08.Dying to Sin

by Stephen Booth

  Murfin looked at her. ‘How did it go? All I can say is – the goat survived, but the bishop will never be the same again.’

  An hour later, Fry stood up at the conclusion of a meeting with Superintendent Branagh and the other senior officers. At least they’d established with a fair percentage of certainty how Nadezda Halak had died. Results now available from the Forensic Science Service laboratory were consistent with damage to her soft tissues from an explosion of phosphine gas. The tiny fractures to the bones of Nadezda’s hand were probably the result of a futile attempt to protect herself from the debris hurled out by the explosion.

  The function of Orla Doyle at Pity Wood Farm wasn’t confirmed yet. There was a general assumption that could be made from her history in Dublin. Garda records showed Orla to have been a street girl from the age of sixteen. Fry didn’t like assumptions, but she had no contrary evidence to present.

  There was also no evidence to show how Orla Doyle had died, at least without possession of her skull. If only the skull recovered from Tom Farnham’s garage had been hers, there might have been some progress.

  Fry strongly suspected that Martin Rourke had killed her, possibly when she’d tried to leave her employment. That wasn’t allowed, and injury or death were occupational hazards. She would dearly like to gather enough facts to make a case for a murder charge against Rourke, but she didn’t know where to turn for leads.

  ‘Well, the tip-off that DC Cooper obtained from his informant looks credible,’ said Detective Superintendent Branagh as the meeting broke up. ‘That was good work on his part. I’m delighted some of the division’s officers are developing useful intelligence sources.’

  Fry nodded, seething inwardly, but at the same time making a mental note for herself that she’d better mention something to that effect in Cooper’s PDR. Otherwise, Branagh would be on her back asking why she’d overlooked it.

  ‘By the way, what about the future of Pity Wood Farm?’ said Fry. ‘I understand the amounts of toxic waste produced by the methamphetamine manufacturing process are huge. It can take months to decontaminate a site.’

  ‘They won’t be decontaminating that place,’ said Superintendent Branagh.

  ‘No? But surely, ma’am –?’

  ‘There’s no point even trying,’ she said. ‘The experts have examined the levels of contamination. And, yes, they’re extraordinarily high – not just in the outbuildings, but in the house itself. Not to mention the land around it, where they disposed of the by-products. Decontamination is an impossible job. Pity Wood Farm would always be toxic and uninhabitable. So they’ll be taking the only available option – demolition.’

  34

  ‘Jack Elder is in magistrates’ court this afternoon,’ said Fry. ‘He’ll be bailed, of course. Let home for Christmas.’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll be safe,’ said Cooper. ‘He must be aware of the possibility that the same individuals who killed Tom Farnham will come after him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about his welfare. But I’m hoping he’ll lead us to his associates. Elder is a worried man, and he’ll want to get away from the area. He’ll need money for that, and some help in disappearing. I think he’ll make contact, and quickly.’

  ‘But wasn’t Tom Farnham his associate?’

  ‘There’s someone else,’ said Fry. ‘I’m certain of it. There’s a brains behind the operation. Someone with the right influence, the ability to cover up and call in favours.’

  ‘OK. So how do we act on this certainty, Diane?’

  ‘I already have. I’ve got authority to put surveillance on Jack Elder.’

  ‘We’re going to follow him?’

  ‘As soon as he leaves court and is discharged from custody.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Elder went home from Edendale Magistrates’ Court in a taxi, which returned him direct to his home in Rakedale. Fry and Cooper stayed well behind the rear lights of the cab as it approached the village and turned into Field Lane.

  ‘Does he have a car as well as the lorry?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘Yes, a green Nissan.’

  ‘Pity. The DAF would have been easier to follow.’

  Up ahead, there was a strange blue glow in the dusk, as if a UFO had landed behind the trees. When they got closer, the glow turned out to be Jack Elder’s Christmas lights. They were strung along the eaves of his bungalow and looped over his windows in festive abundance. It looked the sort of house where the Christmas tree would play you a carol if you got too near it.

