‘I’m afraid you can’t come through here, sir. This is a crime scene.’
‘A what?’
‘A crime scene, sir. There’s been a fatality.’
‘Oh.’
‘So if you don’t mind, sir ‘
‘Has somebody been hurt, then?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who is it?’
‘We don’t know. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to reverse back up the track. You need to turn round and go back the way you came.’
The driver leaned out of his window to look down the track. ‘I could just about squeeze past. The ground’s quite dry here, so I think the four-wheel drive could cope.’
‘No, sir. Go back, please.’
‘It’s a damned nuisance.’
‘Could I ask your name, sir?’
‘It’s Dearden.’
‘And whereabouts do you live?’
‘Over the other side of the hill. Shepley Head Lodge.’
Knott looked at his partner, who shrugged. ‘Surely you could take the road through Withens, Mr Dearden?’ he said.
‘Maybe.’
‘It would be much easier than negotiating this track, I would have thought. You’ll get a lot less damage to your suspension and your tyres, anyway.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Where are you heading for, sir?’
‘Glossop.’
100
‘Glossop? Well, this isn’t even a shortcut. You’d have to go back up the A628 to where the Withens road comes out anyway.’
‘All right, all right. I’m going.’
He revved the Mitsubishi, looked over his shoulder and began reversing up the hill towards where the track widened out at the old quarry.
Knott looked at the body of the young man. ‘If Mr Dearden lives nearby, maybe we should have asked him if he recognized the body/ he said. ‘He might have been able to give us a quick ID.’
‘This lad won’t be from round here,’ said the other officer confidently.
‘You sure?’
‘They never are. Besides …’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t like the look of Mr Dearden too much. What was he doing driving over this way, when he could have gone up the Withens road? It would have been a lot easier and quicker for him. It doesn’t make sense.’
Knott shrugged. ‘Beats me. But take a note of his registration number before we lose sight of him anyway,’ he said, as he watched the Mitsubishi do a three-point turn. ‘We’ll pass his name on to CID. When they arrive.’
‘Who do you suppose we’ll get?’
‘Some bugger who’ll tell us we’ve done everything wrong/ said PC Knott.
Detective Chief Inspector Oliver Kessen was a recent arrival in E Division. Some of the CID officers in the sections didn’t know him very well yet, but they were allowing him time to settle into the job.
His predecessor, DCI Stewart Tailby, had moved to his new job in the Corporate Development department at county headquarters in Ripley. Yet it was surprising how often he was to be seen hanging around West Street like a ghost, trying to engage his old colleagues in conversation. It was as if he was reluctant to let go of his old job, to leave his old patch behind. Maybe he was frightened that everyone would forget him, once he had truly gone. But gradually he was losing touch with what was going on in E Division. More and more new officers were arriving at the station who had no idea who he was.
101
By the time Kessen arrived at the scene by the air shaft, the forensic medical examiner had already attended, and the machinery for an enquiry into a suspicious death was starting to get into action. PC Knott was being kept occupied controlling access and recording the names of everyone who arrived in the scene log.
‘The victim is male, appears to be in his early twenties, and has suffered serious head injuries/ said DI Paul Kitchens, as DCI Kessen struggled up the last few yards of the slope.
The track below was already filling up with police vehicles. Their white and orange looked ludicrously out of place in the dark, bare expanses of peat moor.
Kessen simply nodded, and took up a position from where he could see the body without entering the taped-off area. He was wearing a heavy overcoat that made him look twice his normal size and hid his real shape. He had a habit of keeping his lips pushed together, and he rarely smiled. When he did, he revealed crooked teeth that would have benefited from an orthodontist.
