Blood on the tongue bcadf-3

by Stephen Booth

  There were bookshops in Edendale that were more modern, but Cooper had browsed in Eden Vallev Books many times, and he was hopeful he would find what he wanted here, even during the half-hour he could spare during his lunch break. The owner, Lawrence Daley, seemed to speciali/.e in gathering together obscure books on esoteric subjects.

  The concept of a window display hadn’t reached Eden Valley Books yet. All Cooper could see through the streaked glass were the ends of some wooden bookshelves plastered with fliers advertising local events which had taken place several months ajjo. A concert by a folk group, a psychic evening at the community centre, an autumn fair in aid of the Cats Protection Eeague.

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  The snow in Nick i’ th’ Tor was rapidly turning to slush, and water ran down the cobbles into the square. The front door of the bookshop was narrow, and it stuck in the frame when he tried to open it, so that he had to lean his weight against it before it gave way. It reminded him more of a defensive bastion than of an entrance especially when a warning bell jangled above his head, causing a nervous stirring somewhere inside the shop.

  Immediately, Cooper was surrounded by books. They were crammed on to shelves right in the doorway, so that he couldn’t get past without brushing against them. Further in, the tiny rooms had been stuffed with books from floor to ceiling. They were piled on the floor and on the bare wooden stairs, and no doubt they filled the upper rooms as well. On a table, Cooper saw a set of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five stories and a 1935 almanac with board covers mottled with mould. There was an overwhelmingly musty smell of old paper paper that had soaked up the damp from many decades spent in unhcated stone houses on wet hillsides.

  ‘Hello?’ called Cooper.

  Lawrence Daley wore a silk waistcoat with a fancy pattern that was none too clean, and his brown cordurov trousers had become baggv at the knees from hours of crouching to reach the lower shelves. On occasions, Cooper had seen Lawrence wearing a bow tie. But today he had an open-necked check shirt, with his sleeves rolled back over pale forearms. His hair was uncombed, and he looked dusty and sweaty, as if it were the height of summer outside with the temperature in the eighties, rather than creeping up from xero towards another snowfall.

  Tve been trying to sort out the Natural History section,’ said Lawrence when he saw Cooper appear round the stacks. ‘Some of these books have been here since Granny’s day. They’re still priced in shillings, look. A customer brought one to me yesterdav and insisted on paying fifteen pence for it. I couldn’t argue, because that was what the price on the label converted at in new money.’

  ‘Are you throwing them out?’ asked Cooper, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell and the cloud of dust that hung in the air.

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  ‘Throwing them out? Arc you kidding? I can’t throw them out. They just need re-pricing.’

  ‘But if they’ve been here since your grandmother ran theI

  ,fi shop … |

  ‘I know. I know. They’re not exactly fast sellers. But if thatI

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  were all I was interested in, I’d stack the place to the ceiling with!|

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  Harry Potters, like everyone else does. It’s Detective Constable| Cooper, isn’t it?’ J

  ‘Ben Cooper, yes. 1 wondered it you had any books on aircraftJ wrecks. There are so many wrecks around this area there must jj be something published about them.’

  ‘It you go right to the back and through the curtain on the: left, then down a tew steps, you might find something halfway up the shelves,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Cooper made his way through the aisles of books. He passed

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  Poetry and Literature, Biography and Philosophy, until he;

  reached a dead end at Geography. He turned left at Art and

  found Music lurking in a curtained-off alcove at the head of

  a tlight of stairs leading down into a cellar. The sides of the

  stairwell had been filled with more bookshelves. A lew creaky

  steps down, Cooper came across Air Transport. It seemed

  a curiously modern subject tor Eden Valley Books, and he

  wasn’t surprised that it was hidden away. He looked downji

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  into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs and wonderedf what Lawrence had chosen to confine to the cellar. Probably j something like Computers and Information Technology. f But there, sure enough, were two slim volumes on Peak :: District aircraft relics, exactly what he wanted. He wondered , if this place was really some kind of Aladdin’s Cave where you could find anything you truly wanted, if you wished hard enough.

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  Lawrence Dalev made a strange genie, though.

  ‘Just the thing, Lawrence,’ he said, when he had made his way back to the counter. ‘I lound two.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Lawrence. ‘And is there a price on them?’

  ‘Well, no actually.’

  Lawrence sighed. ‘Then I can’t charge you anything at all, can I?’

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  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Not if there’s no label. It’s against the Trade Descriptions Act.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s how it works,’ said Cooper. ‘Anyway, I can’t take them without paying you lor them.’

  ‘Well, fifty pence then.’

  ‘II you say so.’

  Cooper began to go through his pockets. He found the estate agent’s leaflets and pulled them out of the way while he felt at the bottom for some change. His pager was vibrating again, but it could wait.

  ‘Hello,’ said Lawrence, ‘have you fallen into the company of conmen and thieves?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Estate agents,’ he said, pointing at the leaflets. ‘Are you buying a house/’

  “I can’t afford that,’ said Cooper. ‘I’m just looking for a place to rent for a while.’

  ‘Ah. Striking out on your own? Or is there a live-in partner involved somewhere?’

