The Murder Road: A Cooper & Fry Mystery

by Stephen Booth

  But Cooper had carried on. There was another gate at the bottom. A bigger gate. Two of them, in fact, with a padlock and chain closing them. The railway embankment blocked the skyline from here.

  ‘Those gates lead onto the track of the old mineral line,’ called Tania as she watched him striding away. ‘No one uses them. Network Rail are the only ones who have legal access and they haven’t been near for years.’

  Cooper reached the gates and examined the padlock. When he lifted it, the chain fell away in his hands. The gates pushed open easily. On the other side there were tyre marks in the mud, until the track became firm and dry a few yards in.

  ‘Well, what happened there?’ said Tania in surprise.

  ‘Did you see the roofers leave after they came down here?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘Well, no. I assumed they must have left while I was milking. I play music for the goats. It keeps them calm.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I did think it was a bit rude, just leaving and not saying a word of thanks or anything.’

  ‘And that was Monday, of course,’ said Cooper.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Tania. ‘But you’re right. I suppose they must have gone before the bridge was blocked, then.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose they must.’

  Cooper went next to Top Barn to see Donna Schofield, where he got a much less warm reception.

  ‘Mrs Schofield, who has been doing the work on your old byre?’ he asked.

  Mrs Schofield scowled at him.

  ‘Just Jason and Aidan,’ she said. ‘They’re good boys.’

  Cooper nodded. ‘And of course, they’re family.’

  ‘Well, yes – they are,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She closed the door firmly behind him. Cooper hardly reached her gate, when the figure of Mrs Swindells came into sight. Her black wheelie bin still stood on the side of the road, but she didn’t make any pretence of checking it. She knew there was little chance of the binmen coming on a Saturday.

  When she saw Cooper, she smiled and asked him how it was all going. He understood that she was just fishing for information, but it made quite a welcome change.

  ‘It seems Mr Hibbert had been walking across the fields quite regularly,’ he said. ‘Not just on Monday night.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen him more than once.’

  ‘You didn’t tell us that.’

  ‘Oh, I did,’ said Mrs Swindells. ‘I told the young Indian man.’

  ‘Really?’

  Cooper left Shawhead, hoping it might be for the last time. Before he got into his car, he stood for a moment and looked back at the hamlet with its silent, unwelcoming air and its almost hidden bend like a deliberate obstacle course. This road was a hazard in itself. People here were living on the edge of danger.

  He wondered how Jack Lawson would feel if he knew that the Flynn brothers had been working on his neighbour’s property, just a few yards round the corner. But he probably had no idea, since he never went out.

  It took time to call the rest of the team in for the operation. But everyone responded at short notice. It was part of the job and they understood that.

  A rendezvous was set up in the car park of the Tesco supermarket just outside Whaley Bridge. Cooper arrived first and parked in the furthest corner, the same spot that he’d chosen when he met Gavin Murfin in his battered Transit van on Friday morning. What a pity he hadn’t arranged to have the Flynn brothers picked up then, when he knew where they were, just taken them quietly into custody while they were sitting in Sally’s Snack Box.

  But he hadn’t known then what he did now. He hadn’t been able to put all the pieces together properly. He hoped the Flynns weren’t already too on edge and ready to make a run for it. Worse was the possibility that they might already have disappeared. Cooper prayed that wasn’t the case. It made for much too messy an ending to his case.

  Gradually, the rest of the team began to arrive. They parked their cars and gathered around Cooper for a quick briefing.

  ‘I’d like to do this without any fuss,’ he said. ‘If we can take the brothers separately, that would be ideal. There will be back-up available, but only if we need it. I think we can manage it ourselves, can’t we?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ said Irvine confidently. He was dressed casually and even had his hair gelled into a different style, making him look quite different from the young DC who came into the office every day. Briefly, Cooper wondered what Luke did with himself at the weekends and what he might have interrupted.

  ‘We need to locate the Flynns first,’ pointed out Sharma.

  Cooper glanced at him, slightly irritated at the comment.

