple. If the police stopped him driving home later on, then it was just tough. After a day like today, he didn’t really care.
Simon chose the George, for no other reason than it was the nearest pub, just a short walk through the quiet churchyard from the market square. He’d never been inside it before, but he liked the look of its whitewashed frontage with clematis growing up the walls. It looked a safe and reassuring place.
But once he’d set his mind on a drink, Simon forgot all about his promise to his sister to take care. And he forgot that it would be dark by the time he left the pub to walk back through the churchyard to his car.
14
Ben Cooper bumped his Toyota down the rough track to Bridge End Farm, twisting the wheel at the familiar points along the way to avoid the worst of the potholes. The girls were curled up together in the back of the car as it rattled over the cattle grid and into the yard past the tractor shed. Only the big John Deere stood in the shed now, because Matt had sold the old grey Fergie that he used to tinker with. He’d said it was no good to him any more, and other people might be able to afford an expensive hobby better than he could.
Bridge End was still good land. Their maternal grandfather had cared for it well, tottering about the place in his shiny black suit with baling twine round his trouser bottoms. Their father had never been interested in running the place, though occasionally he’d roll up his sleeves to help.
Like all the family, Joe Cooper had been a tall man, with well-muscled forearms and big hands. He’d been such an archetype of integrity and moral principles that it was impossible to imagine him bending the rules. Even among his family, rules were made to be kept.
‘Home,’ called Cooper, turning off the engine.
Amy and Josie clambered out and ran across the yard to the house, being immediately surrounded by a flurry of dogs. Cooper heard his sister-in-law, Kate, greet them from the kitchen and send them to wash their hands. There was a clatter of feet on tiles and excited voices.
He followed the girls in, taking his time. He had too much on his mind to be able to cope with the memories that leaped out at him from the corners of the house.
The kitchen was the room they’d always used most at Bridge End, and these days it seemed to smell of herbs whenever he entered it. Kate made him a coffee, and he told her about his day. His sister-in-law was easy to talk to, and he was happy to get a chance to chat to her alone now and again.
‘I hope you’re ready for the party on Saturday,’ she said. ‘Amazingly, we seem to have got everything organized and under control.’
‘You’ve worked miracles, Kate. I just wish you’d let me do more for myself.’
Kate cocked her head, listening to the sound of raised voices at the back of the house. For a moment it sounded as though an argument was developing, but the children quietened down again, apart from a bit of thumping and pounding of feet, which was perfectly normal. Kate went back to what she had been doing.
‘We thought of making it a surprise,’ she said.
‘The party? Why? Were you worried I wouldn’t come if I knew about it?’
‘What?’ She looked at him with concern, but decided he was joking. ‘Anyway, we’ve arranged for Isabel to have a day out of the Old School so she can come, and we knew she’d mention it you.’
‘If she remembers,’ said Cooper, and instantly regretted sounding churlish.
He could hear the voices of his nieces coming towards them through the house. In another moment, their mother would be swept up by their demands, and she’d have no more time for Ben. But right now, she could sense that something was wrong. Sometimes, Cooper thought he must walk around with a traffic light on his head, because his moods seemed to be so transparent to the women in his life.
‘Are you worried about her, Ben?’
‘No, Kate. Like you say, Mum’s doing well.’
‘But there’s something –’
And then it was too late, as the girls burst through the door of the kitchen, talking nineteen to the dozen. Their voices rose a few decibels, and Ben had to give each of them a hug.
So the moment passed, and he didn’t have to think of something to say. But he knew what the problem was – he didn’t want to see his mother back in her old house. It was an unkind reaction, but he feared that seeing his mother back at Bridge End Farm would bring home to him, as nothing else had until now, the extent to which she’d deter
iorated.
Finally, Cooper tore himself away from the warm kitchen and went back to his car. After only a few months living in town, he knew he’d started to lose touch with his family. On the farm, he’d regarded the landscape as a place to make a living. The most important things were the fertility of the land, the quality of the drainage, the stability of the walls that kept the cattle and sheep on their grazing. But as he drove around the Peak District now, he found himself admiring the shape of a hill or noticing the way a quarry spoiled the view, as if it was all some kind of scenic backdrop.
