‘Frightened, Maggie?’
‘Yes. I don’t believe he meant to attack me. I was in the wrong place.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Diane - I think I was just in the way.’
There was a faint scuffling, and a sheep peered at them from around a rock. Its black face and staring eyes looked ludicrous. Fry noticed there were hundreds of small black pellets scattered on the bare ground around the Cat Stones, drying in the wind. The sheep gazed at them for a few seconds, seemed to register that they were living creatures, and scuttled away down the slope.
‘Maggie, you told me the other day there were leaves. You remembered kicking the leaves, just before you were attacked.’
‘Yes.’
449
Fry gestured at the rock face, the tumbled boulders, the bare earth. ‘There are no leaves here. There are no trees.’
‘But I remember it.’
‘All right,’ said Fry. ‘So perhaps you’re mistaken about where it happened.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Some of these boulders look very much alike to me. What about a bit further up?’ Fry pointed towards the tower. Maggie didn’t move. ‘Maggie?’
‘All right.’
They walked a few yards to the north. As they rounded the central boulder of the Cat Stones, a view of the valley came into sight. Traffic could be seen moving on the A6 at Darley Dale, with the houses of Two Dales climbing the hill behind to the forest plantations on Matlock Moor and Black Hill. Nearer to the tower, the beeches began to cluster together, mixed with the occasional oak. Now there were plenty of leaves underfoot.
‘What about here?’ said Fry. ‘Surely this is more likely?’
‘It could have been, I suppose.’
‘But it’s important, you see. If we’ve got the scene of the attack wrong, then we ought to have the SOCOs up here again, to see if there’s anything that might still be left. Though it’s so long now…’
‘Yes, it’s so long,’ said Maggie. ‘Too long. It can’t matter that much.’
‘You never know,’ said Fry. She began to cast her eyes about the area, worried now about where she and
450
Maggie were treading. They could be contaminating the scene. There could be a vital piece of forensic evidence waiting to be found, the one piece of evidence that would link the attack definitely with a suspect. Just one bit of evidence. If only it hadn’t blown away, or been trampled into the ground. Or eaten by a sheep.
‘You shouldn’t have come out here, Maggie. You’re still alone out here, you know. Just as much as you were when you were at home.’
Maggie shrugged. Fry watched her carefully. They were close enough by now for her to gauge Maggie’s reactions without being completely misled.
‘Maggie, I know about your daughter,’ said Fry. She saw Maggie lift an eyebrow a fraction. It was her left eyebrow that moved, while the right one merely twitched like a facial tic and settled into its bed of red scar tissue again. ‘I know you had your daughter adopted.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me.’
‘Your sister told me,’ said Fry. ‘But it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?’
Maggie walked a few yards further on, hunching her shoulders and turning up her collar when the wind cutting between the boulders caught her in the face, on her damaged side.
‘Do you have memories of your daughter?’ asked Fry. ,It might help to let the memories come.’
‘You might be right,’ said Maggie quietly. ‘It could have happened about here.’
‘You shouldn’t just bury it, Maggie.’
451
‘I still don’t remember exactly. It’s a wonderful view. You can see forever from here. Right down the valley. Right across the hills to Chatsworth.’ ‘Maggie ‘ Maggie sighed. ‘Do you blame me?’ she said. ‘No. But does that make it any better?’ Then Maggie touched her. It was the first time they had touched each other since they had met. A week ago, that was. A lifetime away. Maggie put her hand on Fry’s sleeve and gently drew her towards the edge of the rock at the base of the tower. They stood close to the drop, with the wind whipping round their ears and stirring their hair. They were elbow to elbow, with Fry standing, as always, on Maggie’s left side. Fry’s injured leg was throbbing from climbing up the rocky slope. She knew she had done too much, pushed herself too far. Her heart and lungs were struggling with the effort of breathing in the face of the wind. She waited to hear what Maggie had to say, not knowing what she hoped for. ‘There’s the train, look,’ said Maggie. A trail of steam was emerging from the trees towards Rowsley, as the Peak Rail train ran along the far bank of the Derwent near Churchtown and the houses on Dale Road. ‘It’s the last train of the day. They’ll be shedding the engines at Darley Dale station. They don’t run as far as Matlock in November.’ Fry realized Maggie was directing her attention away - well away, towards the centre of Matlock and her
452
own home. The smell of smoke was strong; it seemed to reach her all the way from down in the valley. Ben Cooper’s neck was starting to get stiff from staring up at the moor. The overcast sky made the slopes look dark and ominous. But it was like that in the Peak the landscape could change its mood from one moment to the next as the weather shifted and the clouds blew over the tops. ‘It’s a pretty bleak place to die, really,’ he said. ‘I never saw it like that before.’ ‘It wouldn’t be my choice, either,’ said Weenink. ‘I reckon I’d like to die in bed, preferably on the job with a blonde with big tits. That’d be the way to go.’ ‘It would suit Jenny Weston, though,’ said Cooper, as if Weenink hadn’t spoken. ‘From what her father says, it sounds as though she had a pretty difficult life. It would be no wonder that she was depressed.’ ‘Is that them?’ said Weenink. Diane Fry and Maggie Crew were halfway down the path, walking close together as if supporting each other. Weenink did a double-take when Maggie Crew got close enough for him to see her face. ‘Shit.’ ‘I know it’s a bit nasty,’ said Cooper. ‘But you’ve seen worse things than