  They were fifty yards up the road past the house when they saw Elder’s green Nissan backing out of his drive, almost before the taxi had driven away.

  ‘What do we do?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Has he seen us?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. He won’t recognize my car, so long as he doesn’t get a view of our faces …’

  Cooper swung into a gateway and turned round to wait. When the lights of Elder’s car went past, he could be seen fiddling with the touch screen of a satnav device attached to the dashboard of his Nissan.

  ‘OK, Ben. Let’s find out where he’s going.’

  Elder drove past Matlock to reach the A6, where the evening traffic from Derby was building up, shoppers and workers making their way home in the December darkness. He turned on to the A610, skirting Ripley and passing right by Derbyshire Constabulary headquarters before crossing into Nottinghamshire. Four miles further on, his car joined the M1 motorway at Junction 26, heading south.

  ‘He could be going anywhere,’ said Cooper. ‘We don’t want to end up in London for the night.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Fry. ‘I don’t think he’ll be going that far.’

  She didn’t have to wait long to be proved right. Elder’s Nissan didn’t even make it as far as the next junction. After a couple of miles, he started indicating left and turned into the brilliantly-lit surroundings of the service area at Trowell.

  ‘Pass on our location, Ben,’ said Fry. ‘You know the drill.’

  Cooper contacted the Nottinghamshire control room to alert them to the presence of Derbyshire officers conducting an operation on their territory. Meanwhile, Fry called Gavin Murfin and asked him to rendezvous at the service station. He was only a couple of miles away, keeping in touch with their location.

  ‘Why do we need Gavin?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘We might have two vehicles to follow when we leave here.’

  ‘I see.’

  They watched Elder park up in front of the amenities building where there were some free spaces. At least the area was well lit for security, otherwise the gathering darkness would have defeated them. Cooper found a spot as near to the exit as he could get while still having the Nissan in sight. Then they sat and waited for something to happen.

  ‘He doesn’t know Gavin,’ said Fry. ‘So he should be able to get nearer to the Nissan when he arrives.’

  Cooper looked around the parking area and the buildings beyond it. If he had to imagine a place where no one belonged and everyone was just passing through, this would be it – a motorway service area. The ultimate nowhere land.

  He’d often wondered why they bothered displaying information about local attractions inside the amenities building. Surely anyone who called at a service area was on the way somewhere else, by definition. Nearby attractions were the ones that motorists were least likely to visit, since you couldn’t actually get off the motorway at this point.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true, of course. If you were an ‘authorized vehicle’, there was always a local service road over at the back somewhere. But law-abiding motorists weren’t supposed to know that. If they saw a sign that said ‘no unauthorized vehicles past this point’, they obeyed it, didn’t they?

  Cooper scanned the exit lanes that ran past the petrol station, and located the service road on the southbound side. According to his map, this one twisted back towards the A609, the Nottingham road.

  ‘You’re
sure Elder is going to meet someone?’

  ‘Well, he isn’t doing anything else, is he?’ said Fry reasonably. ‘He hasn’t got out of the car yet. It’s my guess he’s waiting, like us.’

  They saw Murfin’s car turn in from the motorway, then disappear from view. A moment later, Murfin himself opened the back door of the Toyota and slid in.

  ‘Anything happening?’

  ‘Not yet. I need you to get closer to the Nissan over there.’

  As they spoke, a liveried police car cruised into the parking area, did a slow circuit, and drove out again through the petrol station forecourt, back on to the motorway.

  ‘They didn’t even stop for a piss,’ said Murfin. ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a Nottinghamshire thing.’

  ‘Aye. They don’t have bodily functions over here. Like the Queen.’

  Cooper watched a minibus pull in a few places away from Elder’s Nissan, but a dozen laughing women scrambled out. A hen party on the way to the airport for a couple of days hitting the bars of Prague or Vilnius, probably. This was the way Eastern Europe got a taste of British culture these days.

  ‘Speaking of having a piss –’ said Murfin, opening the door again.

