‘I’ll get straight on to it.’
When Irvine had gone, Cooper spread the witness statements out on his desk, then separated them into three piles. The Roths, Millie Taylor, Karina Scott and Nick Haslam went into one stack, and the Goulds, the Warburtons and Sophie Pullen into another. That was the way they’d separated when they split up to get help. Then he put Liam Sharpe and Faith Matthew together in a third pile. Faith was the only one who’d stayed with the injured man when the others left.
But wait a minute. That left him with one witness statement in his hand. Jonathan Matthew’s. Why was he reluctant to put it in the third pile? Hadn’t Jonathan stayed with his sister? She was the only person he really knew in the walking group, certainly the one whose welfare he would have cared about. Everything else meant nothing to him.
So what was Jonathan’s account? Cooper skimmed through the statement again. Jonathan said that he’d waited behind when the two groups set off. And that wasn’t the same thing, was it? Jonathan seemed to have hovered in the background, not definitely part of any group. But he’d been doing that before the split, according to the statements. He’d wandered off the path, doing his own thing, disappearing in the fog for minutes at a time. Afterwards, no one could be sure where Jonathan had been at any point in the walk. And when the MRT located the walkers, he was found separately by Dolly. Jonathan definitely had the opportunity. But what could his motive have been?
Cooper sighed. So what did he know for certain? Lost on Kinder Scout in the fog, the walking group had split up. After an argument about which direction to take, they’d set off in different directions to see who could get a mobile-phone signal to call for help.
What had then happened in that fog was hard to tell. The accounts of the people involved varied so much that it was obvious their imaginations had come into play, sparked by the eerie silence and muffling effect of the mist. Had they heard voices? Lights? A shout? Someone screaming? None of them seemed completely sure.
And, crucially, where were they in relation to Faith Matthew when she died? Their statements taken next day didn’t seem to be much help. Almost without exception, the walkers had looked at the map they’d been shown and shrugged. There was no way for them to tell by then, sitting in the bright artificial lights of an interview room. It was a totally different world from the one they’d been lost in a few hours previously. The lines and symbols of an Ordnance Survey map bore no relation to the disorienting confusion of their disastrous expedition. Probably they didn’t even feel like the same people as those who’d panicked on the moor as they became wet, cold, frightened and lost.
The mind could forget so very easily. It could wipe out an experience completely, blur it into something less traumatic or even create misleading memories.
‘It seems like a nightmare now,’ Millie Taylor had said. ‘As if it didn’t really happen.’
‘It was like being in a film,’ said Karina Scott. ‘The Blair Witch Project. All we could see was a flash of torchlight now and then. All we could hear were odd sounds we couldn’t explain.’
Yes, there was a lot that couldn’t explained. And that was what Cooper was missing. A coherent explanation.
24
Diane Fry was sitting in the same room at Derbyshire Constabulary headquarters, at the same table, with the same stack of files on its freshly polished surface.
Martin Jackson looked as though he enjoyed his job. He’d entered the room full of energy, fresh and pink-cheeked like someone who’d just been for a run around the grounds. And perhaps he had.
Jackson put his glasses on and spread his files out in front of him as if ready for a party game. Hangman or snakes and ladders maybe. One where someone slipped up and met an unfortunate end.
‘DS Fry, do you remember a colleague of yours from West Midlands Police, Andrew Kewley?’ he asked.
‘Of course I remember him,’ said Fry.
‘He died rather suddenly.’
‘I know that.’
‘Naturally. You were there, weren’t you?’
‘To be more accurate, I found his body,’ she said. ‘It was very distressing for me.’
‘I’m sure it was. Kewley was a friend of yours, as well as a close colleague.’
‘He’d retired by then,’ said Fry. ‘And I hadn’t seen him for some time, since I transferred to Derbyshire.’
‘Really? Didn’t you meet with him earlier that same week, a day or two before his death?’
