coach stood up on the seats and dropped his trousers. There was a sudden blooming of white buttocks like exotic lilies in a pond as the men mooned through the windows at passing motorists.
Ben and Matt had laughed, until their father became angry, then pulled out and began to overtake the coach. Maybe he had intended to pull the driver over, Ben wasn’t sure. But Sergeant Cooper was off duty, and they weren’t even in Derbyshire. This had been Nottinghamshire, somewhere south of Junction 27.
At some point, Ben had sensed his father change his mind. His foot had slipped off the accelerator. He had fallen back momentarily, then accelerated again and passed the convoy as quickly as possible. The boys said nothing. As they passed, they could see the uniforms. They could see the stickers in the front window of every coach. Ten coaches there were - they counted them as they passed. ‘Metropolitan Police’, the stickers said.
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They realized that the men were reinforcements arriving to help control the mass pickets of Yorkshire miners then threatening Nottinghamshire pits. Law and order was on the road. The lights changed and the patrol car had moved on by the time Weenink reappeared. ‘Have you got any beer back at your place?’ he asked. ‘What is it you’ve done, Todd?’ Weenink’s mood was changing again, the cold air sharpening his tone. ‘It happens all the time, Ben. You’re not so innocent as you make out. You must know. I bet you’ve done it yourself.’ ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ ‘I’m talking about a little bit of evidence being improved here and there. It happens. Everybody knows that it happens. Where’s the harm? As long as you don’t get caught.’ ‘But -‘ Ben Cooper struggled to capture all the reasons that ran through his mind why this was inconceivable. He thought of words like justice and integrity, like responsibility and honour. He thought of concepts like loyalty to your service, like honesty and truth. And self-respect. And he looked at Todd Weenink and knew that it wasn’t worth mentioning even one of them. ‘I can’t believe that you’re telling me this.’ ‘I’m telling you because you asked me. And because I know you won’t shop me.’ ‘How do you know I won’t?’ Weenink winked at him. ‘Because you’re so loyal and principled. You won’t betray me, will you, Ben? No, I
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I know you won’t. It’s against your morality. It’s not what they tell you in the Bible of Bullshit, is it?’ ‘I’m surprised you’ve even read it.’ Cooper hadn’t read the Police Training Manual much recently, either. Who did, when you had been on the job a while and had learned the realities of the situation? Todd Weenink had certainly been doing the job far too long for that. The Bible of Bullshit was read only by wet trainees and senior managers. ‘You know what’ll happen, Todd. In the public’s eyes, you’ll get lumped in with the worst there are. A copper gone wrong is never forgiven.’ ‘But all I did ‘ ‘I don’t want to know.’ ‘You just asked.’ ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ ‘Fuck you, then.’ Cooper watched Weenink weave away for a few yards along Bargate, then stumble and put out a hand to support himself on a lamp post. He was beyond hope, of course. Breaking the rules was one thing, but breaking the law was another. There was no way that Cooper or anyone else could help Weenink. It didn’t matter how much you owed a colleague out of loyalty, or how close you knew other people were to being in the same situation - or even how close you had come to it yourself, at times. Weenink had made his mistake, and he would have to be abandoned to his fate. The wolves would be circling soon enough. With a sigh, Cooper propped Weenink up and let him drape his arm round his shoulder. Despite the
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weight, he managed to make it to the lights at the corner of Bargate. Then he began to look for a taxi to get them out of there. The night threatened to stretch out endlessly ahead of him.
By eight o’clock the next morning, it was already obvious from the sky that it was going to be a good day for a walk on the moors.
The two women had a second cup of coffee together, leaning their elbows comfortably on the kitchen table among the toast crumbs and the cereal bowls. Karen Tavisker’s husband Nick had already gone off to work and left them in their housecoats, still chatting, so absorbed in each other’s company that they had barely noticed him go.
‘We’d better get ready, if we’re going,’ said Karen. ‘Of course. But not for a minute yet.’
‘This is so decadent.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Marilyn. ‘Nor me.’
Marilyn Robb and Karen Tavisker had been friends for years. Twelve months previously, Marilyn and her husband had moved away to Herefordshire when Alan had been transferred to a new financial services centre at Ludlow. Now Marilyn was back for a visit with her old friend at Karen’s home in Mickleover - and the first thing she wanted to do was go for a walk in the Peak District, as they always had done before she moved away.
‘Where shall we go?’
‘Have you still got the OS maps?’
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‘Of course. They’re right here. Dark Peak or White Peak?’
‘Hmm. Normally I might be feeling a bit dark. But today …’
She looked out of the kitchen window. A brisk wind was tossing the dead leaves of the sycamores around the garden.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Karen. ‘It’ll be pretty wild up there today. Best to play safe.’
It might seem bright and breezy now, here in the leafy streets of Mickleover, but by the time they reached Buxton they would have climbed fifteen hundred feet and the climate would be totally different. On the tops, anything could be waiting for unwary walkers. In November, the hills of the Dark Peak could be merciless, with wind, rain and sleet ripping furiously across the shelterless stretches. Both women shivered as they contemplated it.
‘Somewhere in the White Peak then. It’s nearer, anyway.’
‘Why don’t we just set off and see where the car takes us?’
‘Why not? We’re ladies of leisure, after all.’ ‘And a nice pub for lunch.’
‘Perfect.’ Like everyone else, Karen had heard of the women attacked on Ringham Moor. The Jenny Weston case had been in the papers for a few days, but other stories had replaced it now. There were always other, more newsworthy murders taking place somewhere around the country. Karen knew the police had been warning
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lone women to stay off the moor. But time had passed, and it had begun to feel safe again. And two women together? Surely they would be all right.
By the time they were dressed and had collected their boots and anoraks, they were becoming quite silly, like two schoolgirls on an outing. They found an old Bruce Springsteen tape at the back of the glove compartment in Karen’s car, and they sang along to the familiar tunes from fifteen years before, when they had been much younger and had enjoyed life together. They deafened each other with the chorus of ‘Dancing in the Dark’.
Marilyn began to talk about the people they had both known, years ago. Karen laughed, her spirits lifted by the company of her friend. She hadn’t decided consciously where they would go. But when they reached Ashboume, she indicated left and turned on to the A515 towards Ringham Moor.
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