‘Confidential files? The cabinets should have been locked, surely?’
‘We need to ask the office staff.’
Cooper looked at his watch and began to put on his jacket. ‘Well, let me know if there’s anything you want me to do, Diane.’
‘Where are you off to?’
‘I want to speak to Vernon Slack again. He’s frightened of something, and I’m going to find out what. And then I might tackle Billy McGowan.’
‘McGowan? Not on your own, you don’t. Do you hear me?’
‘OK.’
‘And, Ben - what about the dog?’
‘I talked to one of the officers working with Poacher Watch. According to local intelligence, lampers often operate on parts of the Alder Hall estate, but there have never been any complaints from the owners.’
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Fry smiled. ‘How strange. What do you bet that Mr Casey is making a bit of money on the side by giving them access?’
‘Taking a cut from poaching gangs? It’s possible.’
‘It would explain why he wants to keep the place to himself.’
‘Maybe that ex-employee would have something to tell us.’
‘Maurice Goodwin, yes.’
‘The thing is,’ said Cooper, ‘I reckon it was probably lampers who shot Tom Jarvis’s dog. They could have mistaken it for a fox, or a small deer. But Jarvis doesn’t seem to want to believe that. He’s assuming someone did it deliberately. In fact, I suspect he might even have a name or two in mind, but he’s not saying who they are.’
‘You’ll have to find a way of getting him to open up, Ben.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘By the way,’ said Fry, ‘David Mead called. You remember the rambling fireman?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, Mr Mead has done a good job for us. He’s tracked down the people who left items in the Petrus Two cache - all except one. There’s just a single item on the list that no one is owning up to.’
Cooper studied her face, detecting the frustration she was trying to restrain.
‘Just one?’ he said. ‘Let me guess - the glow-in-the-dark skeleton key-ring? The classic symbol of death, a clever reminder from our caller.’
‘Actually,’ said Fry, ‘the key-ring was left by a twelve-year old girl from Hathersage who goes out walking with her grandmother every Sunday. She bought the thing as a souvenir in Whitby.’
‘The Dracula Experience?’
‘Probably.’ Fry sighed. ‘As a matter of fact, the one unidentified item from the Petrus Two cache is the bloody Beatrix Potter book.’
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Cooper sat watching his windscreen wipers as he waited for the funeral cortege to pass. Then he turned the Toyota round. He eased out into the road, cutting in front of a delivery van and raising his hand in a conciliatory gesture when the driver glared at him. He soon caught up with the last mourners’ car and stayed close behind it as the cortege wound its way through the wet streets. The limousines were so distinctive that he’d spotted them coming towards him before he got within three hundred yards of Hudson and Slack. There wasn’t much chance around here of staying unnoticed in a Daimler with personalized number plates, even without the oak veneer coffin in the back.
When Cooper arrived at the crematorium, Melvyn Hudson was already standing in the portecochere talking to Christopher Lloyd. Hudson seemed to recognize the Toyota. He lost interest in what Lloyd was saying to him as he watched Cooper park behind the mourners’ cars.
But Cooper didn’t approach Hudson directly. Let him worry for a few minutes. It was a good tactic, and he intended to exploit it. So he walked through the car park, past the floral tributes and the metal stakes with the day’s name cards on them. Many of the people cremated here were commemorated by rose bushes in the garden of remembrance. There were long, circular beds of them, separated by neatly mown grass. Cooper recalled Madeleine Chadwick’s enthusiasm for roses. The triumph of good over evil. The scented bloom and the eternal thorns.
The garden wasn’t as peaceful as he’d expected. Traffic on the ring road created a constant background to the sound of birdsong. The traces of mercury emitted from the crematorium chimney would be battling against exhaust fumes in the pollution stakes.
After the funeral party had gone into the chapel, Cooper looked around for the Hudson and Slack bearers. Having taken in the coffin, the bearers had left the chapel and were
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taking the chance to have a break until the service was over. They were standing in their black suits in the shelter of a wall near the cars, smoking cigarettes and chatting.
‘Mr McGowan? Could I have a word?’
‘Melvyn won’t like you turning up at funerals like this,’ said McGowan, watching Cooper with a thin smile. ‘It might be bad for business.’
He had a cocky waggle of the head when he spoke. Cooper had seen it before, usually in people who had experience with the police and thought they knew their rights.
‘Where’s Vernon today?’ he asked.
‘He called in sick.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
