Blood on the Tongue (Ben Cooper & Diane Fry)

by Stephen Booth

  ‘The missing baby?’ said Tailby. ‘That would be very convenient, wouldn’t it? Three enquiries at once. I think I’m more interested in the clothes. They might constitute hard evidence.’

  The clothes found by the traffic officers in the streambed were laid out in latex bags. There were several shirts, two pairs of trousers, underwear, a dark blue sweater and three or four odd socks. They’d been air-dried and closely examined for traces of blood, sweat or other substances that might help an identification.

  ‘We thought at first there was a good chance they belonged to the Snowman,’ said Hitchens. ‘The shirts are a similar quality to the one he was wearing.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘They’re the wrong size.’

  ‘Damn.’ Tailby’s face creased in annoyance. ‘Do you mean some idiot’s been spreading clothes around the landscape just for a bit of a joke? Do these people do it on purpose to waste our time?’

  ‘They may actually have come from the blue bag, for all we know,’ said Hitchens.

  ‘But if they’re the wrong size –’

  ‘But it’s only an assumption that the bag was the Snowman’s. There was other rubbish dumped in that lay-by.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘However, we do have this,’ said Hitchens. ‘We found it in the pocket of the coat he was wearing.’

  He held up a smaller evidence bag. Whatever was in it was so small that officers a few feet away had to lean forward to be sure there was anything there at all.

  ‘It got a bit wet from the snow, but fortunately the printing is good and hasn’t washed away. Aside from the Snowman’s apparent visit to Woodland Crescent on Monday, this is the best lead we’ve had to date, folks.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Fry.

  ‘An admission ticket. It’s for entry to an air museum at a place called Leadenhall.’

  When Cooper left Walter Rowland’s house, he walked into an awkward déjà vu. Alison Morrissey was standing in the road, with her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat. A few yards away, Frank Baine stood by a black Ford estate.

  Morrissey watched Cooper as he began to walk back towards his car. For a futile moment, he thought he was going to get away without speaking to her.

  ‘Detective Cooper, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Can I have a word, please?’

  Cooper pulled his coat up round his ears. ‘Is this a coincidence?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Morrissey. ‘Frank lives near here and he saw you arrive, so he phoned to tell me. I’ve been waiting for you to come out of there.’

  Cooper couldn’t read her expression, but he didn’t think she was happy. It might have been the cold making her face flushed, but on the other hand, it could have been anger.

  ‘I accepted that the local police aren’t going to help me,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t realize they would set about interfering and trying to stop me.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m trying to do,’ said Cooper.

  ‘No? It looks very much like it from where I’m standing. You appear at the home of the Lukasz family, and you pop up here, checking on people I want to talk to.’

  ‘I have no intention of interfering.’

  ‘I presume your superiors have given you instructions to keep an eye on me, in case I cause trouble.’

  ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘But you visited the Lukasz family. I suppose you talked to the old man, Zygmunt. And I suppose it was you who warned them not to speak to me.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘You’ve had your instructions, I expect. I was disappointed that the police wouldn’t give me any help. But I never expected that they would set out to actively hinder me.’

  Embarrassed, Cooper tried to edge towards his car, which was parked on the steepest part of the street. But Morrissey moved with him.

  ‘Well, let me tell you something, Detective Cooper,’ she said. ‘Your attempts to obstruct me will only make me more determined to find out the truth. I guess I’m just that sort of person. I’ve always been pretty awkward – I tend to go the opposite direction to the one I’m being pushed in.’

  ‘I wasn’t able to speak to Zygmunt Lukasz,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Oh, no?’

  ‘No.’

  She hesitated, as if not sure whether to believe him. ‘You had a long chat with his family, though, I bet.’

  ‘I had to see them about a few other things.’

  But even as Cooper said it, he knew it sounded weak and unconvincing. Morrissey gazed at him with something like contempt.

