the fabric of her knickers.
He stood frozen in confusion at his own reactions, frightened to move, praying for the ambulance to arrive soon and take his burden away. Yet a few minutes later he continued to hold on to the girl, oblivious to the sound of sirens and the voices that followed, clustering around him, asking questions. He held the girl desperately to his chest, feeling her softness in his hands, her weight pulling on his shoulders, conscious of his fingers staining her pale innocence.
Finally, the girl had opened her eyes and focused on his face. In a moment of consciousness, she had seen his red jacket and his Peak Park badge.
‘Oh, you’re a Ranger,’ she said. And Owen remembered even now the rush of senseless, guilty pride he had felt that the girl could recognize who he was, and had felt secure in his arms.
Then the child’s eyes had closed, and a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of her mouth. And a warm flood of urine seeped from her and ran down the front of his red jacket, as she died.
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34
In the incident room, the faces of the officers were expectant. They were thinking that there had to be something at last. After all this, there had to be some good news.
Examination of Ros Daniels’ body showed that she had died from serious head injuries, though there were other marks on her that awaited interpretation. The fibres of the victim’s clothing were distinctive. Forensics were sure they would have been shed on her assailant’s outer garments, if he had made contact. Vegetative traces and powdered gritstone taken from the scene might also have adhered. Cross-matching would provide proof of contact. Now all they needed was a firm suspect.
‘Owen Fox has been bailed in regard to a separate matter,’ said DCI Tailby. ‘We have discounted any connection with our present enquiry.’
There were murmurs of speculation. But Ben Cooper wasn’t surprised. The cigarette stubs they had found under Ros Daniels’ body could never have belonged to Owen Fox. Cooper could think of three people directly connected with the enquiry who smoked cigarettes, and
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Owen wasn’t one of them. Forensics had found traces of saliva remaining on the filters of the cigarettes, which had been prevented from drying out by the girl’s body lying on top of them. There was a residue of moisture in the tobacco, too. The cigarettes had been smoked very shortly before Ros Daniels’ death. And the DNA from the saliva would identify the person who had smoked them.
‘And so far we have been unable to establish a direct link with Warren Leach,’ said Tailby. ‘Though he remains a suspect.’
Leach hadn’t smoked, either. Not many farmers did, when they worked around hay and straw and agricultural fuel. Yet somebody had been smoking when Ros Daniels was attacked, and again when Jenny Weston was killed.
Tailby’s head drooped slightly. His face was tired, and his eyes were sunk into dark sockets. ‘We’re still looking for leads,’ he said. ‘But where?’
He spoke for the whole room. How was it possible that they could have two bodies and a third, surviving, victim, yet after ten days be further away than ever from identifying a suspect? A police officer had been injured by vigilantes, and no one had been arrested yet. Questions were being asked all the way up the line. And the newspaper headlines said: ‘How many more?’
Tailby hung his head. ‘Let’s think positively. Apart from the fact that Daniels stayed with Weston for a while, the only link we have between them is that they were both animal lovers. Paul?’
‘OK,’ said DI Hitchens. ‘Examination of the shed at
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Ringham Edge Farm by ourselves and the RSPCA confirms the suspicion that it was being used for dogfighting. We know that Jenny Weston saw what was going on there. She passed by there one evening when she had been late on the moor. She reported her information to the RSPCA, and she claimed to have photographic evidence. Whether she went any further than that, we don’t know. Whether Daniels did the same, we don’t know either. However, with the help of the RSPCA special investigations unit, we have drawn up a list of known or suspected participants in the dogfighting ring. There are some pretty unsavoury characters among them, and one or two are known to us.’ ‘Is one of them Keith Teasdale?’ said Cooper.
‘Yes, his name is on the list. Today is Operation Muzzle. We’re going to make some arrests.’
When Ben Cooper walked back into the CID room, DS Dave Rennie was there, looking relaxed, like a man at home in front of the TV watching Coronation Street. He should have had his slippers on. Cooper saw that there was a stack of paper on Rennie’s desk, forms filled with scrawled handwriting in ballpoint pen. Some of the writing looked almost illiterate.
‘What’s all that lot, Sarge? Witness statements?’ ‘Questionnaires,’ said Rennie. ‘I’ve got all these back already from the early and day shifts. I’ve just collected them from the box in the canteen.’
‘Oh, the vending machines.’ Cooper picked up a couple of sheets. ‘What sort of things are they saying, then?’
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‘I haven’t looked at them yet. But I dare say they’ll go for it, generally. We gave them a multiple choice, look - hot food, sandwiches, snacks or drinks. All they had to do was choose which they’d use. It makes it look as though the vending machines are a foregone conclusion, but actually we’re using their responses as evidence to push the idea through. Clever, isn’t it?’
Cooper’s eyes widened as he read one of the questionnaires. ‘Amazing.’
Rennie nodded. ‘It’s surprising what management will come up with.’
‘Sarge, the person who filled in this questionnaire here says they’d like hot food, but hot women would be even better.’
Rennie sniffed. ‘Well, you know what it’s like, Ben. There are always some who have to take the piss, no matter what.’
‘And under “other suggestions” they’ve asked for condom machines and somewhere to dispose of their used hypodermic needles.’
‘I might have to take one or two out before I show them to the DCI in Admin,’ said Rennie.
‘Who wrote this one, then?’ ‘They’re all anonymous, Ben.’ ‘Is that wise?’
‘You know as well as I do, if people have to give their names, you don’t get anything from them. Coppers are dead suspicious of putting their names to something that looks official.’