Fry clenched her fists under the table, hoping he couldn’t see her reaction. How did Jackson know that? Only she and Andy Kewley had been present at that meeting. Warstone Lane Cemetery, with its catacombs and broken angels, right in the heart of Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter. It had been Kewley’s choice of location. Had he mentioned their meeting to someone else? Someone currently on the West Midlands force? Or had Gareth Blake already been watching Kewley by then?
‘I meant I hadn’t seen him before that week,’ she said.
‘Mmm.’ Jackson made another note on his pad. ‘As I understand it, you’d asked Mr Kewley for some information.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Fry. ‘It was in connection with an old case.’
‘Your case, in fact.’
‘Yes, my case,’ said Fry, momentarily irritated at hearing the same phrase Ben Cooper had used.
Jackson pursed his lips at her change of tone.
‘A violent assault you suffered during the course of your duties when you were stationed in Birmingham, serving with Aston CID. I gather you were separated from your colleagues during an operation and assaulted by gang members when they discovered you were a police officer.’
‘You can call it a rape,’ said Fry. ‘That’s what it was. And of course it was obviously of concern to me.’
‘As the victim, yes. We fully appreciate that. Very understandable. But as a serving police officer, you should have known better than to be conducting inquiries of your own, making unofficial contact with witnesses. Possibly even suspects?’
He made the last phrase sound like a question, which Fry avoided answering.
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But should police officers be held to much higher standards than members of the public even when they’re victims themselves?’
‘Ah, a much-debated question of principle. But beyond my remit, I’m afraid. We only attempt to apply the existing rules here.’
‘Then perhaps you should be investigating what happened to Andy Kewley that day,’ said Fry. ‘It seems to me that’s a more serious question to be asking.’
He looked at her over his glasses. ‘You think his death was suspicious?’
‘I don’t have the evidence, but . . .’
Jackson switched smoothly to another file from the bottom of his pile. ‘The inquest recorded a verdict of natural causes. The results of the post-mortem were fairly clear. Mr Kewley was suffering from heart disease. No doubt the result of too much alcohol, too many cigarettes and not enough exercise. Things were different in those days, I suppose.’
‘I think someone was watching him,’ said Fry. ‘How would anyone know that we met earlier that week otherwise? Where does your information come from?’
‘From our colleagues in the West Midlands,’ said Jackson.
‘Exactly.’
‘I can’t tell you more than that.’
‘Because it might constitute evidence, I suppose.’
Fry felt herself growing angry. She’d been trying to fight it ever since she first entered this room and sat across the table from this man. She’d tried to keep the flood of rage and frustration under control, but now she was afraid she might lose the battle. The worst thing was, she knew that was exactly what Martin Jackson wanted.
He took off his glasses and laid them carefully on the table. ‘DS Fry, if you have allegations to make of improper behaviour by your former colleagues, you should make them through the proper channels. This inquiry only covers your own conduct.’
‘I know,’ said Fry, biti
ng her lip. ‘And of course I deeply regret what happened to Andy Kewley.’
Jackson smiled.
‘And so,’ he asked quietly, ‘do you blame yourself for his death?’
Fry was silent. There were some questions she wasn’t obliged to answer. Not even to herself.
The Kinder View Nursery wasn’t quite what Ben Cooper expected. He’d heard it referred to as a garden centre. But there were no fancy plant pots here, no racks of gardening tools, no bamboo trellising and not even a tearoom. Only plants. The Gould brothers were evidently growers, not retailers.
There were a few years in age between Theo and Duncan Gould, but they were so alike that they could almost be taken for twins. Cooper had to look closely at their eyes to discern that Theo was the older of the two.
The Goulds were dressed in matching olive-green fleeces today with their company logo. Despite the weather, both wore shorts, revealing powerful, hairy calves and thick woollen socks.
Cooper recalled the descriptions of what each of the walkers had been wearing on Kinder that Sunday. Surely the Goulds had dressed alike for the walk. Could it have been feasible in the fog to mistake one for the other? Of course it could. But would it also have been possible to think you’d seen both Theo and Duncan when you’d actually only seen one, because the other brother was somewhere else? That was a more difficult question.
