Текст книги "Black Dog"

Автор книги: Stephen Booth

Соавторы: Stephen Booth
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

‘It's not true,' said Sherratt, before Mr Nunn could decide whether to shake his head.

‘Why would Mr Vernon say things like that if they weren't true?' asked Hitchens, raising his eyebrows. 'He's weird,' said Sherratt dismissively, as if it needed no further explanation. His eyes began to roam around again. He studied the clock on the side wall as if wondering how long he had to last out.

‘Weird, how?'

‘Well . .

‘Weird because he didn't like you pestering Laura?’

‘No comment.'

‘Did it make you angry that he thought you weren't good enough for his daughter?'

‘No comment.'

‘You were just the gardener after all, Lee. A servant. And not a very good gardener, by all accounts.’

There was a flash of anger in Sherratt's face now as he glared at Hitchens. 'I worked hard,' he said sullenly. 'I'm as good as them. Why shouldn't I be?'

‘Did Laura look down on you too?'

‘You what?'

‘Did she treat you like a servant, Lee?'

‘She was a stuck-up little cow.' Sherratt looked defiantly at his solicitor. He was starting to get more confident now. Tailby saw the change in his manner and tapped Hitchens's leg. It was time for him to come in, to change tack.

‘Some of these stuck-up cows like a bit of rough, don't they, Lee? They're desperate to get it from a proper man, aren't they?’

Sherratt turned round to face Tailby, a knowing leer slipping on to his face before he could think of controlling it. Nunn coughed and shook his head several times.

‘I bet you're the man to give it to them, aren't you, Lee?'

‘Chief Inspector, I don't think that is a relevant question.'

‘Did you have sex with Laura Vernon?'

‘I didn't,' said Sherratt.

‘Just a bit of heavy petting, then.'

‘No.'

‘So how would you describe your relationship?' Sherratt leaned across the table. The veins stood out in his neck as his chin jutted forward. 'I told him already. We didn't have one.'

‘But you met Laura when her parents didn't know about it, didn't you?'

‘No.'

‘So her parents did know about it?'

‘What? No, I never met her.'

‘But you've already said, Lee, that you met her during the course of your job at the Mount.'

‘Well . . . yes.’

Even the solicitor was looking confused now. Tailby leaned forward.

‘Now we've cleared that up, would you like to clarify your other statement?'

‘What was that?'

‘You've told us that you didn't have sex with Laura Vernon. Would you like to change that statement?’

‘No. I didn't do it with her. I told you.'

‘Lee, when you were taken into custody last night you agreed to provide samples for forensic examination and DNA testing.’

The dark eyes wavered nervously. 'Yes.'

‘Do you understand what a DNA test is? Do you understand that this will enable us to match those samples we took with evidence found at the scene?’

‘I wasn't at no scene.'

‘For example,' said Tailby, 'I mean the used condom we found in the greenhouse in the garden at the Mount.’

Sherratt blinked and his face went a shade of yellow under the dark colour. His solicitor shook his head.

Tailby merely smiled, his eyes colder than ever. 'A used condom contains semen. A good source of a DNA sample. Will we find that it's yours, Lee?’

*

Cooper called first at Dial Cottage. Before he could knock, the front door was opened by Helen Milner. She was looking over her shoulder, calling to her grandmother.

‘I'm off now!’

She was taken aback when she saw him standing on the step. She was back in her shorts and a sleeveless cotton top, and her limbs seemed to glow in the brightness pouring through the doorway from the street.

‘Oh, hello, Ben.'

‘How are you?'

‘Fine. Have you come to see me?'

‘Your grandparents, actually.’

Was that a flash of disappointment that passed across her face? Intrigued, Cooper studied her expression. But it quickly became a friendly smile.

‘Grandma is in. She'll be pleased to see you.’

‘Hold on. Do you have to rush off ?'

‘I've got a few things to do. But – well, they're not desperate.’

Faced with Helen again, Cooper found himself searching for what it was he wanted to say to her.