  ‘Obviously, Dev. So let’s get on with it.’

  Cooper sent Luke Irvine and Becky Hurst into New Mills to make a discreet check on whether Jason and Aidan Flynn were home. Then they waited.

  Dev Sharma fidgeted impatiently as he watched the shoppers coming and going from the supermarket. It was getting busy and cars kept crawling past looking for a parking space. Trolleys rattled over the walkways, children screamed irritably. A charity collector stood rattling a tin in the entrance to the store.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ said Sharma.

  ‘What do you mean? Like what?’

  ‘So, well . . . dull.’

  ‘There’s often a lot of waiting,’ said Cooper. ‘Isn’t it like that in D Division?’

  Sharma shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Though you’re usually wanted somewhere else if you stand still long enough.’

  After twenty minutes or so, Irvine called in to report that a neighbour in New Mills had seen Jason arrive in the white Nissan pick-up and collect his younger brother.

  ‘It looks as though they’re going to work,’ he said. ‘It must be an urgent job if they’re working on a Saturday. That, or they need the money.’

  ‘They didn’t have any overnight bags with them, anything like that?’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like it. Just tools.’

  ‘Is there anyone else home?’

  ‘Not at Aidan’s house.’

  ‘We need to find out where they’ve gone,’ said Cooper. ‘But the only phone number for their roofing business is a mobile. It’s probably in the pick-up with Jason. We could call that as a last resort.’

  Irvine’s voice was muffled for a moment, then he came back on the line.

  ‘Becky is going to try the number. She thinks she can make an innocent enquiry and give the impression of being a helpless woman.’

  Cooper smiled. ‘Okay. Call me back straight away if you get a result. Otherwise someone will have to visit Jason’s house. He’s married, so his wife might be at home.’

  ‘Will do.’

  He ended the call and they waited for a few more minutes, watching the shoppers, trying to ignore the suspicious glances.

  ‘Jason Flynn’s wife might equally be doing her shopping here at Tesco,’ said Sharma.

  ‘True. But we’ll track them down one way or another, even if we have to wait until they come again from the job they’re on.’

  ‘Seriously? We’d wait that long?’

  ‘If necessary.’

  But Irvine wasn’t long calling back. He sounded more excited now.

  ‘The Flynns have been looking at a job in Chapel-en-le-Frith,’ he said. ‘They told Becky they would be on their way back soon. She made up an address in New Mills.’

  ‘Great work. That means they’ll be coming up the A6.’

  Irvine laughed at something Hurst was saying in the background.

  ‘Becky is upset because Jason Flynn called her “love”,’ he said. ‘But she’ll get over it once he’s banged up in a cell.’

  ‘I hope no one in New Mills tips the brothers off that you were looking for them,’ said Cooper.

  He could hear Irvine hesitate then. ‘We can’t be sure of that. It’s not the most friendly of neighbourhoods. You know what it’s like. We’re getting th
e old evil eye from some of the neighbours here.’

  ‘Okay, Luke. Fingers crossed. And thanks.’

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ said Cooper when he ended the call.

  ‘No more waiting?’ asked Sharma.

  ‘Not too much, I hope.’

  First Cooper asked Carol Villiers to take up a position on the A6, where she had a good view of the passing traffic. Then he and Dev Sharma moved out of the Tesco car park and sat in the Toyota, parked in a gateway just off the Bridgemont Roundabout.

  Restlessly, Cooper tapped the steering wheel and stared out at the passing traffic.

  ‘You know both the Flynns have form,’ said Sharma. ‘All the way back to their teens. Assault, disorderly conduct, taking a vehicle without consent – even a bit of burglary. The older brother, Jason, spent some time in youth detention. Not the best of qualifications for someone working in the building trade.’

  ‘People do learn to go straight,’ said Cooper, though he didn’t feel any great conviction in this case.

  Sharma was on the radio to keep the control room up to date with their progress.

  ‘There’s back-up on the way,’ he said. ‘A response unit and a Traffic car in case we get into a pursuit.’