‘We didn’t like the Matthews very much,’ said Theo frankly.
‘The Matthews? Either of them?’
The brothers looked at each other. Cooper noticed the older brother, Theo, wore a discreet hearing aid tucked among his greying strands of hair. Theo rubbed the palms of his hands on his fleece.
‘Jonathan really,’ he said. ‘That young man doesn’t belong. He has no interest in anything.’
‘He just complains all the time,’ said Duncan.
‘And Faith?’
‘Well, she insisted on bringing him,’ said Theo. ‘She spoiled it for us. And look what’s happened now.’
‘You don’t blame Faith for her own death?’
Theo shuffled his feet. ‘She didn’t get on well with the girls,’ he said. ‘Millie and Karina. They laughed at Jonathan, and they called Faith “the headmistress”.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Cooper. ‘Sophie Pullen is the one who’s a school teacher.’
‘No, the girls liked Sophie. They called Faith that because she obviously disapproved of them. She didn’t like them being around Darius all the time, for example. They made an awful fuss of him.’
‘They are a bit silly,’ broke in Duncan suddenly. ‘To be honest.’
‘So what do you think happened to Faith?’ asked Cooper.
‘Well, we have our own little theory,’ said Duncan.
He looked at his brother, a bit coy now. Cooper was beginning to get irritated with them. They reminded him of Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Through the Looking Glass. Those characters had irritated him even as a child.
‘And are you going to tell me what your theory is?’ he said impatiently.
‘It might be nothing,’ said Theo. ‘But we were talking about it today. And it’s all to do with those silly girls.’
Cooper left the nursery clutching a plant the Gould brothers had given him. Its name was written on a label stuck into the pot, but it was in Latin and he couldn’t remember what they’d said it was.
Theo Gould had assured him the plant would grow fine in his little patch of garden in Foolow. They might not have accounted for the fact that Hope had already claimed it as her outdoor toilet, though.
The gift hadn’t eased his irritation with the brothers. After talking to the Goulds, he was no closer to getting an answer about what had happened among the members of the New Trespassers Walking Club.
Each person Cooper spoke to seemed to point a finger at one of the others.
‘So the Gould brothers think it was some stupid prank by the two students?’ said Carol Villiers when Ben Cooper got back to the office.
‘Yes, a joke that went badly wrong. According to them, Millie Taylor and Karina Scott thought it was hilarious when Sophie Pullen fell into the bog earlier on, and they thought they’d play a trick on someone else.’
‘And Faith Matthew was just the unfortunate member of the group who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ said Villiers.
Cooper recalled Theo Gould’s exact words: Those silly girls. They were only messing around, I’m sure – trying to push people into the peat bog so they’d get their feet wet. I don’t think they would have realised they were pushing Faith off a drop. That was why they were so distressed afterwards.
‘So it could have been anyone who died at Dead Woman’s Drop?’ Villiers was saying. ‘We’re wasting our time examining Faith’s relationships with the rest of the group?’
‘Let’s not be too hasty. We need to get their accounts. If Millie and Karina have been hoping so far that no one has guessed what happened, then they might be ready to spill the whole story when we ask them directly. A fatal misjudgement like that doesn’t sit well in anyone’s conscience for very long. It needs to come out.’
‘Theo Gould is right, though. They did look pretty shaken up when the MRT retrieved them from Kinder. The doctor said they were suffering from shock.’
‘It will have hit home by now. They’ve had plenty of time to think about it.’
‘Let me and Becky interview them,’ said Villiers. ‘We’ll get anything there is to get from them.’
Cooper considered it, and realised it was a good idea.
‘Yes, all right.’
Before Villiers could leave, Luke Irvine came in to report on the results of his research.
‘I’m still working on Darius Roth’s business set-up,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty complicated. But Darius Roth is definitely a busy man. He recently came up with a scheme for the old water-treatment works outside Hayfield.’
