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was the other things that they mined by then, not the lead.’
‘Fluorspar and limestone.’
Lead had been mined in the area since Roman times. Cooper knew that it was still produced in the last remaining local mines, but only as a by-product to the other minerals that were demanded by modern industries. Limestone aggregate dug out of the mines and quarries in the area found its way into everything from aspirin to tile adhesive, from washing powder to concrete. And there were other things too — barytes, zinc blende and calcite; and the unique ornamental fluorspar they called Blue John Stone. The supply of minerals beneath the Peak District seemed endless. But nobody wanted the lead any more.
‘They must have been retired a few years now.’
‘Oh yes. But it hasn’t stopped them spending all their time together. Sam Beeley’s wife only died a couple of years back, but Wilford Cutts now — his Doris has been gone a long time.’
‘Mrs Cutts is dead?’
‘Pneumonia it was, poor soul. Since Mrs Beeley died, they’ve been worse than ever, the three of them. Up at the smallholding
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all dav. and in the Drover all night. It’s obvious that I don’t count at all.’
Then like a chance to be with other men, to talk about the things that don’t interest women much.’
Gwen looked sharply at him, and he felt as though she was seeing straight through him.
‘Oh? And do you do much of that yourself, then, lad?’
‘Er …’
She waved a hand, sparing him a reply. ‘Never mind. I can see what sort of lad you are.’
‘Mrs Dickinson, I do think your husband may know something he’s not telling us.’
o
Gwen laughed suddenly. Her hands danced on the front of her green cardigan, blue veins shimmying beneath the skin like worms exposed to the light.
‘If he didn’t, it’d be the first time in his life!’ she said. ‘I told you — he’s the closest old bugger you ever met. And nobody knows better than me.’
‘Has he really never confided in you, Mrs Dickinson?’
‘Dafthead. That’s what I’m telling you, isn’t it? If you want to know who he tells things to, try them other two. They’re the ones he spends all his time with. No use asking me what he knows, I’m the last one he’d tell.’
Cooper emptied his cup and dusted the crumbs off his fingers.
o
‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Dickinson.’
‘You won’t mind the things I say, will you? I’m just a silly old woman sometimes.’
‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘You’re a nice lad. Will you come back again tomorrow? Come
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a bit earlier, when Helen’s here. She’s been talking about you, you know.’
Cooper hesitated. The invitation was tempting. There was a part of him that felt there was a chance here to introduce something pleasant into his life for a change. And he knew that chances, if not taken, had a habit of never coming round again.
‘ ‘ o o
Then he thought of all the responsibilities that weighed on him. He was in the middle of a murder enquiry, for heaven’s sake.
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Not to mention the crisis at home, and, above all, his mother in need of all the love and support he could give.
Tm sorry, I can’t promise that. There’s such a lot to do at the moment.’
‘I suppose so. But she’ll be sorry not to see you.’ ‘You think I might find your husband at Thorpe Farm?’ ‘Sure to. Him and less went out hours ago.’
J o ‘I’ll pop up and see if I ran find him, then. And don’t vorrv — it’s only routine.’
Gwen escorted him to the door of the cottage. Then she put her hand on his sleeve.
‘You can’t make me give evidence against him, can you?’ she asked.
‘Why would we want to do that, Mrs Dickinson?’
She shook her head wearily. ‘Oh, I know. It’s only routine. I know.’
And Ben Cooper didn’t know the answer to his question either.
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16
1 he smell of the smoke was acrid and strong, like burning rubber. But it was nowhere near as strong as the other smell,
o ‘
which lav like an evil fog on the ramshackle buildings and overgrown paddocks of rough grass. It was the