  ‘But there’s no sign of the Flynns yet.’ Cooper was starting to get impatient himself now. ‘We need to move on them soon. Where are they?’

  Then Carol Villiers came through on the radio.

  ‘The Flynn brothers have just left Sally’s Snack Box,’ she said. ‘I’m no more than fifty yards behind them.’

  ‘Be careful, Carol.’

  ‘Don’t worry. If they’re fuelled up on Sally’s chips and baked beans, they won’t be in any condition to put up a fight.’

  Cooper put the Toyota into gear and moved onto the roundabout. He twisted round in his seat to look back down the northbound carriageway. He couldn’t see the Flynns’ Nissan pick-up in the traffic, but he saw the blue lights of a Traffic car flashing further down the carriageway.

  ‘Wait, they’re stopping on the hard shoulder,’ said Villiers. ‘The passenger door is opening. One of them is out of the vehicle. He’s legging it. It’s the younger brother.’

  ‘Aidan?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Cooper could see him now. Aidan Flynn was running along a narrow strip of tarmac between the inside lane and the verge, practically on the white line.

  ‘The pick-up is moving off again fast. They’re splitting up.’

  ‘Damn, they must have seen the blue lights and panicked.’

  Cooper saw Aidan stumble, his arms flailing, but he seemed to steady himself and keep on running.

  When he veered suddenly into the road, Cooper couldn’t tell whether he’d done it deliberately. He heard brakes screech and a horn blaring. A white van swerved into the outside lane, forcing a car to brake suddenly, its nose swinging dangerously close to the barrier.

  ‘Was he hit?’

  ‘No, he’s still running.’

  ‘Carol, you pick Aidan up before he causes an accident. We’ll keep the Nissan in sight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The pick-up rocketed through the roundabout, with Jason Flynn hanging grimly on to the steering wheel. Cooper accelerated hard and managed to get in behind a Ford, then followed the Nissan.

  Just a few hundred yards further on the pick-up took a sudden swing across the oncoming traffic by a railway bridge and roared up a side road. Cooper could see the spurt of exhaust as Flynn put his foot down.

  He managed to make the turn safely in the Toyota, but Flynn was already disappearing round a sharp bend. Cooper looked in his rearview mirror, but saw no blue lights following. The Toyota crossed the centre line as he tried to gain distance on the Nissan. Ahead he saw a village with a church and a few houses. And he was just in time to see the brake lights of Flynn’s white Nissan as it made another right turn in the centre of the village.

  ‘Where is he heading?’ asked Sharma as he clung to the door.

  ‘Bugsworth Basin, by the looks of it. If he gets over Silk Hill bridge, we might lose him in the lanes on the other side.’

  The Nissan was still in view as they descended the hill. Flynn’s car bounced over the bridge by the Navigation Inn. Then he must have seen the blue lights of a police car coming towards him on Silk Hill and his car skidded sideways as he braked to swing right.

  He bounced off the railings along the side of the canal as he struggled to control the car. A red waste bin broke off the railings and flew past Cooper’s windscreen as he slipped in behind the Nissan. He heard a bang and glanced in his mirror just in time to see the waste bin whirling off the dented roof of the response car behind him.

  Clouds of dust were thrown into the air by the Nissan’s tyres as Flynn accelerated away along the edge of the canal, past the row of shipping containers and horse bridges towards the old wharfinger’s house. Cooper caught a glimpse of the startled faces of boaters emerging from their narrowboats moored in the lower basin.

  ‘He’s going to have to stop and make a run for it,’ said Sharma.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Where does it go then?’

  ‘He could turn into the industrial estate when he gets past the cottages. It’s the site of an old mill and there’s access from the towpath. But he won’t make the turn at this speed.’

  The Nissan fishtailed dangerously as it slid into the narrower part of the towpath past the bridges. Two walkers ducked behind the wall of the shop when they saw the car coming. Cooper had to slow down, alarmed at the possibility of mowing down a couple of members of the public.