  ‘Gavin, you can’t.’

  ‘I won’t be a jiffy. You said there was nothing happening.’

  ‘Well, stay away from the café, won’t you?’

  ‘That’s the trouble with these places,’ said Murfin. ‘They design them so you can’t even go for a slash without passing right between the café and the shop. There’s food on all sides of you. It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘You’re the nightmare, Gavin.’

  ‘I’m only kidding. What do you think I am?’

  ‘Well, make sure you’ve got your phone with you. If anything starts to move, I’ll call you, and you’ll have to get back here damn quick.’

  Murfin trotted across to the amenities building, tugging at the waistband of his trousers and shaking his legs to get rid of the cramp from sitting in the car.

  Cooper tapped the steering wheel and yawned. People walking back looked at them, but took no notice. Sitting at a service station was different from doing surveillance anywhere else. One person sitting in a car didn’t look unusual, but two people tended to arouse suspicion, especially two men. Residents had been known to dial 999 several times a night to report a suspicious vehicle when a surveillance operation was under way.

  He remembered a story Murfin had told him once, about an old lady knocking on the car window and offering him and his partner a cup of tea, because they’d been sitting there a long time and she thought they looked bored. If old ladies could recognize unmarked police cars, then surely no criminal worth his salt would have any trouble.

  ‘Do you think he might be on to us?’ asked Cooper after a while.

  ‘Ordinary law-abiding people don’t expect surveillance,’ said Fry.

  ‘But he’s not an ordinary law-abiding person.’

  ‘I bet he thinks he is.’

  Murfin reappeared, and for once there were no suspicious bulges in his pockets. He got back into his car and moved the other side of Elder’s Nissan so he could see into the passenger side.

  Then Cooper tensed. A white van crept slowly past their position with its headlights on. Two men were sitting in the cab, looking left and right as they crawled up to the end of the line of cars and started down the next one. It was an ordinary Ford Transit with no markings, indistinguishable from thousands of others that would be seen on the M1 every day.

  ‘Did you get the registration?’ asked Fry, noticing the same thing that Cooper had.

  ‘Yes.’

  The van stopped, reversed, and drew in next to Elder’s car. Now Fry and Cooper couldn’t see the Nissan at all.

  ‘Damn.’ Fry dialled. ‘Gavin, can you make them out?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a good view. Two shifty-looking blokes in a white van.’

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘The headlights have gone off. Now the passenger is getting out, opening the side door of the van. They haven’t spoken to Elder yet. They’ve hardly acknowledged each other, but it’s definitely a meet.’

  Cooper started the engine of the Toyota and fidgeted impatiently. Fry began to get frustrated by even a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Gavin? Speak to me.’

  ‘OK, white van man is getting something out, a package wrapped in plastic, quite long. Elder is opening his door, and the bloke has put the package on his back seat. Hardly a word spoken between them, Diane.’

  ‘Do you recognize either of the two men?’

  ‘No, but I’ve seen plenty like them,’ said Murfin. ‘Mostly behind bars. Hold on, they’re back in the van, and the lights are back on. Yes, they’re moving. Elder is starting up, too. What do you want me to do, Diane?’

  ‘You take the Transit, Gavin, and we’ll follow Elder.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’m mobile.’

  Cooper watched for the Nissan to get well past him before he pulled out. There were three vehicles in between them by the time they left the slip road and re-joined the motorway. They were still heading south, of course, because there was no other option.

  ‘If he’s heading home, he’ll either come off at Junction 25 and go west, or he’ll double back the way he came,’ said Cooper.

  Fry got out the map. ‘Let’s hope he’s going west, anyway.’

  At least Derbyshire lay that way. If the Nissan left the M1 to the east, they could be in trouble. Close to the motorway were the sprawling outskirts of Nottingham – Bilborough, Wollaton, Aspley, circular housing estates like spiders’ webs.