‘I'm sorry it had to be like this when we met again.’

‘It's your job, I suppose,' she said.

The local postman was working his way down the road in his van, stopping every few yards to deliver his handfuls of mail. The radio in his van was tuned to Peak FM, and every time he opened the driver's door, the village was treated to a blast of relentlessly lively pop music. But the chances were that the messages he was delivering were not so bright or so cheerful as the music.

Helen had unlocked the door of her red Fiesta, which stood at the kerb near the cottage. Cooper leaned on the roof of the car, trying not to flinch as the hot metal burned his arm through his shirt.

‘It's a good job. But it can get in the way sometimes.’

‘How do you mean, Ben?'

‘It comes between you and other people.’

Helen nodded. 'Everybody sees you as a policeman first and foremost, I suppose.’

All the time. But you didn't, did you?'

‘What?'

‘On Monday. When I came here, to Dial Cottage. You saw me first as Ben Cooper.’

Helen laughed. 'No. I saw you as the teenager I remembered at Edendale High. I would barely have recognized you if it hadn't been for the photograph in the paper the other week.'

‘But you said I hadn't changed much,' he protested. 'It's what you say, isn't it?' Helen studied him. 'Yes, I suppose at first it didn't occur to me you were the police, Ben. I just remembered you as you were.’

Cooper smiled. 'It brought memories back for me, too,' he said.

The post van coasted past them and pulled into the kerb in front of the Fiesta. The postman emerged in a burst of Abba and stared at them curiously as he passed. But he had no letters to deliver to Dial Cottage.

Helen wound down the windows of her car, trying to let out the stifling air. Cooper straightened, sensing he would be unable to keep her any longer.

‘So aren't you a policeman all the time, then?' she said.

‘What are you like when you're just being Ben Cooper?’

‘You'll have to find out one day, won't you?’

‘Maybe I will.’

Helen turned away and walked back to the door of Dial Cottage. Cooper watched her red hair swinging on her bare shoulders and admired the movement of her calves. He met her eyes hastily when she glanced over her shoulder as she pushed open the door.

‘Grandma! You've got a visitor,' she called.

Gwen appeared in the passage, her face lighting up at the sight of Ben Cooper standing next to Helen. She was wearing an apron, and her hands, which she was trying to wipe on a towel as she came to the door, were covered in flour. She patted Cooper's arm.

‘Come in, and I'll put the kettle on again. Won't you stay for a bit, Helen?'

‘Sorry, must go.’

Gwen stood on the step waving and smiling conspiratorially at Helen as she walked to her car. Cooper waited hopefully while Helen started the engine and fastened her seat belt. He was rewarded with a quick glance and a flash of her smile. The warmth that spread over his skin was due to more than the sun and the hot pavements.

He was roused by Gwen Dickinson tugging his arm. Are you coming in then, or are you going to stand out here gawping all day?’

Cooper was embarrassed by her knowing twinkle and tried to slip back into his professional role. 'Is your husband not at home, Mrs Dickinson?'

‘No, he's not in,' she said. 'He'll be up at Wilford Cutts's place, if you want him. He's always there, or at the pub.'

‘Perhaps I could have a few words with you, since I'm here.’

As long as you sit down for a bit and have a cup of tea.’

Cooper followed her into the kitchen, feeling again the coolness of the cottage, with its thick stone walls to keep out the heat. On Monday, he had thought the chill was partly due to the circumstances, the sensation he had had of the close presence of death. But even today the inside temperature was enough to make him shiver as he left the sun behind.

Gwen Dickinson boiled the electric kettle and heated a teapot. She opened a cupboard and emptied half a packet of digestive biscuits on to a plate.

‘I'm sorry they're not chocolate ones,' she said. 'Young men like chocolate biscuits.'

‘That's all right.'

‘Is Harry in trouble?' she asked, turning to Cooper and looking him directly in the face.

Cooper shook his head. 'He's an important witness,' he said.

