Whatever the interview rules, detectives could still use a bit of misdirection - they could seem to be seeking information or assistance when actually they were considering someone as suspect. This seemed to be an example of that technique.
‘Have you ever been inside the scene?’ one of the interviewers had asked.
‘The scene?’ said Proctor.
‘The house. Have you ever been inside the Quinns’ house?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
And the line of questioning was left there. It was a straightforward enough question, but Cooper thought he could see what had been going on. Probably Proctor had been asked to give his fingerprints at a later stage, so that there seemed to be no direct link with the question. If his prints had matched any found at the scene, it would have proved him to be a liar and given the police a lever to use against him.
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I
In this case, Cooper would have preferred the line of questioning to have been pursued, for the sake of preserving Proctor’s answers for posterity - or at least, for the benefit of a detective constable thumbing over the files fourteen years later. It seemed unlikely that Proctor had never visited his old friend Mansell Quinn in his own home. The Quinns had been in the house on Pindale Road for five years, and the Proctors lived close by. Quinn and Proctor had been regular drinking partners throughout that time. If Proctor had really never been in the Quinns’ house, then why not? Was it something to do with Rebecca Quinn? Cooper wondered if she might have had some objection to Quinn’s friends. Maybe she’d ,
already been aspiring to better things.
In any case, Cooper had to assume that Proctor’s prints had not been found at the scene, because nothing more had been made of his claim.
Cooper put down the file with a sigh. There was no sense in looking for reasons to cast doubt on Mansell Quinn’s guilt. Everyone else accepted it. In fact, it had been assumed from the start.
But then, Cooper had to keep reminding himself of one of the things that his father had told him: You should never assume. Never assume anything.
Diane Fry stared at the strip of orange-and-green paper that Ben Cooper was showing her. It was a train ticket. Anyone could see that.
‘This is a Sportis travel ticket,’ said Ben Cooper. ‘Issued by First North Western on the Sheffield to Manchester line.’
‘And the significance of it is … ?’
‘See the code number? It splits down into sections. The first four numbers tally how many tickets a guard has sold, so they can calculate the takings at the end of a shift. The next set of numbers record where a customer went from
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and to. Look, these four numbers are the station code for the where the ticket is valid from - in this case, 2826 is Hathersage.’
‘Right.’
‘The next four numbers are the station code for where the ticket is valid to. This is 2828 - Hope. There’s two numbers difference, you see - that’s because there’s only one station in between, Bamford.’
‘And all the zeros at the end?’
‘The routing code. Five zeros means any permitted route.’
‘So can we tell whether he got a single or return?’
‘First North Western say they can make an accurate guess.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘No, I know.’
‘Would it make a difference?’
‘Not really. It might have been one indicator of where he was heading afterwards, though.’
‘Possibly.’
Cooper sighed. ‘These people,’ he said. ‘They’re a strange combination.’
‘How so?’
‘Rebecca Lowe and her family all seem a bit … well, middle class. It’s hard to picture them in the same circles as the Proctors and the Thorpes.’
‘People change. She may have moved on since Quinn was sent down. She got half of the proceeds of the sale of the business and the house. And her new husband was a partner in an estate agency. More than thirteen years, remember - she probably has nothing in common with the Thorpes and Proctors any more. Except a past.’
‘I phoned William Thorpe’s father,’ said Cooper. ‘He lives at a farm over the Winnats Pass from Castleton. In the Peak Forest parish.’
Fry had been trying to write up a report on their visit to the Proctors’ caravan park at Wingate Lees. She had a box
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of tissues open at her elbow, and her voice came out in a wheeze when she spoke.
‘What did he say?’ ‘Not very much,’ said Cooper.
‘I take it his son isn’t there with him?’
‘Mr Thorpe says not. In fact, he was quite vehement about it. “I wouldn’t have the bugger in my house” were the words he used. He says William isn’t welcome there.’
‘And he doesn’t know where he might be?’
