‘Are you going to send them to Sheffield?’
‘It’s already done. I got the dentist to send them direct, and this is just a copy. Trouble is, all this stuff doesn’t mean anything to me.’
‘You’ll have to wait until we hear what the experts have to say.’
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Cooper was looking at the fax when the voice coming from the tape machine penetrated his concentration.
‘What was that bit?’ he said.
Fry looked up in surprise. ‘What?’
‘What did he say just then?’
The tape was still running, and Cooper waved his hand urgently. ‘Wind it back a bit, Diane. Let me listen to that last part again.’
‘If you want, Ben. There’s nothing in it, though. Only a lot of pretentious drivel he likes to spout.’
But she did as he asked, and replayed the last couple of minutes.
‘Well, if that isn’t pretentious, I don’t know what is,’ she said.
‘Not that part,’ said Cooper. ‘Shh.’
They should decay in the open air until their flesh is gone, said the metallic voice.
Then there was a pause. And to Cooper it seemed a perfectly drawn-out pause, like the skilful timing of an experienced actor.
Or, of course, a sarcophagus.
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12
Melvyn Hudson forced himself to smile sympathetically at a passing griever. He was afraid his expression might come out as a grimace and give the wrong impression. As soon as he could, he took the old man by the arm and encouraged him gently towards the limousines.
‘It was nothing, Abraham,’ he said. ‘Nothing to do with us.’
‘Why did the police come, then?’
‘It was only one officer. Just routine enquiries, I expect.’
Abraham Slack was a little more frail than he used to be, and paler. But he still had a strength and dignity that made Hudson feel uncertain when he had to deal with him.
The old man took a deep breath. ‘It’s damaging to the firm’s reputation, Melvyn.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. But nothing will come of it.’
‘There would never have been anything like this in your father’s day.’
‘Abraham, you know damn well there wouldn’t still be a company if it weren’t for me - so don’t start telling me what it was like in my father’s day.’
Hudson realized he was losing his composure. He looked around anxiously, and saw some of the mourners watching him. This was the last funeral of the afternoon, and the crema
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torium staff would be getting impatient if the family weren’t shepherded off the premises soon.
‘This is not the time,’ he said.
‘We need to talk, Melvyn,’ said Abraham.
‘Later, later.’ Hudson brushed nervously at his black jacket as he strode back towards the chapel, his face returning automatically to its professional expression.
Tom Jarvis put on his boots and collected a spade from the workshop. He walked slowly away from the house, past the empty pigsties and down to a small paddock at the edge of the woods. They called this place the orchard because it contained two apple trees. But the fruit had suffered from blight for years, and now the windfalls already starting to litter the ground looked more like wrinkled plums than apples. Even the birds wouldn’t touch them, unless the winter weather got really bad.
The ground was damp here, but it was the only part of the property where the soil was deep enough, without hitting rock. Jarvis settled his cap firmly on his head, spat on his hands, and began to dig. His mind seemed to switch off when he was involved in physical work. It helped him to avoid thinking about things too much.
He had been digging for about half an hour and had built up a good sweat, when he stopped for a moment to wipe his forehead. Across the stream, someone was watching him. The person was partly hidden by the trees, and was given away only by a slight movement. Jarvis stared at the figure for a while, until it slipped away into the woods, back towards the Alder Hall estate.
With a sigh, Jarvis took up his spade and began to dig again. The grave needed to be a bit deeper yet, and the soil was heavy. There was no need for him to call out, or go after the person who had been watching him. He already knew exactly who it was.
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‘Well, this is nice,’ said Professor Robertson. ‘And such a surprise. I really hadn’t anticipated an outing this evening. I think I’m going to like you, Detective Constable Cooper. You bring a little excitement into my life.’
The professor stood on the grass between the graves in St Mark’s churchyard. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his coat, as if he was afraid to touch anything. Long strands of hair hung over his ears, flapping in the breeze that blew down from the hillsides above Edendale. Below the church, the River Eden could be seen snaking its way through the town.
‘I’m really sorry to drag you all the way out here, sir,’ said Cooper. ‘But it could be important.’
‘Not at all, not at all. It’s good to get out of the study and away from the books now and then. Very stimulating.’ Robertson nodded, and smiled slyly. ‘Besides, I’m thrilled to get a chance to meet your colleague.’
Behind Cooper, Fry was leaning against a tombstone, listening but saying nothing. He tried to avoid her
