The Murder Road: A Cooper & Fry Mystery

by Stephen Booth

  ‘But we don’t know exactly what happened after that?’ asked Irvine.

  ‘No. Except that when Mr Kelsey continued on his way he took the wrong road and ended up on Cloughpit Lane, which is not only extremely narrow for a heavy goods vehicle, but it passes under a low bridge. Too low for Mr Kelsey’s lorry. And that was where he was assaulted, while his lorry was trapped under the bridge. We need to focus on finding these men and establishing what they did when they left Sally’s Snack Box. We have some circumstantial evidence.’

  Cooper indicated photographs of the stolen diversion sign and the height restriction warning taken from the bridge.

  ‘These items would tend to indicate that Mr Kelsey was deliberately lured to a point where his lorry would become trapped. It seems likely the two men at the cafe were involved in planning this and perhaps carrying out the subsequent assault. The trouble is, nobody at Sally’s Snack Box is going to talk to me. Not even Sally herself. It’s too public and too insular a set-up. They’ll only talk to someone they trust. Lorry drivers like a chat, but only to one of their own.’

  ‘Someone needs to go in there incognito then,’ suggested Villiers.

  Cooper looked round at his team. ‘But I’m afraid none of you looks like a lorry driver.’

  ‘So who do we know who does?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got an idea,’ he said.

  Later that morning Ben Cooper was sitting in his Toyota with Carol Villiers in the lay-by on the southbound carriageway of the A6. They were watching Sally’s Snack Box, waiting as a few customers came and went from the roadside cafe.

  ‘Here he comes,’ said Cooper.

  A plain white Transit van had slowed in the inside lane on the opposite carriageway, indicating to pull into the lay-by. It had no markings, but there was a ladder fastened to the roof, as if it might belong to a self-employed builder. Its paintwork was spattered with mud and somebody had written ‘Clean me’ in the dirt on the side panel.

  ‘Nice wheels,’ said Villiers.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Cooper.

  The van pulled into a space between two HGVs, as close to the cafe as it could get. After a moment the driver’s door opened and a figure in an orange reflective waistcoat climbed awkwardly down from the cab. The driver hitched his trousers up over his stomach, sniffed the air and stretched his arms wide, as if he was stiff from spending too long at the wheel.

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ muttered Cooper, though Murfin had no chance of hearing him.

  There was a long wait then, after Murfin had gone inside. Cooper tapped the steering wheel impatiently. He was in no doubt that Gavin would have taken advantage of the situation to try out what Sally had to offer. He would be ordering the all-day breakfast and claim he did it to fit in. Cooper could almost smell the aroma of bacon and sausages drifting across the road, even with his windows closed. Fried egg, mushrooms, hash browns and lashings of tomato sauce. Gavin had never worried about his cholesterol levels. It would catch up with him one day. But right now it was exactly what was required.

  ‘Aren’t some of these roadside cafes switching to healthier menu options?’ said Villiers. ‘I thought I read that somewhere.’

  ‘Not this one,’ said Cooper.

  They waited in silence for a bit longer, hoping in vain for something to happen.

  ‘So how’s DS Sharma doing?’ said Villiers finally.

  Cooper had thought she would never ask. ‘Oh, he’s doing fine. It’s all very different for him here, of course. But I’m sure he’ll fit in.’

  ‘Are you, Ben?’

  ‘Yes. And we should all be making an effort to help him do that.’

  Villiers turned away and said nothing more for a while. Cooper wondered if he’d sounded too severe. He didn’t mean to be critical. It wasn’t Carol’s fault.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘If only he wasn’t so full of himself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Devdan. He thinks he’s God’s gift.’

  Cooper looked at her closely to see if she was joking. But she didn’t seem to be.

  ‘I imagine his parents told him that when he was born,’ said Cooper. ‘From the moment they decided on his name, in fact.’

  Villiers frowned slightly, then apparently decided he was talking nonsense as usual.

  ‘You’ll find I’m right,’ she said.

  Cooper smiled. ‘Probably. But why do you resent him so much?’