‘Just below the reservoir?’
‘That’s it. It’s been empty for twenty years since they built a new facility at Wybersley. I think United Utilities have been trying to sell it for a while. Mr Roth wanted to buy the building and develop it.’
‘Into what?’ asked Cooper.
‘He had plans drawn up for a visitor centre telling the history of Kinder Scout and that mass trespass you were talking about. There was going to be a café and shop, and all kinds of other facilities. The main building on the site is the former filter house and there’s around ten thousand square feet of floor space, as well as a couple of acres of grounds.’
‘Sounds like an ideal development. What went wrong?’
‘Funding,’ said Irvine. ‘He couldn’t convince the vendors that he had the money to see the development through.’
‘Seriously?’ said Villiers. ‘But he’s supposed to be loaded.’
‘That’s the impression he gives.’
‘Interesting,’ said Cooper. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. Five years ago, Darius Roth was granted planning permission by High Peak Borough Council for the conversion of a disused church building to residential use.’
‘What church?’
‘It says here the former Primitive Methodist chapel.’
‘In Hayfield?’
‘Somewhere on the outskirts, I think,’ said Irvine. ‘Highgate Road?’
‘Is there a site map with the planning application?’
‘Yes, I’ve printed it out for you.’
Cooper studied the map Irvine handed him. The site of the application was small, and rather isolated from the residential part of the village, surrounded only by agricultural land and a few acres of woodland. Perhaps the Primitive Methodists were considered a bit too primitive even for Hayfield.
He compared the location to the map pinned on his wall, where the Roths’ home was marked.
‘Do you know what?’ said Cooper. ‘I think this site actually adjoins the Roths’ property on its southern boundary.’
‘Blimey, they must hav
e a big garden,’ said Irvine.
‘I’m not sure the word “garden” really covers it,’ said Cooper, recalling the gently undulating slopes, recently mowed by the Roths’ gardener, with their spectacular views of Chinley Head and the Sett Valley, and the dark copse of trees covering the southern slopes at the foot of Kinder.
‘If you get Google Maps up,’ said Irvine, ‘we’ll be able to see the satellite image.’
‘Good idea.’
When Cooper zoomed in on the screen, he found that Trespass Lodge looked even more impressive viewed from above. That was often the way with a large property. On the ground, you only ever saw a small portion of it all at once. A visitor might never guess the size of the house or the extent of the surrounding land.
‘That must be the chapel,’ said Irvine, pointing at the screen.
‘Yes, I think you’re right, Luke. It’s very close. If Darius Roth had plans for that building, he might have intended to incorporate it into his own property.’
‘But what would he do with it?’ said Villiers. ‘Convert it into a house, I suppose – though it looks a bit small.’
‘He couldn’t knock it down, because it’s Grade II listed,’ pointed out Irvine. ‘The planning permission is quite specific about the conditions. Perhaps he could rent it out as a holiday let?’
Villiers laughed. ‘What? Tourists right on his own doorstep? I don’t think so. Not Mr Roth.’
‘What, then?’
‘What I’m thinking,’ said Cooper, ‘is that the old Methodist chapel might have become the clubhouse for the New Trespassers Walking Club.’
Cooper noticed that a public footpath was marked on the plan. It came off Valley Road and skirted the woodland towards the edge of Kinder. He wondered if it was possible to slip down from the path through the trees to reach the old chapel, if you knew the way. There seemed to be no other direct access, so probably the Primitive Methodists had come that way themselves, going to and from the church on foot. It looked ideal for a private location to meet in.
Diane Fry was recalling that rainy Monday morning when she’d found Detective Inspector Gareth Blake standing in her boss’s office at E Division headquarters in Edendale. She hadn’t recognised Blake at first, as she automatically held out her hand, seeing a man who wasn’t much above her own age, his hair just starting to recede a little from his forehead, grey eyes observing her sharply from behind tiny, frameless glasses.
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