‘Yes, I’m fully trained,’ she said. ‘I did all that in Ripley before I came up to E Division.’
‘I’ve got some jobs I’d like you to do in the morning, then.’
‘In the office?’
She sounded disappointed. Cooper sympathised, but it couldn’t be helped.
‘I’m afraid it’s where most of our work is done,’ he said.
‘Oh, I know.’
They were looking down on Riddings from the outcrop, poised in space, conscious of the empty air around them. It was the God position, everything below them laid out and visible. Cooper saw the headlights of a vehicle travelling along Curbar Lane, the beams sweeping across the trees and catching a reflection from the convex mirrors outside Valley View. He watched for the vehicle to reach the corner at The Green and turn up or down the hill. But the lights vanished before they reached that point. The driver must have stopped or pulled into one of the houses close to the junction. He wondered if that had happened on Tuesday night, too.
Tuesday. From their account of that night, William and Retty Chadwick had stood around here, watching for shooting stars as the Perseid meteor shower passed overhead. On the surface, it didn’t sound like much of an alibi. But how many other star-gazers were out on the edge that night? If it was a good night for viewing meteors, there were probably many people who’d driven out from Sheffield or Chesterfield to get away from the city lights and take advantage of the darker skies over the Peak District. Had that night been overcast, though? Or was it clear and cloudless, perfect for watching shooting stars?
So the Chadwicks had been standing here in the dark, looking upwards at the sky. But surely they must have looked down, too? They couldn’t have resisted this God-like sensation of being able to see everything from above, gazing down on their village and watching their neighbours coming and going.
Down there, the residents of Riddings would not have been able to see anything from behind their walls and hedges. The Chadwicks were the only people who might actually have witnessed what happened. Whether they realised it or not, their position had been unique.
Cooper wondered who else knew that the Chadwicks had been on the edge that night, watching the Perseids. That knowledge might be critical. Because if his theory was correct, it put the Chadwicks at risk of being the next victims.
Villiers shivered. ‘Is it me, or is it getting a bit cool now?’
‘Yes, the rocks lose their heat very quickly when it goes dark. And there’s always a cold wind up here. It’s a totally different place in the winter.’
‘I can imagine. Not the most hospitable landscape in the cold and rain, I guess.’
For a moment, Cooper took one last look at the rooftops of Riddings, spread out below him. He was reminded of the case of a serial killer who had chosen his victims on the basis of where they lived. When he was caught, he’d told his interviewers that the shape of a house roof told him something about the people living there. Told him whether it was their turn to die, he supposed.
Cooper was just thinking it was time to go home, when the ear-splitting screech of a burglar alarm shattered the silence.
13
Today there had been a cool atmosphere in the conference room at Nottinghamshire Police headquarters. Fry had noticed that the facilitator’s expression was stony as they arrived. They were even made to turn off their mobile phones before the session started. Somebody had been naughty in class. But who?
During the coffee break, word went round. It turned out that the youth from the IT department had been using Twitter on his iPhone during yesterday’s session, sending out disparaging tweets about the working group at regular intervals. Everyone knew the hierarchy didn’t like communication with the public. Look at all those police officers with anonymous blogs who’d been tracked down and eliminated. Deblogged, anyway. Too much honesty was contrary to official policy. Even civilians couldn’t get away with it.
Fry looked at the IT guy with new respect. She was starting to feel warmer towards her colleagues.
It might have been that feeling that made her accept the invitation from Mick or Rick, the Leicestershire inspector who sat next to her in the session. Lunch with him yesterday had been pleasant enough, a relief from the tedium of the conference room. Besides, anything seemed preferable now to the drive back over to Edendale and her empty flat.
‘We can’t risk lunch again today,’ he’d said. ‘But how about when we finish the session tonight? When they give us our freedom back.’
She’d nodded without much thought of the consequences.
‘Okay.’
Fry knew she mustn’t drink and drive, so only one glass of wine would be acceptable. God forbid that she should get breathalysed by her colleagues on her way back to Derbyshire.
When they got to the pub, it was her turn to buy the drinks.
‘There you go, Mick,’ she said.
‘Rick,’ he said. ‘My name’s Rick.’
‘Oh, right. Rick…?’
‘Shepherd. I’m stationed in Leicester.’
‘Of course. I remember.’
He smiled, apparently unaffected by her lapse. Fry wondered if she could say anything she liked to him and he would just keep on smiling. He looked to be that sort of man.
‘So, tell me about yourself,’ he said.
‘What’s to tell? Right now, I’m based in Derbyshire E Division. Edendale.’
‘In the middle of the Peak District.’
‘You know it?’ said Fry in surprise. In her head, Edendale was such a backwater that she didn’t expect anyone outside Derbyshire to have heard of it.
‘Everyone must have visited the Peak District at some time. Don’t they say that half the population of England lives within an hour’s drive?’
‘If they do, I don’t know why they’re all driving in that direction. There must be more interesting places to go.’
‘You think so? Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s a desert,’ said Fry. ‘No culture, no shops, no proper transport facilities. It takes forever to get to a motorway. And the nearest airport is way down past Nottingham. So you can’t even escape the place easily.’
‘I often go walking in the Peaks,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a little hiking group together in my section. We head out towards Kinder Scout or somewhere at the weekends.’
‘Walking,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Just walking?’
‘What else? It’s great to get out of the office, away from work for a while. To feel the wind in your hair. Physical exercise, a few hours in the open air. It helps me to relax.’
He was starting to sound like Ben Cooper. Besides, he didn’t actually have much hair for the wind to blow through.
‘There must be other ways to relax,’ she said.
He smirked at her, fondling his beer bottle. ‘I’m sure I could think of a few.’
A burst of laughter from a nearby table gave Fry an excuse to look away. A group of office workers were having a drink on the way home. They might even be civilian staff from across the road at Sherwood Lodge. She didn’t recognise any of them. But then, a civilian was a civilian.
She looked back at Rick Shepherd. It was Rick, wasn’t it? Not Mick, or Dick. He was smiling at her again, one eyebrow raised. Some unspoken message was being conveyed. Fry knew what the message was. She ought to respond, knew deep down what she should do. She ought to act now, before it went any further.
And yet a great weariness had come over her. None of this really mattered, did it? Perhaps there might be a