‘Because he found the shoe.'

‘The trainer, yes. But we have reason to think he may also have been on the Baulk at the time that Laura Vernon was killed.’

Gwen stared at him, clutching the plate of biscuits. The kettle boiled unnoticed behind her, releasing a cloud of steam around her head, until it switched itself off.

‘What does that mean?'

‘He might have seen something,' explained Cooper. 'Or someone.'

‘Oh, I see.’

She gazed absently at the kettle and at the plate in her hand. She put the biscuits down, switched the kettle back on, poured the boiling water into the teapot and picked the plate back up.

‘Won't you sit down?' she said. 'Take one of the armchairs.'

‘Let me carry the tray,' said Cooper, noticing the unsteadiness of her hands.

‘Has somebody said they saw him?' asked Gwen, when they were seated opposite each other on either side of a small glass-topped coffee table. 'Did they see Harry?'

‘Yes. At least, we think it might have been Harry. On the Baulk.'

‘But he goes there every day,' she said, looking more comfortable. 'To walk Jess. Every day.'

‘Does he go at regular times? That's normal for a responsible dog owner, isn't it? A regular routine.’

‘Yes, regular. Nine o'clock in the morning, after his breakfast, and six o'clock at night.'

‘He doesn't vary?'

‘Regular.'

‘And on Saturday night?'

‘The same. Six o'clock. He sits down for his meal when he comes back. He says it gives him an appetite.' Cooper nodded, waiting while Gwen poured his tea. Her legs below the hem of her dress looked painfully swollen, and the lower sleeves of her blue cardigan were stuffed with bits of tissue, ready for the next onset of tears.

‘Did your husband mention seeing anybody when he was out that night?'

‘Do you mean the Mount girl?'

‘Not necessarily. Anybody.'

‘No,' said Gwen. 'He never said anything like that.' She paused for a moment, and offered Cooper a biscuit. 'You don't know Harry very well, do you?'

‘No, I've only met him briefly.'

‘Well, you see, he wouldn't say if he had, anyway. He's like that.'

‘He wouldn't tell you if he met somebody while he was walking the dog?'

‘No, he wouldn't see any reason to.'

‘But since then? Since he's known that Laura Vernon was killed down there? If he remembered seeing somebody, might he not mention it?'

‘Not to me,' said Gwen simply.

‘I see. Did your husband go out again later, Mrs Dickinson? After his meal?'

‘He usually goes down to the Drover,' she said. 'And that night, did he go out as usual?'

‘Yes, I'm sure.'

‘What time would that be?'

‘I can't remember,' said Gwen.

‘After seven o'clock?'

‘Oh yes, he wouldn't have finished his tea before that.'

‘After eight o'clock then?'

‘I can't really say. It might have been.’

Cooper heard the aggressive tone in his own voice and hesitated, seeing Gwen begin to tremble. He felt sorry for her and didn't want to increase her distress. She was only one of those innocent people who got caught up in something they didn't understand. He thought of his own mother, for whom things had got too much. He didn't want to be even partly responsible for pushing someone else towards the edge.

‘Just a few more questions, Mrs Dickinson, then I'll leave you in peace. I know it must be difficult for you.'

‘It's all right,' she said. 'Those other men frightened me, but I don't mind if it's you.’

He smiled, touched by the old woman's faith, but not sure whether he could live up to it.

‘I wonder whether Mr Dickinson would have taken his dog with him when he went out the second time? When he went to the pub?'

‘Jess? Oh yes, he doesn't go anywhere without her.’

Gwen took a deep breath. 'Are they saying he met the Mount girl down there?’

He was surprised at the question, and wondered why it had come into Gwen Dickinson's mind. He deliberately avoided an answer.

‘You keep calling her the Mount girl, Mrs Dickinson. But her name's Vernon.'

‘Yes, I know that. The Mount is where she lives, isn't it?’

She nodded her head towards the window. But all that could be seen was the garden, the edge of the trees, and the sunlit hillside beyond.

