‘Let’s go for a charge, then, and release him.’ Branagh looked around the room. ‘And then perhaps DC Murfin can suggest a few new lines of enquiry. From what I’ve heard, he seems like an officer with some unusual ideas.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Murfin.
‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment.’
The CID room was quiet without Diane Fry. Particularly hushed after the first meeting with Superintendent Branagh. But Murfin wasn’t going to be kept quiet for long.
‘Actually, I
‘Oh? I hope you’re not going to try showing off for the new Super, Gavin. I’d be careful, mate.’
‘It’s about this Raymond Sutton bloke,’ said Murfin, waving aside Cooper’s advice. ‘He sounds like a bit of a Holy Joe, right?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Do you think he could have killed the woman in some drug-crazed religious ritual that went wrong?’
‘Raymond Sutton is a Methodist,’ said Cooper. ‘From what I’ve heard, Methodists don’t drink or swear, or take drugs.’
‘Or fart, I suppose,’ said Murfin.
‘Sceptical, Gavin?’
‘In my experience, every bugger in the world has the same evil thoughts and dirty habits. Some just
Cooper laughed. Methodism made him think of the Tolpuddle Martyrs and the temperance movement. Apart from that, they were a bit of an alien sect, with mysterious ways of behaving.
Thinking of mysterious behaviour, he had to admit it was a bit strange for DCI Kessen to confine Fry to mispers, then suddenly decide to send her to Ireland. But he was sure it didn’t mean anything sinister. Fry was being too thin-skinned. He supposed it came with the keenness of her ambition. Not the slightest little thing should get in her way. Not a hint of being passed over or left out when something was happening.
Murfin answered the phone, disappeared for a few minutes, then came back into the room.
‘You haven’t been presenting your new theory, have you, Gavin?’ said Cooper.
‘I decided it needed a bit more work. No, there’s a girl in reception. She says she’s David Palfreyman’s granddaughter.’
‘Really? What is she like?’
‘Well, for a start, she seems to be wearing more tattoos than clothes. That blue ink must have some sort of insulating quality. Do you reckon?’
‘How old is she?’
‘Late teens. She describes herself as a student, but she doesn’t seem to be studying very much. As far as I can tell, she’s re-taking her gap year. But she’s banging on about her brother being killed in a car crash years ago, and I can’t make any sense of it.’
‘I’ll talk to her, if you like.’
‘Thanks, Ben. You’re a pal.’
Cooper got up and put his jacket on before he met a member of the public.
‘Hey, by the way, Ben,’ said Murfin. ‘Is Diane Fry leaving?’
‘What?’
‘Haven’t you heard anything?’
‘No. Have you, Gavin?’
‘It was just something that the DI said.’
‘No, she’s only gone to Ireland. She’s been sent to interview Martin Rourke.’
‘Oh.’ Murfin tapped his teeth with a pen, in a way that made Cooper pause before he went down to reception.
‘You’re always getting things slightly wrong, Gavin. Did you know that?’
Murfin looked at his computer suddenly, and his face went pale. ‘Oh, God.’
‘What’s the matter now?’
‘I’ve got an email, Ben. From Detective Superintendent Branagh. She says I’m first in for a personal interview with her tomorrow morning.’
Cooper didn’t notice the girl’s tattoos so much. Instead, he noticed her eyes. They were big, brown eyes, like a veal calf’s. In shadow, she looked like a weary Madonna — pale and worried, dark hair hanging around her face. But when she turned to greet him, the light of the grey December afternoon did nothing for her appearance. Before the tattoos, she’d been an ordinary teenage girl with nice hair, but really bad acne.
‘You’re the granddaughter of Mr David Palfreyman at Hollowbrook Cottage, Rakedale?’
‘Yes, my name is Mel Palfreyman. It’s short for Melanie, but I never really liked that name.’
Cooper could have guessed it. It was much too feminine and girly for a teenager who wanted to rebel.
‘Are you close to your grandfather?’
‘Yes, closer than I am to my mum and dad. I visit him all the time in Rakedale. In fact, he’s like a real dad to me. Tells me off, disapproves of my boyfriend. You know the sort of thing. But, yes, we get on fine. I was always Granddad’s favourite, whereas Ian was my parents’.’
‘Ian?’
‘My brother?’
‘You told my colleague that your brother died.’
‘In a car accident. When he was fourteen. Granddad refers to it as the RTA.’
Cooper nodded. Even the use of acronyms dated Palfreyman. No one referred to a Road Traffic Accident any more. It had to be called an RTC — a Road Traffic Collision. If it was an ‘accident’, then no one could be charged with responsibility for it. And in twenty-first-century Britain, there always had to be someone to blame.
‘How did it happen, Mel?’
‘We were both in the car, in fact,’ she said. ‘We were with our grandparents on a day out. We were going to Sheffield to do some shopping. Granny and Granddad wanted to buy us some new clothes. Our birthdays were quite close together, as it happened.
‘Granddad was driving. He made a mistake pulling out on to the A6 near Bakewell. The road was very busy, a lot of heavy lorries. It was near Ashford in the Water. You know the place I mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘We had to wait a long time at the junction to pull out. Cars were queuing behind us, drivers were getting irritable. Ian was impatient, too. I remember hearing him say, “Come on — go for it, Granddad.” But Ian was sitting in the back seat, with me. How could he have known whether it was safe to pull out? He couldn’t, could he? But Granddad pulled out anyway. If he’d been a bit quicker on the accelerator pedal, we might have been all right, even then. But there was a lorry — and it couldn’t avoid us.’
Mel touched the scar on her forehead. It was more noticeable now than it had been before. The memory was making it flare red, like a fresh wound.
‘That’s when I got this,’ she said. ‘I hit the back of the headrest on Granny’s seat.’
‘And your brother was killed?’
‘Yes. Granny and Granddad weren’t badly hurt, but emotionally they were devastated, of course. We were in their care, after all. They never got over the guilt of that, especially Granddad.’
‘It’s understandable.’
‘But they weren’t as upset as Dad.’
Cooper waited.
‘Mum, Granny, Granddad — they were all grateful for the fact that I survived, and they were so concerned about my recovery. Head injuries can be a lot more serious than they seem at first, you know. But Dad — ’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I think Dad always believed the wrong child died in that crash. He showed no interest in whether I survived or not. His beloved son had been killed. And, somehow, that was
‘Why did you want to tell me this, Mel?’
‘So that you understand a bit more about my granddad. I know how he likes to come across. He thinks he’s still in the police sometimes. He loved that job so much, he can’t accept that he’s retired. It makes him feel lonely
