'Is this an approved operation?'
'Off course it is.'
'Right. Do you prefer straight or angled?'
'I haven't a clue. Something you just look through.'
'We'll make it straight, then. Any idea what magnification?'
'You tell me.'
'How far away are they?'
'About a mile, perhaps a little over.'
'Daylight or darkness?'
'Daylight. This afternoon.'
'Nice and bright then. OK, I'll fit the 40x eyepiece but put a 20x in with it in case you find that too difficult to hold. You'll need a tripod, too.'
'Great. Any chance of someone bringing it over?'
So in my rucksack I had an Opticron 50mm telescope, as favoured by birdwatchers, and a Vivitar tripod was slung over my shoulder.
The track gains about five hundred feet in a quarter of a mile, which is a stiff climb. I'd brought a bottle of water but didn't need it just yet. The path levelled out and then it was a straight blast towards the summit.
It's hard to imagine the euphoria that swept the nation after Wellington's victory at Waterloo. It must have been like VE Day, the Falkland and Gulf War celebrations and the Millennium all swept into one great orgy of triumphalism. Honours were piled upon the man, and this part of the kingdom showed its gratitude by subscribing towards a monument, now known as Stoodley Pike. It fell down after forty years but they built another one and used a better concrete mix the second time. The hint of a breeze on the exposed moor was welcome, then it was another climb for the last half mile.
They picked a good spot for it, with views of the kingdom in all directions. To the west and east stretched the plains of Lancashire and York, their boundaries lost in the haze, while to the south the moors lay folded and rumpled all the way down into Derbyshire, like a duvet on an unmade bed. But I was interested in the opposite direction, across the Calder valley. It was in full sun, basking in the uncharacteristic heat wave, and I wondered if property prices depended on which side of the valley you were situated. A field down below was set out with jumps as if a gymkhana was expected, and traffic was stationary all the way into Todmorden.
There's a viewing gallery about twenty feet up the tower, accessed by a spiral staircase. For part of the way you are in total darkness, groping for the steps with your feet while trailing a guiding hand on the wall. The tripod slipped off my shoulder and nearly tripped me, but after a few seconds we were stepping out into the sunshine again. I walked round the gallery, taking in the view, but it wasn't much better than at ground level, and the balustrade was at an awkward height, so I felt my way back down the stairs and set up the telescope on a flat rock at the edge of the escarpment.
I scanned the far side of the valley with my binoculars but couldn't locate Dob Hall. Back to first principles. How did I get there this morning? Find the road, follow it along, turn right after the pub. Ah! There it was. I'd been underestimating the power of the binoculars, moving too far. The Hall was in a wooded area but the trees had been cleared from the front to open up the view. I wondered how they won permission for that, but was grateful at the same time. The front of the house was visible, with a lawn to one side and the garage block to the other. The office and leisure complex was at the rear, out of sight. I scanned around, looking for prominent landmarks, then turned to the telescope.
It was harder than I expected but eventually we mastered it and the Georgian facade of Dob Hall with its elegant entrance portico swam into view. There were two cars parked in front of the house and a single sun lounger sat on the lawn. Keeping one eye closed was irritating after a few minutes so I used the binoculars. I don't know what I expected or hoped to see. Sebastian prowling around the premises, proving Debra Grainger had lied? The woman herself skinny-dipping in the fish pond? I don't know, but it was a good excuse for an afternoon out of the office, and I'd settle for that.
I ate the chicken tikka sandwich and drank some of the water. A steady procession of walkers stopped at the Pike before giving me a friendly wave and moving on. They were mainly grey-haired couples, no doubt with matching anoraks stuffed in their 'sacks. I reminded myself that it was Monday afternoon but for them it was just another day. Perhaps there would be life outside the police force, after all.
I was doing a sweep with the bins when a movement caught my attention. A figure, no doubt Mrs Grainger, was spreading a towel on the sun lounger. She placed something on the little table that stood alongside, carefully tucked in the ends of the towel and arranged her elegant limbs to take advantage of the sun's rays. She was wearing a one-piece white swimsuit. I smiled to myself, wondered if what I was doing was perverted, and turned to the telescope.
It was a better view, much better, but at that magnification, even with a tripod, it's difficult holding the picture steady. And maybe my hand was shaking just a little. Somehow, it didn't seem real. It was like watching her on TV, starring in an Andy Warhol film where nothing happens for eight hours. I stood up, did a few stretching exercises and watched a train crawl down the valley towards Mytholmroyd, Halifax and the rest of the world.
I was back at the telescope, wondering whether to try the 20x eyepiece, when the action started. Mrs Grainger had turned over to cook her back when a pair of black-trousered legs appeared alongside her and their owner lowered a tray onto the little table. She turned her head away from him in an eloquent gesture, but he wasn't to be rebuffed. He stood looking at her for a few seconds, as if saying something, then sat next to her on the edge of the lounger and placed his hand in the small of her back. She leapt to her feet, snatching up the towel, and I knocked the telescope out of focus.
It must have been nearly a minute before I found the garden again, this time with the binoculars. Sebastian, if it was he, was stretched out on the sun bed, hands behind his head. He sat up, reached for something off the tray and appeared to down it in one gulp before resuming the horizontal position. Well, well, well, I thought. What was all that about?
He stayed there for another five minutes before storming off into the house. I packed the gear and set off back down the hill. There's a rather nice teashop in town, and a piece of apple pie, with cream and a pot of tea, would round off the perfect day just nicely.
Chapter Eight
Derek Johnstone from South Dyfed rang me that evening, one second after I'd dipped a number six squirrel hair brush into a tin of black enamel. I dropped the brush and raced into the house to answer the phone.
'Sorry to ring you at home, Charlie,' he began, 'but I'm taking tomorrow off.'
'A great idea, Derek,' I said. 'Wouldn't mind taking advantage of this weather myself.'
'Well, actually, it's for my aunt's funeral.'
'Oh, I am sorry.'
'That's all right. She was ninety-one and would insist on riding her bike.'
'Oh. Right.'
'I've managed to have a look at the files for the case you mentioned and I've put some of the relevant stuff in the post. Frankly, Charlie, it all looks cut and dried. At least on the face of it. Witnesses saw Abraham Barraclough following the girl, the blood group matched, he had scratch marks on his neck and he made a full confession.'
Abraham Barraclough. That was the first time I'd heard his name, and Rosie had evidently reverted to her maiden name after her divorce. Good for her. I said: 'Witnesses. Who saw him?'
'Several adults and children. There's a bit of a headland between the village and the school. The road and footpath follow the coastline round it, but some of the kids take a shortcut over the hill. The girl — Glynis Evelyn Williams — was seen to take the shortcut, and Abraham Barraclough was seen outside the school, hanging around. Later, they found her body up there.'
I knew about the blood under Glynis's fingernails, presumably causing the scratch marks. It sounded like the clincher. I wasn't prepared for this interview, didn't know which way to take it.
'You said: 'Cut and dried, on the face of it.' What did you mean by that?'