‘Do you know Mr and. Mrs Vernon, then?'

‘They're comers-in.'

‘Is that yes or no?’

Gwen threw out her hands. Cooper knew the meaning of that gesture. It indicated that you could never really know corners-in, not in the proper sense. You might say hello to them in the street or in the shop, let them buy you a drink at the pub, or even share a pew with them at St Edwin's these days. But you wouldn't ever know them – not like you knew the people who had always lived in the village, whose parents and grandparents and great-grandparents you knew, and whose grandparents had known your great-grandparents. Many of them might well have been first or second cousins to each other. Those were the people you knew.

‘We were never introduced,' said Gwen. 'They weren't known round here. Not really.' She peered anxiously at him to be sure he understood. 'Of course.’

Yes, you only really knew people when you knew everything about them. You needed to know it all —from the exact moment they had been conceived in the long grass at the back of the village hall to the first word they had spoken, and the contents of their fifth-form school reports. You needed to know what size of shoes they wore, how much money they owed the credit card company, when their last bout of chickenpox had been, and which foot had the ingrowing toenail. You had to know who their first sexual encounter had been with, what brand of condom they had used, and whether the experience had been satisfactory. Now that was knowing somebody.

‘But I have seen them,' admitted Gwen. 'The Mount lot.'

‘What about the girl? Laura?'

‘She never went to school in the village – she was already too old when they came. She didn't even go to the big school in Edendale. Private, she was. That place out at Wardworth, what do they call it?'

‘High Carrs.'

‘That's right. They always took her out by car every morning and back in the afternoon. At weekends they were always away out somewhere, shopping in Sheffield and the like. Riding lessons and I don't know what. She never had anything to do with any of the other girls in the village, nor any of the boys either, though plenty would have liked to know her better, I don't doubt. They kept her shut up in that place, or well away from here. So she was never really part of the village then, was she? Not her, nor that brother of hers either. They couldn't be, not like that.’

And how well do you think your husband knew Laura?’

Gwen flared up suddenly, her lip lifting to reveal her false teeth in something that was almost a snarl. Cooper bit off too large a piece of biscuit and nearly choked.

Are you sure you've been listening?'

‘Of course I have.'

‘Didn't I say he never tells me anything? How would I know if he knew her? She's never been here, she's never been to the cottage. So how would I know?'

‘I'm sorry,' he said, and meant it. 'I'll have to ask him myself, of course.'

‘You think he'll tell you anything?'

‘It's in his own interests. It won't help to be uncooperative with us.'

‘Try telling him that. I wish you luck with it.’

She relaxed into her chair, calming down again as quickly as she had flared. She looked up at him coyly, as if ashamed at her show of temper.

‘I heard he had a bit of a disagreement with my bosses,' said Cooper, probing gently at something that was intriguing him.

And thought he was very clever doing it,' Gwen said. She sighed and put down her cup half drunk. 'He always was contrary. A stubborn man. Ever since I've known him, he's been like that. When I was a girl, it was one of the things I liked about him. I thought it was a man's pride then. Now . . . Well, like I say, he's stubborn. Aright awkward old bugger, Harry Dickinson. Everybody knows that.’

From the way the old woman spoke, it seemed to Cooper that it was the stubbornness that was still, really, the thing that she liked most about Harry. Now that the physical attraction had gone and the romance had long since settled into a numb familiarity, there was still a quality in her husband that could make her voice soften and her pale eyes shift out of focus, as if she were looking beyond the walls of the cottage to the shadows of a happier past. Their marriage might not be happy, but surely something else had taken the place of happiness – a sort of stability, a necessary balance. The old couple were like two of those ancient rocks propped against each other on Raven's Side – jagged and weathered, their hard surfaces gouging into each other, but worn to each other's shape by the years. But if one of those rocks should crumble, there was no future for the other.

‘Of course, he thinks more of those pals of his than he does of me, these days,' said Gwen. 'Sam Beeley and Wilford Cutts.'