  ‘I don’t resent him.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Cooper was surprised to find himself defending Sharma, especially when he didn’t really know anything about him. Perhaps Villiers was right. Perhaps even Gavin Murfin was right – though both at once seemed very unlikely.

  In fact, Cooper couldn’t get Murfin’s comment out of his mind, the cynical reference he’d made to Devdan Sharma doing his ‘diversity training’ by transferring to the rural territory of E Division. There was a relentless drive to create a service that reflected the diverse population it served. And the Asian population of Derbyshire was overwhelmingly concentrated in the city. Derby’s ethnic minorities represented 20 per cent of the city’s population, most of them Asian. In the High Peak and Derbyshire Dales the figure was around 2 per cent.

  Cooper knew that police officers recruited from the Asian community were in such short supply that they were most often deployed in areas where their presence might help community relations, as well improving the public perception of the police. So why was Sharma in Edendale?

  When Gavin Murfin eventually emerged from Sally’s Snack Box, he was chatting happily to two men in their thirties. Cooper recognised them immediately. He turned his head away from the window and slid down in his seat a little, as if asleep.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Villiers.

  ‘Those two with Gavin. They know me.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But they were in Sally’s when I visited the cafe yesterday. They spotted me as a copper straight away, before I could get out my warrant card.’

  ‘Do you think they’ve made Gavin too?’

  ‘I hope not. What’s happening now?’

  ‘As far as I can tell, he is telling a joke. They’re laughing. One of them is lighting a cigarette and offering Gavin one, but he’s refused. Now he’s saying something. “See you later”, I think. And he’s walking back to the van. The two blokes are just watching him. They don’t look happy, but they’re not doing anything. Gavin has got into the van. One of the blokes is muttering something to the other, and he’s nodding. No idea what that’s about. I can’t lip read, you know.’

  ‘Is Gavin driving off?’

  ‘Just a minute. Yes, he’s waiting for a gap in the traffic. And he’s away.’

  ‘We’ll wait and see what they do. One of these vehicles must be theirs. We can get a check on the registration number.’

  The dirty white Transit van was tucked into a space in the corner of the Tesco car park, just off the Bridgemont Roundabout. Cooper opened the passenger door. Gavin Murfin was still wearing his orange reflective waistcoat and was eating a slice of apple pie from a paper bag. The crumbs falling on the floor probably wouldn’t make any difference in this vehicle.

  On his way across the car park Cooper had noticed that it was possible to walk down onto the canal bank from this side of the supermarket. The canal passed under the A6 here, just before the roundabout. By taking the footbridge he could see a few yards down, you would be able to follow the towpath past the industrial estate and the Teapot Row cottages all the way into Bugsworth Basin.

  It was always surprising how the canal and the railways passed right through this area without being noticed, except by the people who actually used them. Boaters could come down the canal from New Mills and moor here to get their shopping at Tesco before going on to the basin at Bugsworth. And those hundreds of drivers passing overhead on the A6 would have no idea they were there.

  ‘You took your time at the cafe, Ga
vin,’ said Cooper, as he climbed into the passenger seat of the van. ‘I didn’t expect you to stay for the full banquet.’

  ‘Hey, I brought my dessert with me, didn’t I?’ protested Murfin, with his mouth half full of pastry. ‘Besides, I don’t work for you any more, remember? I’m a freelance.’

  ‘So how did you get on, Mr Freelance?’

  ‘Oh, she’s a grand lass, that Sally,’ said Murfin. ‘Makes a grand fry-up too. I wish I was married to her. There’d be no more flamin’ diets.’

  Cooper laughed and Murfin eyed him warily.

  ‘You won’t tell my missus I said that, will you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Gavin, your secret infatuation is safe with me. Did you find out anything useful, though?’

  ‘Well, for a start, she’s not Sally,’ said Murfin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, she’s not the original Sally. Her real name is Lucy. She bought the cafe off the woman who originally set it up. Now, her name was Sally. Lorry drivers have always known the place as Sally’s Snack Box and they pass on recommendations. That’s where most of her business comes from, of course. So she decided not to change it. It was a marketing decision, like.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So people still call her Sally – even the blokes who’ve been going there for years and know perfectly well she isn’t Sally. Do you see what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, I understand, Gavin. You’re privileged to be on proper first name terms with her.’

