flooded in summer. People don’t realize that July is one of the wettest months of the year in this area.’
‘Flooding. That’s all we need.’
A cave system like Peak-Speedwell must be the nearest anyone would ever see to Hell. Cooper felt full of admiration for the cavers and cave divers who had been mapping the system - let alone those who had first set out to explore it, with their primitive lamps and equipment. Some of them had free-dived through sumps and flooded chambers, not knowing how far they’d have to swim before they found the next pocket of air, blinded by zero visibility in the cold, silty water. There had been no diving suits and oxygen tanks in those days; the divers had found their way underwater on a single lungful of air. If they failed to reach the surface in time, they died.
‘He hasn’t killed anybody else, has he?’ said Page. ‘Do you think he’s planning to kill again?’
‘Sorry, Alistair, I can’t tell you things like that.’
‘Oh, right.’
Cooper supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at Page’s interest. Probably everybody in Castleton was agog by now. Some people would be looking suspiciously at every tourist who passed. Others would remember Mansell Quinn and the Carol Proctor killing. Memories were long in these parts.
‘I’m sure nobody’s in danger from Quinn unless they had some connection with him in the past,’ said Cooper.
‘Oh,’ said Page. He didn’t look entirely reassured.
‘Of course, we’re advising people not to approach him. They should just call us.’
‘Approach him? As if I would.’
‘Good.’
‘But do you mean he’s got a hit list of some kind? It wasn’t just his ex-wife he came looking for?’
‘A hit list? It’s one theory anyway. As a precaution, we’ve been warning anyone who might be on such a list.’
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‘Like Ray Proctor and Will Thorpe?’
Cooper looked at him, openly surprised now. ‘You really are familiar with the details of the case, Alistair. Did you know Proctor and Thorpe, too?’
‘Oh, I looked the names up. I was interested.’
Cooper watched him polish the glass of his lamp on a corner of his jacket. He was going to ask Page why he was so interested in the case, other than morbid curiosity, when his mobile phone rang - a summons back to the office.
‘Yes, just about finished here,’ he said.
Page was watching him keenly. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Cooper. ‘But I’ll speak to you later.’
‘Do you think it’s safe here?’ said Page anxiously.
Cooper was already moving away. He stopped to look back at Alistair Page, and saw how anxious he was. It was strange that a man could venture willingly into those claustrophobic caves in pitch darkness, and yet still be the sort of person who worried unnecessarily about dangers that would never come his way.
‘As you long as you take care,’ said Cooper. ‘And remember - if you do see Mansell Quinn, stay clear of him.’
‘So,’ said Gavin Murfin when Ben Cooper got back to the office in Edendale. ‘I hear we’ve even got a Beast of Bradwell now. What’s the place coming to?’
‘A what?’
‘Beast of Bradwell. One of those mysterious giant cats that roam the countryside during the silly season. Apparently, it’s been savaging sheep. It’s in the bulletins.’
‘I haven’t seen them yet.’
Cooper read the reports. Predictably, a team of firearms officers had been called out to search the area where a sheep had been found with its throat ‘ripped out’, according to the report. The site was close to a path used by walkers and their dogs, so someone considered there might be a threat to the
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public. But as far as Cooper was concerned, sending coppers with guns into the woods was more of a risk to the public than any type of wildlife they were likely to encounter, real or imaginary.
‘It wasn’t in Bradwell,’ he said. ‘It was in Rakedale.’
‘That’s no good,’ said Murfin.
‘Why not?’
‘It doesn’t begin with a “B”. The Beast of Rakedale doesn’t have the same ring. No good for a newspaper headline.’
‘Accuracy was never your strongpoint, was it, Gavin?’
‘I’ve always thought I might make a good journalist. Anyway, it’s near enough, isn’t it?’
Cooper read through the report again. Rakedale was a narrow, meandering limestone valley on the other side of Bradwell Moor from the Castleton area. It joined the Eden Valley further south, passing within a mile of Bridge End Farm. Cooper was very familiar with its wooded sides and limestone cliffs, and the pure stream running through it. He also knew it had many small caves, and some old mine workings.
‘It doesn’t sound as though anyone has taken a proper look at the victim yet,’ he said.
‘Eh? You’re expecting a postmortem? Mrs Van Door would have kittens if we sent her a sheep.’
‘I was thinking of a vet. They ought to get a vet to look at it. Someone will have thought of that, won’t