  ‘On my own.’

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  ‘Oh. And have you not found anywhere yet?’

  ‘No.’

  Cooper handed over his fifty pence, and Lawrence rattled it into the drawer of his till, then found a striped paper bag from somewhere under the counter. Cooper stood looking at some postcards and fliers stuck to a board near the counter. Most of them were advertising the services of typing agencies, clairvoyants and aromatherapy specialists, but there was one that caught his eye.

  ‘There’s a furnished flat advertised here,’ he said. ‘It’s in Welbeck Street, by the river/

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘That’s handv for town. I could walk to work from there. And it sounds quite a reasonable rent, too. Do you know who this person is? Mrs Shelley?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s my aunt.’

  ‘Really?’

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  ‘She lives in Welbcck Street herself, but she owns the house next door as well,’ said Lawrence. ‘My uncle had dreams of knocking the two places together and creating some kind of palatial town house to swan around in. Cod knows why there were only ever the two of them, with no children.’

  ‘I have an uncle like that, too he loves unfinished projects. It seems to give him a sense of immortality. He doesn’t think

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  he can possibly die until all the jobs are finished.’

  ‘It didn’t work with Uncle Gerald he died before he could even get round to knocking any walls down.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Aunt Dorothy wasn’t. She was over the moon to be rid of him. She had the house next door split into two flats. She had a proper job done of it. I think, she wanted the workmen to pound the memories of Uncle Gerald into dust with their sledgehammers and cover him over with a nice layer of plaster and some magnolia wallpaper.’

  ‘And one of the Hats is empty, is it?’r />
  ‘It was, when she asked me to put the card up,’ said Lawrence. ‘It might have gone by now, she hasn’t said. I’ve told her to make sure she lets it to the right sort of person. Reliable and trustworthy professional people only, you know. I do worry sometimes about who she might take in, if she’s left entirely to her own devices.’

  ‘I think I’d be interested, if it’s still vacant,’ said Cooper.

  ‘It might not be up to your standards, you know. Aunt Dorothy is getting a hit vague in her old age. Not quite barmv or

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  anything, you understand. But vague about life’s little details.’

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  Cooper looked at the card again. ‘Reliable and trustworthy? Do you think I would qualify, Lawrence?’

  ‘No, but you could lie.’ The bookseller laughed. He reached out a hand anil patted the corduroy collar of Cooper’s waxed coat. ‘I love the cold weather gear, by the way,’ he said. ‘Policemen usually dress so boringly, don’t they? But the cap really suits you. It shows off your eyes.’

  Cooper edged away a few inches. “I might give the flat a try,’ he said. ‘Mrs Shelley, 6 Welbeck Street? I’ll mention that you recommended me, shall I?’

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  Lawrence chuckled. ‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘vou’d he hotter off lying.’

  On the way out, Cooper noticed a morocco-hound volume of .1 Talc of Tiro Cities, which lav in the dust on the top of a set of shelves. It looked almost as if Mr Dickens himself had wandered into the shop one dav and put the hook down on the shell, where it had staved ever since.

  Outside, in High Street, Cooper watched a Hulley’s hus splash slo Iv hv like a dark hlue ship. It threw a how wave of slush to either side, which threatened to sweep awav the pedestrians walking on the pavement.

  As he walked back past the Clappergate shopping precinct towards West Street, Cooper patted his pockets thoughtfully. In the huge poacher’s pocket inside his coat were the hooks on Peak District aircraft wrecks, including the crash of Lancaster SU-V, which had brought Alison Morrissey to Hdendale. In another pocket he had the estate agent’s leaflets for unsuitable

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  properties. Cooper knew he didn’t really want to live on his own. He was moving out of Bridge End Farm because he felt so strongly it was time for a change in his life — and that was all. Lie wondered whether Alison Morrissev lived on her own. Frobablv not. And she was nothing to do with him, anvwav. She was in Ldendale only as a passing visitor. Soon, she would be fixing back to Canada, to an entirely different world, and he would never see her again after today. But perhaps he could hope that there was a person a bit like Alison Morrissey. waiting for him somewhere.

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  JJiane Fry was waiting for Ben Cooper when he arrived back at divisional headquarters in West Street. She glared at him as he came into the CID room.

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ she said.

  ‘I was in the middle of something,’ protested Cooper. ‘I was going to call you back. How’s the double assault case shaping up?’

  ‘Oh, you can forget about that for now.’

  ‘Forget it? There were a couple of serious assaults, wounding with intent, possession of offensive weapons. Not to mention being potentially racially motivated.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, and somebody probably dropped some litter on the pavement as well when you weren’t looking. Forget it.’

  ‘But, Diane —’

  ‘Add it to your pending file, Ben. We’ve got more important things to do.’

  ‘What’s so important? Have we got another body or something?’

  ‘What’s so important,’ said Fry, ‘is that we’ve got a meeting on the Snowman case. It just became a murder enquiry.’

  Without really thinking about it, Ben Cooper had expected E Division’s new Detective Chief Inspector to be female. If not, then a member of an ethnic minority. Or at least gay. It was almost inconceivable that a senior appointment had been made without an attempt to address the balance of gender, ethnicity or sexual persuasion.