  ‘It’s my charm,’ said Murfin. He eased his belt over his stomach and belched gently. ‘You know, I might go back there again when I get the chance.’

  ‘When did Lucy take over the Snack Box?’ asked Cooper. ‘Did you find that out?’

  ‘About ten years ago.’

  ‘She told me she was there when the fatal crash happened.’

  ‘Yes. It was a big event. Some of the drivers still talk about that night. Those blokes really like a bit of gossip and putting the world to rights.’ Murfin laughed. ‘Don’t expect any of your namby-pamby political correctness in there, Ben. They tend to be of the hang ’em and flog ’em persuasion. The courts aren’t anywhere near tough enough on criminals. You know the sort of thing. They’d form their own judge and jury, given half a chance.’

  ‘Did any of them actually see the collision happen?’

  ‘Not exactly. There were a couple of HGVs in the Snack Box lay-by at the time. The drivers were resting in their cabs. They weren’t called as witnesses for the court case, because they didn’t see the crash, they just heard it. They woke up and jumped out of their cabs to see what was happening.’

  ‘Like Sally herself.’

  ‘That’s right. She heard the collision, came out of the cafe and saw the wreckage on fire.’

  ‘And she dialled 999.’

  ‘It’s what anyone would do.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Murfin finished the last piece of apple pie and crumpled the paper bag. He tossed it onto the dashboard shelf, where it sat among a pile of existing debris.

  ‘There were two lads you came out of the cafe with,’ said Cooper.

  ‘They’re brothers,’ said Murfin. ‘Jason and Aidan. They work together, laying patios and tarmacking drives and such.’

  ‘They were very interested in you,’ said Cooper. ‘And they were sitting in Sally’s when I called there yesterday too.’

  ‘They’re regulars. She has a lot of blokes who eat there every day during the week. They said they’d been going there for ten years or more. They remembered the original Sally too. But this one’s better, they reckon.’

  ‘You didn’t get their last name?’ said Cooper.

  ‘No, it’s not the sort of thing you ask. Not when you’re just another van driver eating his snap.’

  ‘We waited to see which vehicle they got into when they left,’ said Cooper. ‘It was a Nissan pick-up truck. And Carol did a PNC check on it. It’s registered to a Jason Flynn of Low Leighton, New Mills.’

  ‘Jason would be the older brother.’

  ‘And Flynn?’ said Cooper. ‘Does the name Flynn not mean anything to you, Gavin?’

  Murfin frowned. ‘There’s a big family of Flynns in these parts. They have massive funerals with undertakers in top hats walking in front of a horse-drawn hearse. In fact, there seems to be a funeral every week, but the family never gets any smaller. They say the Flynns drop like flies, but breed like rabbits.’

  ‘Flynn also happens to be the maiden name of Ashley Brooks,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Wasn’t she the woman who was killed in the crash?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘They never mentioned that,’ said Murfin. ‘A bit odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, very strange. Your charm must have failed to work on them like it did on Sally.’

  ‘Lucy,’ said Murfin.

  Cooper opened the door to get out. Carol Villiers was waiting in the Toyota for him. He hesitated, looking at Gavin Murfin sitting in the driver’s seat of the Transit, like a proper white van man in his reflective jacket.

  ‘By the way, I saw you talking to Dev Sharma at your leaving party,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Oh, the new DS. Yes, I told him about my job and he gave me a bit of a tip. It was quite an eye opener actually.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He says I ought to suggest to my new bosses at Eden Valley Enquiries that there’s a lot of scope for using Asian enquiry agents. I mean, among the Asian community. We could expand into Derby. And why not? It’s a whole new market.’

  ‘What sort of market?’

  ‘Asian weddings,’ said Murfin.

  ‘Are you joking, Gavin?’

  ‘Nope. It’s kosher. It’s a revelation to me too, like. But Dev says—’

  ‘“Dev” is it, now?’

