Cooper looked up at her. ‘Diane, do
‘It’s beginning to look that way, isn’t it? Why?’
‘I always find that a bit sad. I don’t think the internet was ever intended to replace social contact, only to make communication easier for people who were isolated from each other.’
‘As far as we can tell, Miss Shepherd
‘I can’t even begin to imagine living like that,’ said Cooper. ‘I’d get desperate very quickly.’
Fry reached for her phone as it rang. ‘It looks as though Miss Shepherd must have been a pretty strong- willed, self-sufficient woman, don’t you think?’
Cooper couldn’t answer her, because she began to talk into the phone. He thought about it for a moment, though. No matter how strong-willed and self-sufficient Rose Shepherd had been, she’d still got desperate in the end. So desperate that she’d made a bad mistake.
Then he noticed the webcam picture reloading on his screen. Within the space of thirty seconds, the stretch of promenade he was looking at had become deserted. The people had run for cover, the cars had moved on. Now there was no one at all to be seen in his grey, misty glimpse of Matlock Bath.
In response to a summons, Fry had joined Hitchens in the DCI’s office. Kessen didn’t look happy, despite his attempt to strike a positive note for the enquiry team when he wound up the briefing.
‘Sir, Rose Shepherd wasn’t on someone’s witness protection programme, was she?’ asked Hitchens.
Kessen shook his head. ‘I’ve already asked the question, Paul. But where’s her panic button? Where’s her minder? There’s no sign of anyone ever being in the house with her.’
‘It’s still possible, though.’
‘If she was an individual our intelligence is aware of, we’ll hear back soon enough. If not, one of the phone numbers in her book ought to turn something up. And if that still doesn’t bring anyone running, let’s hope the media coverage does.’
‘It’s like you said yesterday, there must be someone somewhere who’s going to miss her. But there doesn’t seem to be any family, no one to give us the background on her relationships.’
A family liaison officer had been assigned to Brian Mullen and the Lowthers. But in Rose Shepherd’s case, there was no grieving family, no one for an officer to be assigned to.
‘I wonder if I could borrow DC Cooper some time?’ asked Fry. ‘I could use a bit of help on the triple-death fire for a while.’
‘You can have him — once he’s completed his actions on the Shepherd enquiry. He and DC Murfin are going to check the sightings in Matlock Bath.’
‘Perhaps first thing tomorrow morning?’
‘I suppose so, Diane. All being well.’
When Cooper put his jacket on, he noticed some sheets of paper sticking out of his pocket. He pulled them out and unfolded them.
‘Damn you, Matt.’
They were the pages his brother had printed out the previous evening. He must have slipped them into Ben’s pocket when he wasn’t looking.
Cooper threw them down on his desk, intending to put them in the bin later. He walked to the door and opened it. Then he turned, went back to his desk, and picked up the papers. He felt tugged by some sense of obligation, but he wasn’t sure who to. His brother? His mother? Or perhaps to himself, or some unborn generation.
Cooper shuddered. Everyone thought they might be losing it at some time in their lives, didn’t they? It didn’t necessarily indicate a deeper problem.
But occasionally, such ideas did rise from the depths of his mind to settle on the surface, like a scum of decomposing leaves. It was best not to disturb them. They were black and slimy with putrescence. Leave them alone, and they’d sink to the bottom again, vanish in a bubble of gas. That was the best way. He wished Matt would understand it.
11
Flowers had started to arrive at Darwin Street. Floral tributes to Lindsay Mullen and the two children. They came from relatives, friends and neighbours, and even from people who’d never known them. Communal grief had become fashionable, even in Edendale.
Next door, Keith Wade was complaining to a uniformed constable that he’d had to park his car at the end of the road because of the outer cordon. Fry saw that he was still wearing the same sweater. It must smell like a badger by now. No wonder Mr Wade lived alone.
And, of course, the fire investigator from the Forensic Science Service had arrived at Darwin Street when Fry wasn’t looking. As a result, he’d already assessed the scene and was setting out his equipment in the Mullens’ sitting room when she found him.
‘Glad you could make it,’ she said. ‘DS Fry.’
He was a small, middle-aged man whose white paper suit emphasized his pear-shaped body. And when he spoke, he revealed a Scottish accent.
‘Quinton Downie,’ he said, taking off a glove to shake hands.
‘Do you have all the background information you need?’
‘All that you can give me, apparently.’
‘You know the time of the call to the fire service, and the apparent seat of the blaze, based on the firefighters’ observations. We can’t tell you anything about the contents of this room.’
‘Yes, yes. So what is my objective? The cause of the fire? Mode of spread? Want me to comment on the accuracy of witness statements?’
‘The cause of the fire will do for now, thank you.’
‘Just so we’re clear. It would be very useful to examine photographs of the scene during the fire.’
‘Oh?’
Downie looked up at her. ‘Try asking around the neighbours — someone may have taken photos or videos of the fire. It’s amazing how often the offender stays on to watch the fun.’
‘It’s already been done. Right now, I just need you to concentrate on your own job.’
‘OK. So … Locate seat of fire. Consider possible ignition sources. Excavate seat?’ Downie tilted his head to one side and looked at the charred remains around him. ‘Yes, I think so. Then take samples, formulate hypotheses. And report conclusion.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Fry.
Downie was unpacking what looked like a series of pre-prepared forms. ‘You’ll get a location plan, as well as photographs as I excavate the seat of the fire. Samples will go straight to the lab.’
‘Fine.’
‘By the way, I examined the outside of the building before I came in. Do you know that you have unsooted broken glass in the vicinity of a side window?’
Fry had been about to leave the room, but turned back. ‘What?’
‘A broken side window. I wondered if your people had noticed it already. There don’t seem to be any markers round there.’
‘A lot of these windows are broken,’ said Fry. ‘That’s the result of heat from the fire, surely?’
