something like that. But they died over a period of about a week. Was it an accident, Mr Oxley?’
‘Not really.’
Oxley turned back towards him at last. Cooper couldn’t see any expression in his eyes but for the usual suspicion. Oxley’s gaze slid past Cooper towards the graveyard itself, and to the neglected well, full of water that the villagers ignored. When he spoke, his voice was tinged not with suspicion, but with anger.
‘No, it wasn’t an accident that killed them.’
‘Not an accident? What, then?’
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Oxiey took a deep breath and met Cooper’s eyes at last when he spoke.
‘It was cholera.’
Suddenly, there was a scuffling and a shout from the churchyard gate, and two people burst through before anyone could stop them. They ran towards the tape, the man in the lead not bothering to stop as he charged into it and dragged it with him towards the makeshift grave. The Renshaws.
‘Stop them!’
The nearest scenes of crime officer was taken completely by surprise. He tried to turn, tripped on a clump of weeds and dropped his video camera. He began to swear as Howard Renshaw shouldered him aside and trampled into the middle of the sacrosanct crime scene, destroying evidence with every step.
Before anyone could get near him, Howard had dropped to his knees, plunged his hands into the tangled roots and peaty soil, and picked up the skull.
‘He had her here all the time/ he said.
‘Mr Renshaw, please!’
Sarah was hanging back behind the cordon, not looking at the remains in the shallow grave, but staring at her husband as he ran his hands over the plates of the skull like a man caressing the head of a lover.
‘Emma,’ he said. ‘She liked me to dry her hair when she’d washed it. I can remember being able to feel her scalp move over her skull when I ran the towel through her hair. I know the feel of her skull.’
As a SOCO took hold of the skull and tried to gently prise it from his grip, Howard looked up and caught Fry’s eye. ‘And this is her skull. It’s my daughter.’
He resisted only a moment more, before allowing two police officers to pull him away.
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29
Derek Alton sat awkwardly on his chair in the interview room at West Street. He was sweating, but then the room was always stuffy, and few interviewees found it comfortable. The interviewing officers tended to sweat, too. It didn’t make them guilty.
Alton was a fidgeter. Some people went very still, as if in shock; others insisted on getting up and pacing the room. There were some who appeared quite relaxed - but they were usually the regulars, who had been here and done it all before.
But Alton was a fidgeter. He sat, but not comfortably, shifting from one buttock to the other, edging his chair a little nearer to the table, then away again. His hands were constantly moving. He squeezed one with the fingers of the other, then turned both hands upside down and looked at his palms, as if surprised to see them. Or perhaps just surprised to see something that he could read there. Then Alton put his hands back flat on the table, hiding the palms. But his fingers were still moving. When he lifted his hands again, his fingertips left faint perspiration stains on the polished surface of the table.
Cooper watched him with fascination. These moments before the interview started were often the most important. The interviewee didn’t know what questions were going to be asked, and that allowed him to imagine the worst. If he had enough imagination, Alton might already have mentally painted himself into a corner, in a way that his interviewers were forbidden from doing. Just as they were obliged under the PACE rules to explain to him what his rights were, they also couldn’t tell him any untruths about what evidence they might have, or what other witnesses had said, or mislead him about what could happen to him. But
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Derek Alton could do all of that for himself, given time.
There’s nothing to worry about, Mr Alton/ said Fry. ‘You’re here by your own free will to make a statement. You’re free to leave at any time. Do you understand?’
Alton nodded, but stared at her as if she had threatened him with impending doom and destruction.
‘Yes, I understand.’
Fry seemed to hear the same shake in his voice that Cooper did. ‘Are you quite comfortable, sir?’ she said. ‘Would you like a drink of water before we start? A cup of tea perhaps? Coffee?’
‘No, I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘If you feel the need for a break at any time, just say so, and we’ll stop the interview.’
‘You’re very considerate.’
Fry looked a bit surprised to be regarded as considerate. She was only doing what the PACE rules told her to. She was doing it by the book.
‘You’ve kindly given us a statement about the circumstances surrounding your discovery of human remains in the churchyard of St Asaph’s, Withens,’ she said. ‘This is the church where you are the incumbent.’
She had to read the word ‘incumbent’ from Derek Alton’s statement. It wasn’t a job title that she was familiar with.
I’m priest in charge of Hey Bridge and Withens,’ said Alton.
‘So you’re the incumbent at Withens?’ said Fry, unsure whether he was contradicting himself.
‘That’s right.’
‘You’ve said in your statement that there wasn’t anything particular that made you choose that part of the churchyard to clear.’