  ‘I don’t know why you bother to lie to me about it. Not when you were at Mr Rowland’s house as well. Are you going to tell me that you had to go and see him about a few other things, too? That really would be a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much point in me telling you anything, Miss Morrissey. I can see you’re not going to believe me.’

  Cooper had almost reached his car, but Morrissey moved too quickly. She was light on her feet, and she managed to get in front of him. She stood close to him – too close for Cooper’s comfort.

  ‘I have no reason to believe you,’ she said. ‘But I want you to know that, whatever you do, you won’t make me give up. I’m in no hurry to go back to Toronto. No hurry at all. I’ll stay right here in Derbyshire for as long it takes. I’ll keep trying until I wear down Zygmunt Lukasz and Walter Rowland. And I will wear them down in the end. I’ll certainly wear you down.’

  Cooper began to button up his coat. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear, not from Alison Morrissey. He had enough to cope with from Diane Fry. Fry was good at wearing him down, too.

  ‘I’ve spent enough time here. I’ve got other things to be doing,’ he said.

  ‘Of course you have,’ said Morrissey. ‘You’re short of resources, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we are. That’s why the boss told you we couldn’t help. To be honest, I think he’ll already have forgotten about you by now. He has other things to worry about. You’re not important to him.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ She looked at him searchingly. Then the dismissive comment finally seemed to make her accept that he might be telling the truth. ‘So what then?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘So why do you keep popping up asking questions wherever I go?’

  Cooper didn’t know how to answer her. He wasn’t sure of the reason himself. Maybe it was something to do with his fascination for family ties, the sense of loyalty that drove people’s lives. He sensed in himself a need to understand it when he saw it in others. He saw it in the Lukasz family, certainly. And he saw it in Alison Morrissey, too.

  Morrissey was still watching him. ‘You’re a strange cop, aren’t you? I can’t make you out.’

  Cooper inclined his head, accepting the judgment. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about from me,’ he said.

  ‘Walter Rowland has talked to you, hasn’t he?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘These people will talk to you when they won’t give me the time of day. They see me as a threat. But not you. There’s something strange about that. Why isn’t a cop a threat?’

  Cooper only shrugged.

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Rowland, of course. What did he say to you?’

  ‘You don’t know what I was asking him about.’

  ‘No, but it’s a pretty safe bet it was something to do with the crash.’

  ‘Not directly.’

  Morrissey fixed him with her dark eyes. ‘You could help me,’ she said.

  ‘Could I?’

  ‘I mean, if you’re not here to hinder me, like you say, then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t help me. These people won’t talk to me, but they’ll talk to you. You could get them to tell the truth.’

  ‘My Chief Superintendent has already told you, Miss Morrissey –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. No resources to spare. His officers don’t have the time, blah, blah. B
ut you’re already putting in the time here. For what reason, I don’t know. But if you’re already putting in the time with Lukasz, and with Rowland, then I’m not using up your Superintendent’s precious resources, am I?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’

  ‘Your boss said he would help me, if he could,’ said Morrissey.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. You’ll get me into trouble.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t want that, would I?’ she said.

  Cooper felt he ought to get in the car and drive away, but something kept him. He knew she hadn’t quite finished what she wanted to say. After a second, she took a small step closer and put her hand on his arm.

  ‘At least give me a chance to tell you why it’s so important to me,’ she said.

  Cooper hesitated. He wanted to say ‘yes’. He wanted to hear her explain it, to know what was driving her, to share her passion for finding the truth. Instead, he finished pulling on his gloves.

  ‘I don’t have the time,’ he said.

  Diane Fry and Gavin Murfin drove into the Buttercross area and parked in front of one of the antique shops. A vanload of uniforms was due to meet them at Eddie Kemp’s house, which they would be going over hoping for some sign of Baby Chloe.

  Fry had chosen to stop by Decker and Miller – Purveyor of Antiques and Collectibles. From here, she could see Ben Cooper’s red Toyota halfway up a steep, cobbled street, which was still covered in a sheet of compacted snow. Her Peugeot would never make it up there. It had never occurred to her when she bought it that she might have need of a four-wheel drive.

