question of whether Quinn had any genuine grounds for resentment is irrelevant now. The risk is the same, whether he’s right or wrong. That’s what you should be concerning yourself with.’
‘Yes.’
‘Everybody knows Joe Cooper was as straight as a die. Frankly, Ben, I’m surprised you’re even taking any other possibility seriously. If that’s what you’re doing.’
Cooper didn’t reply.
‘7s that what you’re doing, Ben?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Well, if it is, I’d recommend that you keep your ideas to yourself.’
Hitchens watched him for a reaction.
‘You did say you’d deal with it, Ben,’ he said. ‘And I trust you to do that. Don’t let any of this get in the way of you doing your job. Your DS thinks you’re getting too distracted, and I’m supporting her on this.’
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The DI gave him a moment to think about it. Cooper was about to get up and leave the office, when Hitchens spoke again.
There’s one other thing, Ben.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Despite what you might think, I do pick up on things that are going on around the department. I hear people talking. So I want to give you a word of advice. It’s about DS Fry.’
‘Sir?’
The DI spun his chair from side to side, betraying a little uncertainty about venturing into personal issues.
‘For a start, Ben,’ he said, ‘you’ve no idea what a battle Fry has gone through to get this far.’
‘Well, I think -‘
Hitchens held up a hand. ‘Just let me finish. You can do your thinking later.’
‘Right.’
‘What I’m trying to say, Ben, is that it’s a mistake to involve yourself in DS Fry’s private life, no matter what your motives are, or how good your intentions. Sorting out her own problems is what keeps her going - it gives her the strength to be the way she is. I don’t want anything undermining that. And I don’t suppose she’ll thank you for it, either. Am I right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The thing is, you really won’t help her by interfering. You’ll only make things worse. And you’ll make her resent you, too. Do you understand, Ben?’
Ts that it, sir?’ said Cooper.
He stood up this time, determined to get out of the room, no matter what.
‘Cooper?’ said Hitchens. ‘Answer me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
In the incident room, the map was starting to show a detailed picture of Mansell Quinn’s trail across the Hope Valley.
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Hathersage had three red markers: Mrs Quinn’s home, the railway station, and the Out and About shop.
There were the same number of locations in the Hope area too. Added to the station and Rebecca Lowe’s house in Aston was the third site known to have been visited by Quinn: the Proctors’ caravan park. The markers formed another little cluster, a second triangular shape, like the footstep of a giant insect.
The tracks were heading up the valley towards Castleton, where the toilet block in the car park had been marked with a query - a location pending confirmation. The area was being searched right now, but it hardly mattered. Ben Cooper had no doubt that Quinn was already in the Castleton area.
The pattern of markers on the map made Cooper think of the footprints that Quinn had left at crime scenes. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the conversation he’d had with his DI only a few minutes before. Then he got out the forensic reports from the two murder scenes. Fourteen years had passed between the two killings, but there were remarkable similarities.
The two pairs of boots were entirely different, of course. Those that Quinn had been wearing at the time of Carol Proctor’s murder had been only a few months old, according to the lab reports. Made in China, a leather safety boot with rubber soles and reinforced toe caps. Despite their newness, they had a number of small damage features on the soles, including a tiny piece of sharp stone embedded in a ridge of the rubber. These were the details that allowed the forensic lab to make a meaningful comparison. Wear alone might not have been enough.
Techniques of crime scene examination had moved on since 1990. In the garden at Parson’s Croft, the SOCOs had used a hard-setting plaster to lift the footwear impressions, so that dirt could be washed off the casts. But at the Carol Proctor scene, they’d been relying on plaster of paris, while the bloody
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footprints themselves had been enhanced by gentian for the photographer.
Cooper moved a desk lamp over and rummaged around in the drawers of his desk.
‘Gavin, have you got a magnifying glass?’ he said.
Murfin looked up in amazement. ‘Who do you think I am? Sherlock Holmes?’
‘Well, somebody must have one.’
Cooper opened and shut a few more drawers, and poked at the back among the old mints and bits of crumpled paper. He crossed the office and opened the drawers of a desk that had belonged to a detective who’d retired and not been replaced. Now it was used as a general dumping ground.
