One last breath

Derbyshire Cave Rescue was a voluntary group and relied entirely on donations. They’d have to raise tens of thousands of pounds before they could buy a new vehicle.

The chattering of the jackdaws made Cooper look up. The birds were circling the roofless keep of the castle on the eastern rim of the Peak Cavern gorge, hopping restlessly from tree to tree, or flapping on to the cliff ledges.

‘Do they nest on those ledges?’

‘Yes. And so do mallard ducks sometimes,’ said Page. ‘But their ducklings have a habit of falling off. Visitors don’t like that very much.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Cooper, still craning his neck. It was a relief just to be able to move his head and see the sky.

‘You did a good job of being dead, by the way. Don’t forget - you get a free tour through the show cave for doing this.’

12

‘I’m coming down with my two nieces tomorrow afternoon. They’ve just broken up for the summer holidays, and I promised them a day out.’

‘You can cope with that, can you?’

‘At least you don’t get many real deaths here.’

‘There’s only ever been one in Peak Cavern. That was a long time ago. And, well . . Page hesitated, looking back anxiously over his shoulder at the mouth of the cavern, as if he heard noises in the darkness but couldn’t see what was there. ‘Well, that was different,’ he said. ‘It was unique. And a long time ago.’p>

Some of the rescue team were carrying their gear back to the cavers’ clubhouse in Castleton. But Page lived only a couple of hundred yards away, in one of the cottages climbing the hillside on a narrow lane called Lunnen’s Back.

Till be here between ten and five tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Just ask for me if I’m not around.’

Since it was impossible to get a car anywhere near the cavern approach, Cooper had left his Toyota in the main car park, near the new visitor centre. From there, he could see a long line of people winding their way up to Peveril Castle. The climb was gruelling, and some of the older visitors stopped to rest at every chance, pretending to admire the view while they eased the pain in their knees. As a child, Cooper had himself visited Castleton on a school outing. In term time, the streets of the town were full of children with worksheets.

In the car park, he turned his face to the sun and breathed deeply. Right now, he couldn’t imagine who or what was going to ruin his rest day.

Diane Fry knocked on the door of the DFs office at West Street, and walked straight in. Paul Hitchens was leaning back m his chair, gazing out over the roof of the east stand at Edendale Football Club. He barely moved when she entered.

13

‘Sir? You said you wanted to see me.’

Hitchens was silent for a moment, lost in some thoughts of his own that he wasn’t going to let Fry interrupt. So she waited until he was ready. She watched the sunlight from his window cast shadows on his face, making him look older than the DI she’d met when she first transferred to Derbyshire Constabulary, not all that long ago. Since setting up home with a nurse in Chesterfield he’d become middle-aged almost overnight, preoccupied with finding the right wallpaper for the bathroom and tending his lawn at weekends. Hitchens himself had seemed to sense the difference, too. He was a man settling into his position in life.

But now Fry noticed him fingering the scar across the middle knuckles of his left hand, as if remembering an old injury.

‘I hear Mansell Quinn is due out today,’ said Hitchens finally.

Fry felt a surge of irritation and fought to contain it. ‘Who,’ she said, ‘is Mansell Quinn?’

The DI spun a little on his chair, glanced at Fry as if checking who she was. She had a feeling that he’d have said the same thing no matter who had walked into his office. He might have been having this conversation with the cleaner.

‘You won’t remember him, DS Fry,’ he said. ‘Quinn got a life sentence for murder some years ago. He lived in Castleton, a few miles up the road from here, in the Hope Valley. Do you know it?’

‘A tourist honeypot, isn’t it?’

‘Interesting place, actually. I went there as a kid. I remember being particularly impressed by the sheep - they came right down into the centre of the town. I suppose they must have been looking for food. I hadn’t seen one up close before.’

‘Sir?’ said Fry. ‘You were talking about somebody called Quinn …’

‘Yes, Mansell Quinn.’ Hitchens swung his chair back again

14

and gazed out of the window. His eyes seemed to go out of focus, as if he were staring beyond Edendale to the country further north - towards Hope Valley, on the fringes of the Dark Peak. ‘Well, Castleton’s quiet most of the year, when the tourists aren’t there. People know each other very well. Quinn’s case caused quite a stir. It was a pretty violent killing blood on the sitting-room carpet, and all that.’

Fry hadn’t been asked to sit down, so she leaned against the wall by the door instead.

‘A domestic?’

‘Well, sort of,’ said Hitchens. ‘The thing was, Quinn denied the charge at first, but entered a guilty plea at trial. Then he changed his mind again when he’d been inside for a while. He said he didn’t do it after all/

‘A bit perverse. Did he get parole?’

‘No.’

‘He ruined his own case, then. The parole board would have thought he was in denial.’

‘It doesn’t work like that any more. Early release depends on an assessment of any future risk you might pose, not on whether you’ve accepted the court’s verdict. The Home Office makes an issue of it in its policy for lifers these days.’

‘They were forced into that, weren’t they?’