  And there was Cooper himself, standing at the top of the street in his thick-soled boots and ridiculous poacher’s coat. He was talking to a woman Fry didn’t recognize. She was wearing a red jacket and black jeans, and her dark hair was pushed behind her ears. Fry could tell by Cooper’s posture and manner that the woman was nothing to do with the enquiry he was supposed to be on. She could see his ears glowing pink even from here. The woman was probably some old flame he’d bumped into – at least, that was the most charitable assumption. If he’d arranged to meet her when he was supposed to be on duty, she’d crucify him. He was wasting enough time as it was.

  Fry slammed her door and set off up the street. But the shoes she was wearing weren’t made for walking on frozen snow. She felt herself slithering as soon as she set foot on the slope, and she had to hang on to the iron rail fixed to the wall to pull herself up. She was concentrating so hard on keeping her feet that, when she looked up again, the woman had gone. Cooper was standing in front of his car, waiting for her to reach him.

  ‘Who was that you were talking to?’ she said.

  ‘Nobody in particular.’

  ‘Well, you’ve no right to be talking to nobody in particular, Ben. Damn it, you’re supposed to be interviewing potential witnesses.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve done that.’

  ‘And? What did they say?’

  ‘“We don’t know nothing, and if we did, we wouldn’t tell you.” If you want the expletives, they’ll be in my report.’

  Fry took her hand away from the rail to make a gesture at him, but she didn’t quite complete it. The movement shifted her balance and she felt herself beginning to slip backwards. She grabbed at the nearest object, which happened to be the wing mirror of Cooper’s Toyota. It folded in towards the car, but was enough to save her from plummeting headlong down the slope into the road. Cooper stepped forward as if to help her, but she glowered at him, and he dropped his hand.

  ‘You need to get yourself some shoes with a bit of grip in the soles,’ he said. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll be joining the bad back and twisted ankle brigade. We can’t have that. How would we cope?’

  Fry bit her lip. ‘Ben, if by any chance you’ve finished chatting up every passing female, perhaps you could shift your snow shoes and your four-wheel drive and get yourself up to Kemp’s house. Then I’ve got another job.’

  Fry tried to turn, slipped, and had to cling on to Cooper’s car even harder. She stared at the uneven slope ahead of her, which ran down towards the antiques shop and her own car parked on the road below. She felt as though she was facing a two-thousand foot ski slope without any skis.

  ‘Maybe you should just hang on to the car,’ said Cooper, ‘and I’ll tow you down.’

  Vicky Kemp looked like a woman who was never surprised to see the police on her doorstep. She greeted the sight of the detectives’ IDs and the uniforms behind them with a weary gesture of her hand across her face, followed by an invitation to stand in her hallway so that she could shut the door and keep out the cold.

  ‘He’s not here, of course,’ she said.

  ‘Your husband?’ said Fry.

  ‘I haven’t seen Eddie since yesterday morning.’

  ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘All he said was that he was getting out of the way for a bit. He said you lot would be coming back to make trouble for him again. He was right, wasn’t he?’

  ‘We’re not the ones causing trouble, Mrs Kemp,’ said Fry.

  ‘What? You’ve taken his car away. How is he supposed to keep his business going? How is he supposed to earn a living for us? It’s bad enough as it is. He has me stuffing envelopes all day for one of those home-working things. I hate it. But there wouldn’t be much housekeeping if I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Do you have a family?’

  ‘One boy, Lee. He’s twelve years old.’

  ‘He’ll be at school, then.’

  ‘Probably.’

  Fry raised an eyebrow. ‘You might have heard that we’re looking for a missing baby,’ she said.

  ‘It was on the local news last night,’ said Mrs Kemp. ‘Baby Chloe. Only a few weeks old, isn’t she? Poor thing. You never know what’s going to happen to your kids these days.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of the whereabouts of that baby?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Me? Why should I?’