  ‘That’s his name. Well, Dev says these weddings are so elaborate they cost the bride’s family an absolute fortune. Maybe fifty thousand pounds, sometimes hundreds of thousands. Absolute arm and a leg. The mind boggles, Ben.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ admitted Cooper. ‘So you’re telling me you’re going into the wedding business, Gavin? Are you doing the dresses or the reception, or what?’

  ‘Give over.’ Murfin scowled with exasperation ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you’ll have forgotten about it by next week.’

  ‘No, I won’t. My bosses are going to be really impressed when I explain the plan.’

  ‘A gold star on your first day.’

  ‘I reckon so.’

  Cooper shook his head. What had Sharma been telling him? It was unkind to wind Gavin up so badly at his leaving party. Well, some of the other officers had been doing it all night probably. But they’d known Murfin for years. Sharma was the new boy around E Division. Baiting Gavin wasn’t right.

  Murfin fastened his seat belt and put the Transit into gear. To Cooper’s irritation, he waved cheerily to Carol Villiers, abandoning all attempts to be unobtrusive.

  ‘Is that a new car, by the way, Ben?’ he said.

  ‘For heaven’s sake – of course it’s a new car.’

  Murfin sniffed, offended. ‘I only asked.’

  Cooper joined Villiers in the Toyota. He wasn’t feeling in the best of moods. He didn’t like the revelation that the two customers he’d noticed at Sally’s Snack Box might be relatives of Ashley Brooks. Not only that, but it seemed they’d failed to mention the fact while Gavin Murfin was in the cafe chatting away happily to anyone he could find about the crash in which Ashley had died. For some reason the Flynns had kept their mouths shut. They had managed a greater level of discretion than Gavin.

  They watched Murfin’s Transit van drive up the access road past the supermarket and onto Bridgemont Roundabout. Gavin was off to start his new career on Monday.

  ‘What next?’ said Villiers.

  ‘I want to know more about that fatal collision,’ said Cooper. ‘In particular, I’d be interested in seeing the post-mortem report on A
shley Brooks. It’s such a pity that—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, that we can’t talk to Malcolm Kelsey about it. I’ve a feeling he might have been able to tell us a few things.’

  26

  By never giving up in his attempts, Dev Sharma had eventually tracked down Charles Bateman. He reported to Cooper that they would find Bateman having lunch at an out of the way country pub in a village called Rowarth.

  ‘Is he being deliberately awkward?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘I don’t know. He certainly didn’t sound enthusiastic. Did you say something to upset him last time you talked?’

  ‘I suppose I might have done,’ admitted Cooper. ‘I told him he couldn’t have his lorry back yet.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s sulking then.’

  ‘I hope he’s not going to be uncooperative.’

  Cooper was conscious that if Bateman wouldn’t talk to him, it might mean he would have to intrude on the grieving widow again.

  Though Rowarth was only two or three miles north of New Mills, there was no direct way of getting to it. Cooper had to follow a circuitous route out of the town past the Pack Horse Inn to reach a crossroads on the edge of the moor, where he turned onto Shiloh Road.

  That western-sounding name always created images in his mind of cowboys herding cattle across the plains of Texas. It was a picture that wasn’t contradicted by the names of farmsteads along the way. Pistol Farm and Gun Farm. Often he wondered what stories lay behind the naming of places in Derbyshire. No doubt their origins were buried deep in the past and open to speculation. That was the way people liked it in this part of the world – a bit of mystery, a chance to make up your own version of history for the benefit of visitors.

  At the crossroads he was surprised to see a large sign warning motorists: ‘Do not follow satnav’. It was a pity Mac Kelsey hadn’t been given that advice. What was it about this area that confused the communications satellites so much?

  This was a more familiar type of country for Cooper. Gently sloping fields stretched out on either side, scattered farms nestled in copses of trees.

  The land was better and more fertile here than at Bridge End Farm. Although it was only February, the first signs of new grass were beginning to come through – a shimmer of bright green in the landscape like a tentative hint of spring. He could see no flocks of sheep. The grazing was probably too good for them. In a few weeks’ time there would probably be cows on the pasture, kicking their heels up to be allowed outdoors again. Matt would go the same shade of green with envy at the sight of such fertile land.