  Elder chose Junction 25. He led them on the A52 through the lights of Derby and on towards Ashbourne. The fog began to creep in as soon as they got west of the city. At first it was visible only as grey patches lurking in the lowlying fields, but as the land rose it began to drift across the road. On the darker stretches, Cooper had to close the gap on the Nissan, in case it should take a hidden turning.

  Murfin called to say that he was in Nottingham and had trailed the Transit back to an address on the St Anne’s estate.

  ‘I don’t want to hang around here much longer, Diane. This is bandit country.’

  ‘OK, Gavin. I think you can go home.’

  ‘Thanks. Well, let me know if you need me.’

  ‘Jack Elder is on home ground, too,’ said Cooper, when they were past Ashbourne. ‘It’s back to Rakedale, I guess.’

  But Rakedale went by in the night, invisible in the fog, and they found themselves passing through the village of Monyash. It was getting late now, and there wasn’t much traffic around by the time Elder took the last turning. Cooper dropped back as far as he could. The brake lights of the Nissan winked in the fog, like a nocturnal animal on the prowl.

  By now, Fry knew where they were heading. It looked gaunt and eerie on the skyline, even in the darkness and shrouded in fog. Ruins like the keep of a medieval castle. Steel winding gear like a rusted scaffold. The site of the widows’ curse. It was Magpie Mine.

  35

  The prevailing colour was grey. A dead grey, cold and brooding. It didn’t quite conceal the landscape, but made it more mysterious and distant, transforming the bumps and hollows of the old mine workings into shapes that played with the imagination. Cooper could understand why his ancestors had filled this country with myths and legends, populated the darkness with ghosts. He could almost see those ghosts now, flitting across the fields in the fog.

  They’d carried on past the entrance to Magpie Mine, leaving the lights of Elder’s Nissan turning into the picnic site. They knew where he was, and he surely hadn’t come all this way for no reason.

  Cooper had turned off the engine of the Toyota and wound the window down to listen. There was no other traffic on the road, not within half a mile or so. Whether there was a vehicle already parked at the picnic site, they couldn’t tell without getting too close.
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  ‘Are we going to have to call it off, Diane?’ he said.

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘We can’t drive any nearer. They’d hear us coming.’

  ‘Reverse into the mine entrance, and we’ll walk from there. Have you got a torch?’

  Cooper produced two maglites from the glove compartment, and they got out of the car. He’d driven his car on to the verge, turning swathes of dead leaves to mush under his tyres. Fry slithered her way through them on to the gravel, and they began to walk back into the remains of the mine.

  Of course, the gateway and the first few yards beyond it were a quagmire. Someone had chosen to avoid the rutted track and drive across the soft, uneven ground, churning even more ruts in the process. Cooper heard Fry cursing under her breath as she slipped and squelched, trying hard to make as little noise as she could.

  Somewhere in the darkness, cattle were sleeping. Cooper could hear them breathing, so loud that they could have been right next to him. Fog had that peculiar effect – it muffled distant sounds, so that noises closer to hand seemed to be amplified.

  ‘Are you sure we should be doing this, Diane?’ he said.

  ‘Ben, for the past week people have been trying to push me to the sidelines of this enquiry. I’m not going to prove anyone right in their opinion of me by giving up now. I’m not going to give them the chance of saying that DS Fry packed up and went home because the weather was bad.’

  Cooper couldn’t see her face properly, but he could hear the tension in her voice and he knew she was serious. This was important to her.

  ‘I understand,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’ Fry’s breath puffed out in clouds, mingling with the fog. ‘Now – are you with me, Ben? Or not?’

  ‘Of course I’m with you.’

  As they picked their way carefully on to the site, the banging of corrugated-iron sheets met them again.

  ‘God, I wish someone would fix those loose sheets,’ whispered Fry, disturbed by the noise.

  ‘I think Elder’s car will be this way,’ said Cooper as they passed the front of the agent’s house. ‘Watch your step. There’s an underground flue that runs between the old winding engine and the chimney, and its roof has collapsed in places. Don’t fall into it.’