‘I'm sure that's not true,' said Cooper.

‘That's what Helen says as well. But I'm not sure. Not at all.'

‘He's known them a long time, hasn't he?'

‘For ever. From when they were young lads together. Before he met me. When you get married, you think you'll be the most important thing in the other person's life. But Harry never let me come between him and his pals.’

For a moment, Gwen's voice hardened again, her eyes focused on Cooper as if he had reminded her of the present.

‘They worked together, you know, in the mines,' she said. 'And they joined up together. They were young men then. Served in the same regiment and came back from the war closer than ever. Then they went back to the mines – but the war had killed the lead mining like it killed all those men. It was the other things that they mined by then, not the lead.'

‘Fluorspar and limestone.’

Lead had been mined in the area since Roman times. Cooper knew that it was still produced in the last remaining local mines, but only as a by-product to the other minerals that were demanded by modern industries. Limestone aggregate dug out of the mines and quarries in the area found its way into everything from aspirin to tile adhesive, from washing powder to concrete. And there were other things too – barytes, zinc blende and calcite; and the unique ornamental fluorspar they called Blue John Stone. The supply of minerals beneath the Peak District seemed endless. But nobody wanted the lead any more.

‘They must have been retired a few years now.'

‘Oh yes. But it hasn't stopped them spending all their time together. Sam Beeley's wife only died a couple of years back, but Wilford Cutts now – his Doris has been gone a long time.'

‘Mrs Cutts is dead?'

‘Pneumonia it was, poor soul. Since Mrs Beeley died, they've been worse than ever, the three of them. Up at the smallholding all day, and in the Drover all night. It's obvious that I don't count at all.'

‘Men like a chance to be with other men, to talk about the things that don't interest women much.’

Gwen looked sharply at him, and he felt as though she was seeing straight through him.

‘Oh? And do you do much of that yourself, then, lad?'

‘Er...’

She waved a hand, sparing him a reply. 'Never mind. I can see what sort of lad you are.'

‘Mrs Dickinson, I do think your husband may know something he's not telling us.’

Gwen laughed suddenly. Her hands danced on the front of her green cardigan, blue veins shimmying beneath the skin like worms exposed to the light.

‘If he didn't, it'd be the first time in his life!' she said. 'I told you – he's the closest old bugger you ever met. And nobody knows better than me.'

‘Has he really never confided in you, Mrs Dickinson?'

‘Dafthead. That's what I'm telling you, isn't it? If you want to know who he tells things to, try them other two. They're the ones he spends all his time with. No use asking me what he knows, I'm the last one he'd tell.’

Cooper emptied his cup and dusted the crumbs off his fingers.

‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Dickinson.'

‘You won't mind the things I say, will you? I'm just a silly old woman sometimes.'

‘You've been very helpful.'

‘You're a nice lad. Will you come back again tomorrow? Come a bit earlier, when Helen's here. She's been talking about you, you know.’

Cooper hesitated. The invitation was tempting. There was a part of him that felt there was a chance here to introduce something pleasant into his life for a change. And he knew that chances, if not taken, had a habit of never coming round again. Then he thought of all the responsibilities that weighed on him. He was in the middle of a murder enquiry, for heaven's sake. Not to mention the crisis at home, and, above all, his mother in need of all the love and support he could give.

‘I'm sorry, I can't promise that. There's such a lot to do at the moment.'

‘I suppose so. But she'll be sorry not to see you.’

‘You think I might find your husband at Thorpe Farm?'

‘Sure to. Him and Jess went out hours ago.'

‘I'll pop up and see if I can find him, then. And don't worry – it's only routine.’

Gwen escorted him to the door of the cottage. Then she put her hand on his sleeve.

‘You can't make me give evidence against him, can you?' she asked.

‘Why would we want to do that, Mrs Dickinson?' She shook her head wearily. 'Oh, I know. It's only routine. I know.’

And Ben Cooper didn't know the answer to his question either.