who had objected to him attempting to make an arrest.
Cooper thought his father would actually have been satisfied with this way of dying. He would not have wanted to be one of those old men who faded slowly away in retirement, deprived
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of any role in life. Cooper was certain that his father must have had a Jeep dread of retirement. He could not have tolerated the prospect of ceasing to have any importance, of disappearing and no one even noticing he had gone. This way, Sergeant Joe Cooper would be remembered for ever as he was when he died, because the plaque accorded him a place in posterity. His death had given him immortality.
Ben turned away from the plaque and faced back towards High Street. Four women were walking towards him on the pavement. They moved slowly and straddle-legged like cowboys, their hats pulled low over their eyes, their arms hanging by their thighs, weighted down by shopping bags bursting with booty. On the pavement in front of the women were long shadows thrown by the light spilling out of the windows of Marks and Spencer. They had been to the January sales at the stores on Clappergate that opened on a Sunday. Now they were heading to the bus station for their journey home to the Devonshire Estate or the stone terraces of Underbank.
He didn’t want to be among these people. Not because they were strangers, but because they might actually recognize who he was and feel sorry for him when they saw him standing gazing at the plaque. He decided to cut through one of the lanes that ran up to Hollowgatc and under the town hall clock tower into the market square. He could walk across the square and through the passages at Nick i’ th’ Tor to get to the traffic lights at Fargatc.
o o
The market square was almost deserted as Cooper crossed it. A scatter of pigeons wandered around the square, forlornly searching for any scraps still left from the previous day’s market. A man in a yellow cagoule stood staring at the war memorial in the middle of the square, as if he had nowhere else to go. Perhaps he didn’t. Edcndalc had its share of the homeless, and some of them would fail to survive this winter.
Cooper reached the entrance to Nimble John’s Gate, where a little footbridge crossed the river before dividing left and right into Nick i’ th’ Tor and Rock Terrace. The setts had been re-laid near the bridge, but the passages were tilted at uneasy angles
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where they negotiated the steep slope across the river. The snow lay deep against the walls on either side, and no one had ever thought to provide street lighting for the passages, which were in deep darkness between the tall buildings. Below him, the River Eden was loud and roaring where it squeezed into a narrow channel between the banks. Crossing the bridge, the sound of the water was almost deafening. He hesitated on the corner of Nick i’ th’ Tor, thinking he had seen a movement ahead. Rut it was only the melted snow turning to water and dripping from the guttering at the back of the old cinema. The drips were creating ripples on the puddles that already lay among the cobblestones. The only light in the passage was from the street lamps behind him in the market square, reflected in the puddles and on the grey pillows of dirty snow. Cooper had never before worried about walking through the streets of Hdendale, though he knew many a woman would automatically run through a mental checklist before she went anywhere at night was her handbag safe, was the street well lit, would it be safer to take a taxi, could she run properly in these shoes?
He turned at a sound. Down at the far end of the passage, he saw a familiar figure pass in front of the lights in the market square. It was a man wearing a long overcoat, like an army greatcoat. Eddie Kemp? As if hearing his name, the figure paused in the entrance of the alley and turned his head. For a moment, Cooper almost caught his eye. He saw a woollen cap outlined against the lights. He was so sure, he could almost catch the smell.
As the figure moved on, Cooper took a step forward, then stopped. He remembered the mistake he had made when he arrested Eddie Kemp the first time, in Hollowgate. It was wrong to assume that Kemp was on his own and would be an easy arrest. He took out his radio and reported in to Control to ask (or support. Then he walked carefully down to the end of the alley and eased his way round the corner. There was no longer any sign of Kemp.
Cooper looked at the doorways on either side of the alley entrance. There weren’t many shops here any more
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Wool-worth’s and W. H. Smiths had moved into the shopping centre on Clappergatc. Now, the businesses in the market square were mostly hanks and building societies, estate agents and pubs. The butcher’s shop, Fcrris’s, was starting to look like a relic, some kind of folk museum. He carefully checked the doorways of Barclays Bank and the Nationwide Building Society. Nothing. He jumped as the town hall clock began to strike seven. It sounded far too loud in the empty square, its clangs reverberating off the tall buildings. The pigeons took off and clattered together for a few seconds as they circled the square before landing again and resuming their search for food.
Cooper paused for a moment and waited for the clock to finish striking. He listened for footsteps, but he heard only the engine of a bus, which pulled into High Street and stopped. He saw the three women clambering on with their shopping bags.
Next to Barclays Bank was the Red Lion pub. The lights were on, but it had only just opened and he could see no customers inside. Nevertheless, he went in to have a look in the darker corners. Large video screens were showing MTV. The barmaid shook her head when he asked after a man in a greatcoat and a cap with fur car- flaps.
So Kcmp must have walked on into High Street. From there, he could have gone in several directions — over the river into Evre Street, down on to the relief road, or back along the river
V ‘ O
walk towards the network of passages. Beyond them was Buxton Road and then the Buttcrcross, which was Eddie Kemp’s way home. On his own, Cooper had to make a choice. It would be quicker to return the way he had come, back up Nick i’ th” Tor.
But after the lights of the square, the passage seemed even darker. The shops here didn’t bother leaving their lights burning at night, as the big stores did. The Italian restaurant didn’t open on Sundays in January, and it was in darkness. Halfway up he passed Larkin’s, the baker’s, which was always busy during the day. But now its windows were empty. The coffee shops and the gift shop looked faintly ridiculous in the snow. Icicles hanging from the guttering had started to
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thaw, and drips of icy water landed on his shoulders and splashed his neck when he walked too close to the buildings.
‘ o
By the morning, the water would be frozen again if the sky stayed clear.
Ahead of him, Cooper heard the noise of the river again. It sounded almost as if a dam had burst up the hill, as if thousands of gallons of water were roaring towards him
o o
down the passage. The cobbles and the walls on either side were wet enough to suggest that it had happened before, and that any second he might get swept away and washed up in the market square.