  But. no matter how carefully Cooper studied DC I Oliver Kessen, he still seemed to be a middle-aged white man with receding hair and bad teeth, an ill-fitting suit and a paunch. Seated next to their old DCI, Stewart Tailby, Kessen was the centre of attention for the entire room. It was the first time

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  anybody there had set eyes on him, though he had only come from D Division, which wasn’t exactly Australia.

  ‘Good afternoon, everybody,’ said Kessen. ‘Glad to meet you all. Is everything under control?’ Several people opened their mouths to reply, hut didn’t manage to get a word out when they saw the expression on DCI Tailbv’s lace. He looked like a headmaster who had warned his pupils not to talk to strangers.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ said Tailby.

  ‘Well, I’ve just arrived and I’ve got to settle in here, so I rely on you people to bring me up to date. But 1 dare say everything is going smoothly. I can see Mr Tailbv has been

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  running a good team.’

  The new man nodded round the room, trying to make eye contact with as many officers as possible. Cooper saw several of his colleagues freeze like rabbits caught in car headlights, their social skills failing them disastrously when faced with suddenly conflicting demands from two equal-ranking senior officers. Kessen must have thought he had walked into a waxworks

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  from the amount of response he got. With the right lighting, it would have made a tableau for the chamber of horrors.

  It was always a bit awkward when new bosses came. But it had been Stewart Tailby’s own decision to move on, to take up a desk job at headquarters. So he could hardly object to the new man’s arrival, and he could hardly resist having his successor sitting next to him and addressing his staff. Kessen was too inexperienced to be Senior Investigating Officer on a major enquiry. So until 1% Division got a Detective Superintendent to be its new CID chief, Tailby was trapped. There were others here who had expected to get Tailby’s job when he moved, but that was a different matter. It was no use telling (Arm not to be resentful.

  ‘As some of you know, we have the preliminary results from the postmortem examination of the unidentified body of an adult male found on the A57 Snake Pass,’ said Tailby. ‘As a consequence of those results, we have opened a murder enquiry. I appreciate that all of you here have other enquiries on which you’re engaged, and I don’t need telling that we’re

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  short of manpower. We’re hoping to get some help from other divisions, and the Chief is on the phone right now. But I have to

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  tell you that everybody seems to be in the same boat as regards

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  resources.’

  It was true that the room seemed more sparsely occupied than for any major enquirv Cooper could remember. It was ironic that the crisis in manpower should coincide with an unidentified murder victim and a serious assault with multiple suspects. There was a lot of routine slog involved in those cases, and not many people to do it.

  ‘DI Hitchens and DS Fry will fill you in with what information we have so far,’ said Tailbv.

  1 he Snowman’s blue bag was on the table at the front of the conference room, wrapped in latex to preserve it as evidence. Everyone kept glancing at the bag, as if somehow it might tell them everything they needed to know. Paul Hitchens stood up and prodded it with a finger.

  ‘The bag was found with the body by the snowplough crew,’

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  said Hitchens. ‘It’s a common make, though not cheap. One of the first jobs will be to trace shops in the area that sell this type of luggage. Unfortunately, there arc no labels on it, and no contents to help us identify the owner.’

  ‘The bag was completely empty?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘There was so much empty space inside this bag, you’d think it was a Derbyshire CID room,’ said Hitchens. ‘Except it smelled bet
ter.’

  Cooper saw DCI Kesscn’s eves open a little bit wider. He stared at Hitchens, then turned to Tailbv, who ignored him. For the first time that morning, a small smile had crept on to Tailbv’s lace.

  ‘Somebody went to great lengths to remove evidence of his identity, then,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Yes and no,’ said Hitchens. ‘They removed the clothes from the bag, but left him with what he was wearing. They took his wallet and maybe his mobile phone, if he had one, but left the contents of his pockets. In fact, why did they leave the bag itself ? If the perpetrators handled it, they were taking a risk. Why not dispose of it with the clothes? It doesn’t really make sense.’

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  ‘What about missing persons?’ suggested DCI Kessen. ‘I’m sure that’s under control, too,’ said Tailhy. ‘Oi course. Who’s dealing with it. I wonder?’

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  Gavin Murfin tentatively raised a hand. His mouth was full of chocolate, and he began to chew a little bit laster as both chief inspectors turned their attention on him.

  ‘This is Detective Constable Murfin,’ said Tailby.

  ‘Good afternoon, Murfin,’ said Kessen. ‘DC i/c mispers, eh?’

  Murfin’s mouth opened. But all that came out was the sound of masticated food and a faint choking at the back of his throat.

  ‘Anything worthwhile, Murfin?’ said Tailby.

  ‘No, sir. There’s a list on file, but nothing that jumps out at you, like.’

  ‘National forces?’

  ‘They’ve all been circulated,’ said Murfin. ‘ [here’s some we haven’t had a response from yet.’

  ‘Keep on to it, Murfin.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Murfin seemed to reali/e that his hand was still in the air. He lowered it, looking round at his colleagues in embarrassment.