Cooper saw his brother coming towards the house, still in his working overalls. Matt was bulking up as he got older, and was looking more like their father every year.
Matt nodded. ‘Ben. Had a good day?’
‘I think the girls enjoyed themselves.’
‘Good. I hope they used up some of their energy. They tire me out when they’re at home.’
While they stood in the yard, it began to rain. Neither of them made a move to go inside. Cooper tried to see what stock was in the sheds or grazing on the in-by land.
‘Will there be some calves going to market soon?’ he asked.
Matt looked at him in surprise. ‘The only batch of calves I had went in last week. Colin Sidebotham came over to give me a hand.’
‘That was good of him.’
‘Well, I helped him get his hay in a week or two back. He cut it just before the forecast turned bad.’
‘That’s the way it works.’
‘It’s how it used to work. Some of the miserable buggers I see at the mart wouldn’t give me the time of day any more. It’s every man for himself. They’re all worried about going under next season, or the one after. I reckon they don’t want anyone coming down to their place, just in case.’
‘In case what?’
‘In case we see them laying out a new golf course, or ripping up their fields to make fishing lakes.’
Cooper knew his brother had moody fantasies these days in which every livestock farm in the valley sold off its stock and diversified, each becoming a little tourist attraction – a nature trail here, a tea room there, a craft centre across the lane. Matt had once muttered that he’d stick out to be the last farm still operating, then he could call his place a museum and coin in money from the tourists.
Kate had emerged from the house again and was watching them. The rain was getting heavier, and Cooper could feel it soaking his shirt.
‘About Saturday,’ said Matt. ‘I’ll pick Mum up from Old School a couple of hours before the party starts.’
‘No, I’ll pick her up myself – if that’s all right with you.’
‘No problem,’ said Matt, frowning a bit. ‘If you’re sure, Ben.’
‘Just a few minutes together would be nice.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Matt. ‘She’ll be chuffed with that.’
Cooper found himself exchanging a nod with his older brother. It was a gesture they’d developed between themselves as teenagers, a means to avoid having to put their feelings into words. A nod had communicated anything they wanted it to.
Sharing that gesture now seemed to remove all the distance that Cooper had begun to sense between Matt and himself. It brought a sudden rush of affection, like making up with someone after an argument. But he didn’t know quite how to express the feeling. So he hesitated for a moment. And then he gave Matt another nod.
Diane Fry walked towards the sitting room from her kitchen, where she’d been sorting the ironing into separate piles – outfits for the office, casual stuff, clothes for special occasions. The difference in the size of the piles had started to depress her, and she’d given up.
Angie was watching TV, a hospital drama in which a doctor was spending all his time trying to reunite a dying woman with her estranged son. She’d also found a box of chocolates from somewhere. Fry had forgotten she had them in the flat, so the box must have been hidden away in a safe place. Another comfort resource.
‘Hey, Sis, don’t you ever go out?’ said Angie.
Fry stopped. ‘Out?’
‘Yeah. O-U-T. Out.’
‘Out where?’
‘I don’t know. Just out of here –’ Angie waved a hand lazily around the room.
‘I go out every day,’ said Fry. ‘I’m not a hermit. I have a job.’
‘I don’t mean go out to work. I mean go out to enjoy yourself. Jesus, Di.’
Fry didn’t answer. She didn’t like being forced to justify her private life, even to her sister. She had grown accustomed to not having to justify herself to anybody.
‘Surely you must need to get out of this place occasionally?’ said Angie. ‘I mean, look at it.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s so depressing. Jesus.’
‘You said that.’
‘Well, it is. Come on, Di, couldn’t you do a bit better for yourself than this on a detective sergeant’s salary?’
‘Maybe. But there’s not much choice around here. Property is so expensive.’
‘And you don’t even have a bloke,’ said Angie. ‘Or do you?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Not even nice Constable Cooper?’
‘You’re joking.’
Angie sucked some chocolate off a praline. ‘Hey, Di, you’re not gay, are you?’
