‘You’ve no right to be down here.’
Lucas Oxley was standing in front of a gate in the wire fence of his yard. He had a hammer in one hand, and a dozen rusty nails clutched in his other fist. Cooper looked around for something that Lucas might have been nailing, but could see nothing new among the debris on the grass.
Cooper could hear a sort of scurrying and rustling sound behind Oxley. It was coming from among the railway sleepers and tyres stacked in the yard, or perhaps from one of the passages that ran between the houses. Somebody was busy back there. Cooper pictured some of the other Oxleys going about their business, whispering to each other cautiously - knowing, without being told, that there was a stranger nearby. He was becoming convinced that the Oxleys could smell him coming. Maybe if he chose a different aftershave and deodorant next time he made his Sunday morning trip to Somerfield’s, it would confuse the scent, let him get closer to the nest before they recognized him.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Oxley,’ he said.
Oxley put the handful of nails into a pocket of his jacket, leaving one hand free. He shifted his grip on the shaft of the hammer. Then he looked at Cooper for a while.
There was a smothered laugh from the yard. It was a male laugh - one of the older Oxley sons. Whoever was back there, they sounded to be dragging something heavy across the ground, something that scraped on the concrete and landed with a thud when it was dropped.
Tracy Udall came to stand at Cooper’s side, but sensibly said nothing. Lucas Oxley ignored her.
‘Weather’s not too good this morning,’ said Cooper. ‘A bit wetter than it has been lately.’
Oxley nodded cautiously.
‘But you’re still managing to get a few jobs done outdoors, I see.’
‘What?’
‘You’re getting a few jobs done. Mending a fence, are you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
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‘Nothing. And you’re keeping your lads busy round the back there, by the sound of it?’
‘They’re good lads.’
‘I’m sure they are.’
‘Lads always get into a bit of bother now and then. It means nothing.’
‘No.’
‘They’re good lads.’
‘We only wanted a few words, sir.’
‘About anything particular? Or were you just wanting to pass the time of day? Because if you have, you’ve come to the wrong place.’
‘It’s about Neil Granger, sir.’
‘Aye?’
‘We’re trying to find out how he died.’
‘We have to bury him. It’s your job to find out how he died. If you’ve a mind to.’
‘Of course we’ve a mind to. But we need help.’
‘Aye. You come asking for help now, but you’re never around when other folks need help.’
‘Do you remember Emma Renshaw, Mr Oxley?’ said Cooper desperately.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Neil knew her very well, didn’t he?’
‘Everybody knew her. Now, if I ask you to leave my property, you have to - I know that. Unless you’re here to arrest somebody. Are you going to do that?’
‘Not today, Mr Oxley.’
Cooper turned away, and looked up towards where the road should be. He couldn’t make it out because of the thick screen of trees in the way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Udall raise her shoulders, as if adjusting her belt. It was a discreet shrug, and a question: Are we wasting our time here?
‘You really can’t see much from down here, can you?’ said Cooper.
‘They built the houses like this so nobody had to look at them,’ said Oxley sourly.
Was that almost a bit of conversation?
‘So what were they originally?’
‘Railwaymen’s cottages. You’d think they’d have built them in stone, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
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‘But the railway company said they had a policy to build their workers’ houses all the same. Well, if you ask me, they had a big contract with a brick company, and got their bricks dirt cheap, like everything else.’
Cooper felt they were making contact, even striking up a conversation. He took a step forward towards the
