Simon Lowe nodded, then winced at the pain of the bruise that Fry could see on the back of his head.
‘But I’ll be safe back home in Edendale, won’t I?’ he said, looking at her sharply.
‘Well
‘Because he’s still in the Hope Valley, isn’t he?’
Fry stood up. ‘Yes, sir. We think he’s still in the Hope Valley.’
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19
Out and About was one of the newer outdoor equipment shops on the main street in Hathersage. After speaking to a member of staff, Ben Cooper and Gavin Murfin collected a tape from their security system. The visit didn’t take long, and left them plenty of time to take a look at Hathersage station. Cooper remembered where it was, having seen the approach road from the back of the Moorland estate, where Mrs Quinn lived.
The station car park looked full, so he pulled up at the side of the road near a row of bungalows. He was surprised by the extent of the development that had been taking place here - Hathersage Park, it was called. He could see a long row of new business units stretching past the station itself, many of them already in use.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Murfin.
‘I want to have a look at the station, in case there’s any way Quinn might have been seen on the platform.’
‘I think I’ll stay here with the car, then.’
Cooper looked around. There was nowhere selling food, so it was probably safe.
‘OK, Gavin.’
He walked through a tunnel and up a ramp to the
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Manchester line. Not only was the station unmanned, but there wasn’t much station to speak of - just two platforms, with a small concrete shelter on each side. First North Western had provided a payphone on the Sheffield side, but that was about it. It was bad luck there were no CCTV cameras covering the platforms, but he supposed crime was more likely to happen down in the car park.
Cooper examined the train timetables. Judging by the time of the sighting of Mansell Quinn, he must have left his mother’s house in Moorland Avenue by seven fifteen. It was only a short walk to the station, and there was a train towards Manchester at seven thirty-three, so Quinn must have waited for a quarter of an hour, perhaps on the platform.
But when had he left Rebecca Lowe’s house? And did he leave the area by train? There were two services in either direction that he could have caught, but the times of the later trains meant Quinn would have had to stay in the house for some time with the body - or found somewhere else to be out of sight.
Turning, Cooper looked across the car park to the new development. At the far end was a complex of apartments and penthouses. They looked perfect for affluent commuters, who could reach the centre of Sheffield by train in twenty minutes or so, yet still enjoy a rural view. Next to them were business units, and across from the corner of the car park, a health and fitness centre. Its front wall consisted mostly of glass on the upper storey, with two big, arched windows reaching from floor to ceiling.
Cooper felt a sudden surge of interest. He could see a woman in a black sweatshirt and leggings exercising on a treadmill. She was striding out vigorously on the moving surface, doing a good five miles an hour he reckoned. There was a console in front of her that probably displayed her time, speed, distance, calories, pulse and maybe even her heart rate. It
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was one of a row of machines lined up in the window - and they were all facing outwards.
He jogged back down the ramp, and found Murfin starting to doze in the car.
‘Gavin, you might want to visit the fitness centre over there.’
‘Visit a fitness centre? Me?’
‘Look - see the woman on the treadmill up there?’
Murfin looked up. ‘Oh, yeah. She’s not bad. Well spotted, Ben.’
‘She has a great view of the platform - or she would have, if she took her eyes off her console. And anyone using those machines on Monday evening would have been able to see Mansell Qumn boarding the train.’
‘So you want me to go and talk to a load of women in leotards and tight shorts?’
‘If you can manage that.’
‘Manage it? It’s what God made me for. But what are you going to do?’
‘Take a little train ride.’
‘A what?’
‘I can’t stop to explain, Gavin - there’s a Manchester train due in two minutes. I’ll be back in not much above an hour.’
When a pair of diesel units appeared around a curve in the track, Cooper was the only passenger waiting to get on. Realizing he ought to let Diane Fry know what he was doing, he checked his mobile. No signal. And the payphone was on the other side of the track - no time to get across and back before the train came. Oh, well. He could explain later.
On the train, a guard wearing a uniform of shirt, tie and checked jacket in three different shades of blue charged him a couple of pounds, then had to tap a lot of buttons on the metal box strapped round his neck to produce a ticket. At Bamford, Cooper watched him operate the doors and step out on to the platform to see passengers on and off before signalling the driver.
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The train crossed the River Derwent on a bridge of steel girders just before it slowed to enter Hope station. Cooper looked at his watch. The journey from Hathersage to Hope had taken just seven minutes. DI Hitchens had been right so far - it would have been ridiculously easy for Mansell Quinn to get here from his mother’s house in Moorland Avenue.