‘What?’
‘Just asking. You said yourself we had a lot to learn about each other.’
Fry smoothed her hands on the T-shirt she was carrying. ‘Tell you what, Angie, let’s go out together.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Well, tomorrow – are you up for it?’
‘Damn right,’ said Angie. ‘Let’s hit the high spots of Edendale. Let’s get totally rat-arsed!’
‘We can go out for a meal.’
‘What?’
‘We can have dinner at a restaurant. A couple of glasses of wine, perhaps. Then we can relax a bit.’
‘It takes more than a couple of glasses of wine to help me relax,’ said Angie.
Fry felt her face harden and her jawline tighten. She tried to control her expression, but knew she wasn’t succeeding.
‘The restaurants shouldn’t be busy at this time of the week,’ she said. ‘We can get somewhere quiet, relax and talk.’
‘Are you sure there’s nowhere we can go clubbing?’
‘You’re too old to go clubbing.’
Angie laughed. ‘Too old? You cow.’
She chose another chocolate, got bored with the doctor and clicked the remote to find something more interesting.
When Ben Cooper finally got home that night, he decided he must be so exhausted that he was hallucinating. In the reflection of the fluorescent light in the kitchen, he thought he saw a single eye pressed up against the rain-soaked window. It was a hard, grey eye surrounded by a patch of wrinkled skin, crumpled against the wet glass, with water trickling around it in two small streams.
He froze with his finger on the light switch. His first instinct had been to turn it off again so that he could see what was outside, instead of being distracted by the reflection of himself standing in his own kitchen, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. But he waited until everything came properly into focus and his brain began to work again. Halfway up his kitchen window, there was a snail.
He supposed it had been following the stream of rainwater – though what it hoped to find on his window, he couldn’t imagine. Its antennae waggled left and right, as if it couldn’t quite figure out where it was.
Cooper tilted his head to see the creature better. Its underside looked like the pursed lips of a long-dead corpse.
‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he said.
He watched it for a moment longer, then looked at his watch, remembering the appeal for sightings of Mansell Quinn was due on the local TV news. He drew the blind, and turned to find Randy smiling at him from the floor, eyes half-closed and his front paws paddling on the tiles.
‘Yes, I was
talking to you, obviously,’ said Cooper. ‘Who else would I be talking to?’
He began to relax, shrugging off the uneasy feeling he’d experienced when he entered the flat. It was just a wet, lost creature that had been watching him from the night, after all.
The blow came out of the darkness like a stab of lightning. It caught Simon Lowe in the back of the head and half-stunned him. He staggered for a few seconds on the edge of a grave, his brain bouncing painfully against his skull, unable to make sense of what had happened. He knew the wall of the church was only a few yards away, but he couldn’t see it. He saw only blurred streaks of light shooting across his vision. He knew there must be someone behind him in the churchyard, but his muscles had lost the power to turn his body or lift his head. There were other people, too, dozens of them laughing and shouting, back there in the warmth of the pub. But he couldn’t hear their voices. Simon heard only a faint whistling in the air, a sound which seemed to go on almost for ever, until the second blow fell.
15
Wednesday, 14 July
The incident room staff at West Street had been maintaining a sequence chart. It showed what was believed to be the order of events leading up to the murder of Rebecca Lowe, and following it. It also revealed the gaps which the enquiry team’s efforts had so far failed to fill.
Some time during the morning, the analyst had removed two items from the chart and replaced them with additional information. Each entry had a time, a description of the information and its source.
‘I can’t help worrying that we’re relying too much on doubtful intelligence to dictate the direction of the enquiry,’ said Ben Cooper, running his eye over the chart. ‘There ought to be some trace and interview tasks for us to handle, at least.’
Diane Fry didn’t even glance at the chart. No doubt she’d checked the new information already, before anyone else came into the office.
‘It’s a resources decision, Ben,’ she said. ‘Why should we commit staff to needless T/Is and chasing down witness statements when a ready-made suspect presents himself on a plate? It’s manpower on the ground that’s vital now. Quinn can’t be far away.’
05.One Last Breath Page 14