  ‘The name of Chloe’s mother is Marie Tennent. We understand that your husband lived with her for a while.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mrs Kemp’s eyes flickered from side to side uncertainly, as if she weren’t quite sure how she was supposed to react. ‘It’s her, is it? I thought it might be. It’s a bit of an unusual name for round here.’

  ‘You know about your husband’s affair with Miss Tennent?’

  ‘We went through a bad patch about eighteen months ago and Eddie left me for a bit. I know it was her he lived with. People aren’t slow to tell you things like that in this town. But he came back to me, and we’ve been back together for nearly six months. He knew it was best for Lee if he came back. Eddie is very fond of his lad. So it’s all sorted out now.’

  ‘Nearly six months?’

  ‘Last July.’

  Fry and Cooper both watched Mrs Kemp. She stared at them curiously, until a slow realization came over her face. ‘You reckon that Eddie is the baby’s father? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘It seems a possibility,’ said Cooper.

  ‘The bastard,’ she said. ‘He never told me anything like that.’

  ‘Has he never mentioned a baby? Have you seen no signs of a baby?’

  ‘Not here,’ said Mrs Kemp. ‘He never brought it here. Eddie? Why would he?’

  ‘If the child was his …’

  ‘Not here,’ said Mrs Kemp firmly. ‘I’d soon have shown him the door again. Believe me on that.’

  ‘We’re going to have to take a look in the house.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And are you sure you’ve no idea where your husband has gone?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Is there anywhere you might expect him to go? To a friend’s? A relative’s?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘And who did he go with?’

  ‘It would be one of his friends,’ she said. ‘He went down to the pub to meet them. The Vine, that’s where they all go. I’m not telling you any more.’

  ‘He’s i
n breach of bail, Mrs Kemp. Are you sure you can’t give us the names of any of his friends?’

  Mrs Kemp paused, maybe picturing Marie Tennent and the missing Baby Chloe. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

  Within a few minutes, Fry began to get restless as she watched the uniformed officers examining the Kemps’ house and garden. Vicky Kemp showed no interest in the proceedings, except to follow round straightening cushions and rubbing invisible fingerprints off cupboard doors. Fry gestured Cooper outside the house, while she phoned in and reported Eddie Kemp’s breach of bail conditions. He was supposed to reside at his home address so they could find him easily when they wanted him. Now, he’d be arrested again when he was found.

  ‘Ben,’ she said. ‘Do you know of an aircraft museum at a place called Leadenhall?’

  Cooper was startled. ‘Where did you say?’

  ‘Leadenhall.’

  ‘Leadenhall?’ he said.

  ‘Are you going deaf or something? Has the snow got in your ears? Apparently, there was an old RAF station in Nottinghamshire called Leadenhall, but now it’s an aircraft museum.’

  ‘I only heard of it for the first time recently,’ said Cooper. ‘Not the museum, but the airfield.’

  ‘Oh? Heard of it in connection with what?’

  ‘It was where Sugar Uncle Victor was based. The aircraft flown by Pilot Officer Danny McTeague and his crew.’

  ‘Ah. You’re talking about Miss Alison Morrissey again,’ said Fry.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe this. Why does everything seem to come back to that in your mind?’

  ‘I can’t help it. You asked me about Leadenhall, and that’s where I heard of it, from Alison Morrissey and her journalist friend, Frank Baine. McTeague’s Lancaster bomber was flying from Leadenhall to an airfield in Lancashire when it crashed on Irontongue Hill.’

  ‘Ben, I’m working on a line of enquiry which relates to an aircraft museum. I’m talking about here and now, not something that happened half a century ago. You’re obsessed with the past.’

  ‘Surely that’s what a museum is all about – the past? Anyway, don’t forget the baby. The fact it was found at the crash site makes a connection worth considering, doesn’t it?’