like.’
‘Tell me again, Gavin.’
‘Neil Granger made several calls to a number in Glossop. The number was in his phone’s memory, so it was easy to find out who it was.’ Fry stared at him. ‘You should have told me this, Gavin. If I was busy, you should have told me later. This is important.’
‘Not really/ said Murfin defensively. ‘It was only who you might have expected him to be phoning.’
‘Hey!’
Diane Fry turned at the shout. A man in a yellow fluorescent jacket and a hard hat was standing behind her, holding a roll of blue plastic sheeting.
‘What do you want? Are you one of the contractors? I’m afraid
you’ll have to wait. There’ll be no work on this site today.’ M
‘No, I work for the National Grid. Tunnel maintenance.’
‘I’m sorry, but whatever it is you want, you’re in the wrong place. You’ll have to move away.’
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‘Well, I’m only doing what I was told. And it was one of your blokes that told me to do it.’
The man seemed to be about to offer Fry the roll of plastic he was carrying. She backed away.
‘Sorry? What are you talking about? Who did you say you are?’
‘My name’s Norton. Sandy Norton.’ He clutched the plastic sheeting to his chest again and inclined his head sideways. ‘He knows me. That one over there.’
Fry followed his gesture. ‘Gavin! There’s a gentleman here says he knows you. Deal with him, will you?’
‘Hey up, mate/ said Murfin, walking back across the road. ‘How’s it going down in Tunnel Town? What have you got there?’
‘It’s what I found.’
‘Found?’
‘In the middle tunnel. Under the air shaft. We had a look, like your mate told us we should. This is what we found. I thought you’d want to see it. But say so if you’re not bothered, and I’ll burn it.’
‘Let’s see.’
Norton began to unwrap the plastic. There were several layers, and Fry was beginning to think there was nothing inside it at all, when the contents finally appeared.
‘A stick/ she said. ‘Gavin, it looks like one of those sticks the Border Rats use.’
‘You’re right.’
Norton pointed with a grubby finger. ‘And look, at this end -‘
‘Don’t touch it!’ said Fry. ‘Have you touched it?’
‘I was wearing gloves in the tunnel/ said Norton defensively. ‘And as soon as I saw this, I wrapped it up. Was that the right thing to do?’
‘It’ll do fine, thank you.’
‘Well, I’m glad about that. It’s blood, isn’t it?’
‘It looks like it.’
‘It was the other bloke that told me to look, you know. But I couldn’t find him to give it to him. Was he right, then?’
Fry looked over her shoulder at the black terrace and the smouldering buildings behind it. The grey shapes of a few wood pigeons still flapped in and out of the clouds of smoke. They would have to look for a new home soon. ‘Yes, he was right/ she said.
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41
Monday
By the bank holiday Monday, Withens didn’t feel quite so isolated. In fact, the entire world was rushing by only yards away, and it seemed to be coming nearer.
There were visitors in the village to see the well dressing, and the Quiet Shepherd was doing good trade. But Ben Cooper felt the world was intruding in other ways, too, perhaps more subtly. Walkers following Euroroute E8 all the way from Turkey were ending up in Longdendale. Lorries on trans-Pennine journeys often turned off the A628 to park overnight by the side of the road above Withens, gradually creating their own lay-by by churning up the grass and compacting the ground. Those lorries were from all over the world. Even the acid rain destroying the peat moors might be from anywhere, too - not just Manchester.
Sitting in his car with his mobile phone pressed to his ear, Cooper reflected that if he drew everything on to a map, it would show the village surrounded, though still isolated. It was cut off by the traffic roaring by to the south, and by the power cables of the National Grid and the proposed new trans-Pennine expresses in the tunnels to the west. Together, they formed a net that Withens would never escape. Perhaps the water company would want to clear the whole valley to preserve the purity of its water. The land might be needed for a lorry park or maintenance sheds for the new rail link. And when that happened what would become of people like the Oxleys?
1 don’t believe it was Craig Oxley alone who killed Barry Cully,’ said Cooper into his phone. ‘Do you? It’s too convenient.’
Diane Fry’s voice sounded distant. Not only was she miles away
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in Edendale, but her mind would be on other things, preparing for an important interview. She was always meticulous about planning interviews, making notes on the areas she wanted to make sure she covered with her questions. Nothing was to be missed out.