  But Jason Flynn had lost speed too as he mowed down a couple of wooden bollards at the gauging stop, where the canal became narrower. A boat was chugging down the canal towards the basin, and the steerer at the stern shouted abuse and shook his fist, as if Flynn was likely to taken any notice.

  Luckily, no one was outside the row of cottages as the Nissan sped past. Clumps of grass and mud flew up as he scraped the stone walls. The turning into the industrial estate was just past the end of the row, almost invisible among the trees beyond the last cottage. Did Flynn know it was there, or not? He certainly didn’t seem to be slowing down.

  ‘He’s not going to make the turn,’ said Cooper. ‘Hold on tight.’

  ‘What is he going to do?’ said Sharma.

  ‘I’ve no idea. But it isn’t going to be good.’

  An elderly couple sitting on a bench gaped at them as the pick-up shot past. But Cooper knew he didn’t need to hurry now. He watched Flynn’s vehicle rumble over the big coping stones that edged the canalside. The wheels of the Nissan were juddering as Flynn fought with the steering. Yet still he didn’t slow down.

  Cooper slid to a halt. He knew there was nowhere else for the Nissan to go. He expected Flynn to stop and run for it like his brother.

  But Flynn must not have seen the next bridge until it was too late. It was the modern bridge carrying the A6 over the canal, and it constricted the towpath to a width of about four feet where it swung sharply under the road. There was no way to get through.

  Cooper heard the smash as the Nissan’s front wing hit the concrete pillar, spilling headlight glass and shreds of bumper. The pick-up jolted sideways, until its nearside wheels slipped off the edge of the bank.

  The vehicle teetered dangerously. For a breathless moment Cooper thought it was going to settle like that, wedged at a forty-five-degree angle between the bridge and the canal, its tyres hanging in mid-air. But Jason Flynn’s frantic movements in the driving seat shifted the weight of the pick-up and it began to topple – slowly at first, but gathering speed until it hit the water with a tremendous splash that threw waves onto the towpath.

  The open back of the Nissan immediately filled with water and the pick-up tipped gently over. It bobbed on the surface, filling the width of the waterway, its transmission and exhaust system turned up to the sky like the belly of a stranded turtle. Bubbles rose through the mu
rky brown water as it began to creep up the bodywork. The canal was shallow here and the vehicle would be on the bottom in seconds.

  Cooper jumped out of the Toyota. Automatically, he began to take off his jacket. But Dev Sharma put a hand firmly on his shoulder to stop him.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t do it.’

  And Sharma was right, of course. It would be suicide to jump into that water and try to get under the sinking Nissan. If Flynn couldn’t free himself from his seat belt and open the door, he was going to die while everyone stood helplessly on the bank.

  The response car juddered to a halt behind Cooper’s Toyota and he could hear an officer radioing for assistance. But it was already too late by then.

  31

  Ben Cooper and Dev Sharma sat across the table from Aidan Flynn and the duty solicitor in an interview room at West Street.

  Flynn was wearing a similar sweatshirt and perhaps even the same dirt-streaked denim jeans that Cooper had seen him in at Sally’s Snack Box. His working uniform presumably. It was a bit different from Malcolm Kelsey’s brown fleece and his matching peaked cap with the windmill logo. That didn’t mean Flynn was any less good at his job, he supposed. But a professional look helped.

  That angular, brooding face seemed even more familiar, now that Cooper had seen it in Flynn’s official record. He had hardly changed since his first arrest, except there was more dark stubble, the hair on his collar was blacker and curlier.

  Flynn gazed down at the table in the interview room, his eyes occasionally darting up with that intense stare.

  Aidan Flynn was thirty-one years old, so he would have been just twenty-three at the time his big sister was killed in the crash on the A6. But he could hardly blame the incident for sending him off the rails. Aidan had a police record stretching back into his teens. Assault, criminal damage, taking a vehicle without consent – and even a bit of burglary. In every case he had been charged jointly with his older brother Jason.

  No doubt the solicitor had advised a ‘no comment’ approach, but Aidan wanted to talk. It seemed to be the fate of his brother that made him talkative, but Cooper could hardly claim credit for that as a successful interview strategy.