‘Funny,’ he said. T don’t think the other lot knew that.’
‘Other lot? What other lot?’
‘The last lot of police that came.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It was only two days ago. I suppose you’ve found him since then, have you?’
‘Mr Illingworth, are you saying some police officers have been here already asking about this man?’
‘Yes, but they had a photograph of him when he was alive.’
‘Where were these officers from?’
‘Sorry, I can’t remember. Weren’t they your lot?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Fry. ‘We’re from Derbyshire.’
‘Ah, out of your area, then. I assume they were Nottinghamshire Police.’
‘And they were trying to identify this man?’
‘No, no, they seemed to know who he was. They had a name, even.’
‘Which was?’
‘Sorry …’
‘You can’t remember. That’s OK.’
Cooper looked at her. He knew what she was thinking: a lack of communication somewhere had not only led to duplication of effort, but a waste of several days of their time in trying to identify the Snowman. Surely Gavin Murhn had contacted Nottinghamshire for their missing persons they were one of Derbyshire’s neighbouring forces. Fry’s jaw
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clenched. Somebody was jroing to he in trouble. And for once,
it wasn’t Ben Cooper.
‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘while I make some calls.’
As she walked off, Illingworth shrugged. ‘Sorrv 1 can’t
> & ” OO J
remember any more,’ he said. ‘Sounds like a bit of a cock-up, doesn’t it?’
‘You’ve got a Lancaster here, haven’t you?’ said Cooper.
‘Ah, you’re interested in the Lane, are you? Yes, one of the few left, she is. Do you know we had to buy this one from Canada? All but a couple of the RAF’s Lanes were scrapped. Or left to rot.’
‘Where is it?’
‘She’s in a separate hangar of her own. We’re still working on her. There s a bit of restoration to do yet. In fact, I think they’re bringing her out now to turn over the engines.’
The doors of the next hangar stood wide open. Although the displays were protected by wooden barriers, Cooper was able to reach across and touch the side of the Lancaster. To his surprise, it felt light and fragile. It was nothing more than a series of sheets of thin alloy, held together by thousands of tiny rivets. That it had ever travelled to Germany and back was a miracle.
A shaft of winter sun came through the Perspex panels in the hangar roof. The weak light lit up tiny details here and there on the Lancaster a patch of worn red paint on the fuselage markings, a stencilled number on an escape hatch cover, and the rust caked on the barrel of a Vickers machine gun that poked from a shattered turret.
A small tractor attached to the undercarriage of the Lancaster
o
was slowly towing the big aircraft out on to the tarmac. It was a very tight At the wing tips cleared the side of the hangar entrance by only a foot or two on either side.
‘Most of the people who work here are volunteers, I suppose — enthusiasts,’ said Cooper.
‘That’s right. We couldn’t do without them. They put their own time and etiort in, and their own money, too. It’s an expensive hobby.’
There was a metal ladder leaning against the fuselage of the Lancaster. Cooper couldn’t resist a peep inside the open
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door. He was ama/ed by the confined space inside the aircraft, which looked so large from outside. Forward from the door, the main spar half-blocked the passage, narrowing it to two tinv compartments behind the cockpit. Cooper glanced back at Illingworth. ‘Which crew members sat in these compartments?’
‘The wireless operator and the navigator. Then there’s the flight engineer’s position, right in the passage between the navigator and the pilot. And down there, under the pilot’s feet, is the bubble where the bomb aimer lav. The best view in the aircraft, he had.’
Some of the Perspex looked very new and clear to Cooper. Hut inside the aircraft, the instruments and equipment were all obviouslv original. To his left, towards the tail, the fuselage narrowed even more. Down at the end of a dark tunnel was a glimpse o( curved sliding doors, left partly open.
‘That must be the rear gunner’s turret.’
‘Correct,’ said Hlingworth. ‘That’s Tail-End Charlie’s place. The coldest, loneliest spot on a Lancaster, without doubt. It was so cold back there that the rear gunner had to wrap himself up in an electricallv heated suit, so that his arms and legs didn’t seize
