pushing his luck.
‘Come on, Fran. Talk to me about Craig.’
She walked towards the door, and Cooper thought he had lost the chance. But then Fran turned, and her eyes glittered when she spoke. Her voice had risen, too. It was as if she had put distance between herself and Cooper to give space for her anger.
‘You want to know about Craig, do you?’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll tell you about Craig. He got himself into trouble and ended up in court. That had happened before, but the last time it was serious. When they sentenced him, he should have gone to a local authority secure unit, but there were no places available. They said it was because they’d been having a crackdown on persistent young offenders, and the secure units were all full.’
‘So he was sent to the young offenders’ institution at Hindley/ said Cooper.
‘Yes. But he’s not there any more.’
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‘He’s out? Where did he go?’
Fran turned her face away, and didn’t answer straight away.
‘He’s back here in Withens/ she said.
Cooper frowned. Had the Oxleys been hiding Craig after all?
‘In that case, I need to speak to him,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes? If you’ve got psychic talents, go ahead. But other than that, you’re wasting your time.’
Cooper’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean, Fran?’
‘It’s as near as you’ll get, without going to the graveyard.’
Fran’s attempt to seem unconcerned wasn’t working. Cooper could see her face starting to redden and become strained with the effort of holding back tears.
‘Craig couldn’t stand it in Hindley,’ she said. ‘He didn’t see any way that he was ever going to get out of places like that, because he thought the system had him marked down for a life in prison. Worse, he couldn’t cope with being away from the family for so long among all those strangers. There was no one he could talk to, to tell them what he was feeling. He was on hourly checks, but it wasn’t enough. In the end, he hanged himself in his cell. He wasn’t the first, so we’re told. And I don’t suppose he’ll be the last.’
Diane Fry and Gavin Murfin were almost home when Fry took a call on her mobile from Sarah Renshaw. It was almost as if they had known she was thinking about them. It was getting very late, but she’d given the Renshaws her number in case they thought of anything useful. And when Sarah rang, she sounded almost panicky.
There’s a teddy bear missing,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘One of Emma’s teddy bears is missing.’
Fry stared at Murfin in astonishment. This was a bizarre turn, even for Sarah Renshaw. Murfin leaned over to try to listen to the call, and the car veered towards the centre of the road. But it was quiet at this time of night, and there was hardly any traffic.
‘I don’t think that concerns me, Mrs Renshaw,’ said Fry.
‘But where has it gone?’
‘Does it matter? It’s only a teddy bear. There are plenty more.’
‘No, this was a special one,’ said Sarah. ‘We were looking for it to put on display for our Emma Day, but it isn’t there.’
Fry sighed. Another special one. The first that her parents
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had given her, which now sat on the leather settee. The last one they’d given her, which sat at the breakfast table. So what was special about this one?
This is a Chiltern golden plush teddy from 1930,’ said Sarah. It’s worth at least five hundred pounds.’
‘Really?’
‘They’re rather rare.’
‘An antique teddy bear?’
‘Yes.’
Fry sat bolt upright with interest. ‘When did you last see this bear?’
Outside the Deardens’ house, Shepley Head Lodge, the night was far from quiet for anyone who knew how to listen. Rats began to scurry along the outer walls of the house, stopping suddenly to sniff at small objects and roll them in their claws as they scavenged for food. Tiny pipistrelle bats spilled out of a gap in the roof tiles of the outbuildings and flitted backwards and forwards across the yard, darting at moths and night-flying insects.
Later, a pair of foxes heaved over the dustbin, scattering rubbish on the path and snarling at each other as they argued over the dried carcass of a roast chicken. There was a sudden swish through the air, and a barn owl’s talons thudded into the breast of a pigeon that had chosen its roost carelessly. The victim’s wings flapped a few times as the owl shifted its grip, then launched itself back into the night. Three grey feathers spiralled to the ground, where they settled and began to soak up the dew. A hedgehog poked its head out of a hole in a pile of dead branches and checked the scents in the air to make sure that the foxes had gone. Its spines scraped against the bark as it came out on to the wet grass and began to hunt for slugs and beetles. As innocent as it looked, it was the most successful predator of them all.
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27
Thursday
In the mist that followed a grey dawn, the Reverend Derek Alton unlocked the door of St Asaph’s church and let it swing slowly open in front of him. As usual, he looked for signs of intruders or vandalism, but could see none. The church had been given a wide berth ever since the news of Neil Granger’s death had spread. But perhaps it was just the frequent police presence in the village that was making the difference, rather than any sense of respect.
