The one she was indicating was a rectangular box with a garage door that seemed to dominate its frontage. It had a bare patch of soil at the front, and no doubt a barbecue patio at the back. The house to the left of it looked identical. And the one to the right did, too. And so, she was sure, would the one behind it, and the one across the road, and all the others that spread across the hillsides in the new residential developments south of the town. She had seen those developments, and they had a comforting anonymity; they were
14S
a bit of the city dropped into the uneasy quirkiness of Edendale, like the advance paratroopers of an urban invasion.
‘It’s conveniently close to schools, shops and other amenities,’ she said. ‘And only a lew minutes’ drive from the A6 tor those wishing to commute to the cities of Manchester or Derby.’
‘And nobody knows the name of their next-door neighbour, I expect,’ said Cooper.
‘Maybe. Is that necessary in your world?’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘All right. So what’s special about this flat, then?’
‘Nothing special really. But it’s right here in town. It isn’t too big. And the rent’s reasonable.’
‘You haven’t got any money put aside to buy something, then?’
‘No way. It’s what I can afford on a police salary or nothing.’
Fry thought of her own flat in Grosvenor Avenue, in the land of student bedsits and laundrettcs, Asian greengrocers and Irish theme pubs. ‘A cheap rent just means something really grotty that nobody else wants,’ she said.
Cooper sighed. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘The perfect place to live seems very hard to find.’
‘Impossible. Most people have the sense to give up trying.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
Fry walked to the car. She had wasted enough time humouring Ben Cooper. Her efforts to understand the members of her team were over for the day, as far as Cooper was concerned. But when she opened the driver’s door, he still hadn’t moved away from the estate agent’s window.
‘For heaven’s sake, are you coming?’
‘Dianc?’ he said.
‘What now?’
‘If it’s so hard to find the perfect place to live — how difficult do you think it is to find the perfect place to die?’
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14
.High above Irontonguc Hill, another Boeing 767 left its white track across the lightening sky as it approached Manchester. It
was a few minutes late, and it was waiting lor clearance behind
o
a shuttle from Paris. Much lower in the sky, a small plane hanked and turned and came in slowly, as if someone in the cabin might he taking photographs.
On the hillside helow, four people turned to watch the smaller aircraft as they heard its engine. They lifted their heads into the wind, squinting their eyes against the brightness of the sky and the hard flecks of snow driven into their faces from the higher ground.
‘It’s a Piper Warrior. A Type 18,’ said Corporal Sharon Thompson. Her plump checks were bright pink from the cold, and her hair was pulled back tight under her beret and the hood of her cagoule. ‘It’s probably from Netherthorpe Airfield.’
Flight Sergeant Josh Mason glanced at the underside of the aircraft as it drew away from them.
‘Don’t talk crap,’ he said. ‘Any idiot can see it isn’t a Type 18. Haven’t you done your aircraft recognition?’
Thompson went a shade pinker, but her expression became stubborn. ‘Come on, Flight. We’ve got a long way to go yet. We don’t want to be out here all day. It’ll be dark before we get back.’
‘Well, as matter of fact, we’re nearly there/
The cadets scrambled through a snow-filled gully and up the slope on the other side. They slipped and slid until they were near the top and were able to clutch at bits of dead grass to pull themselves the last few inches.
‘Ihere you go,’ said Mason proudly. ‘The trig point. The Lancaster should be a hundred yards north north-west, just over that next rise.’
The cadets groaned. ‘Why do we have to do this, Flight?’ said Cadet Derron Peace. He brushed snow off the knees
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of his fatigue trousers where he had slipped into a snowdrift.
‘We’re supposed to he on a navigation exercise/ said Thompson. ‘If the skipper finds out …’
‘Well, he won’t find out, will he?’ said Mason.
‘It’s foolhardy to take people out on the moors in this weather. We’re not properly equipped.’
‘All right, stay here then.’ Mason hegan to walk away through the snow towards the next rise.
‘Gut you’re the one with the map and compass,’ said Thompson.
The cadets looked at each other and began to follow him.
o
The cabin windows o( the Piper caught a flash of sunlight as the aircraft banked and turned over the hill ahead of them, the note of its engine dropping to an ominous grumble as the sound bounced off the rocky outcrop called Irontongue.
Chief Superintendent Jepson closed his eyes in pain. For a moment, he thought
