Текст книги "Black Dog"

Автор книги: Stephen Booth

Соавторы: Stephen Booth
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

26

‘It's only a dog,' said Fry.

Ben Cooper turned away. 'Well, maybe.'

‘What did he mean, Ben? What he said in the interview.'

‘He was just trying to wind you up, Diane. Take no notice of him.’

He regarded her with concern, worried that she seemed unduly disturbed by Harry Dickinson's jibe. He had been in the middle of a call to a motorist whose car had been stolen the previous night when Fry had stormed back into the CID room, anxious to talk about the interview. Cooper had barely had time to finish the call before she had been repeating the conversation word for word.

‘But it's only a dog.'

‘Let's go down to the canteen,' he said.

It was obvious there was something about the old man that was totally foreign to her. Cooper thought he could almost get on Harry's wavelength sometimes. Almost, but not quite. It was still not possible to predict what he might do next. But to Diane Fry, he seemed to be some kind of alien.

A few minutes later, they were sitting at a table on their own, clutching two mugs of coffee, ignoring the noise from a group of uniformed officers nearby.

‘They've had to release him, of course,' said Fry, calming as the caffeine reached her bloodstream. 'No charge.'

‘Go on, surprise me.'

‘By the time they got round to interviewing the alleged victim in the rape suite, she admitted she'd made the story up. She'd let her boyfriend go all the way without protection, and when it proved a bit disappointing she suddenly remembered things like pregnancy and AIDS. Not to mention irate parents.'

‘She panicked?'

‘Yes, inspired by half-digested sex-education lessons and a vivid imagination. And with all the stories that have been in the papers, the first thing that occurred to her was to shout rape.'

‘Not the first time that's happened.’

Fry shrugged. 'We all know there are more false rape allegations than there are actual rapes. The boyfriend's fifteen, by the way.'

‘But why did she claim it was Harry?’

Apparently the two of them had some sort of encounter in the village shop earlier in the day. Harry must have come out of it best, because she hadn't forgotten it. And she'd heard all the talk in the village, so she reckoned she'd be believed. Anyway, she said he was a miserable old bugger and he deserved anything that happened to him. Funny how their minds work sometimes.’

And what was it she said, exactly, when the PC found her?’

As I recall, her words were: "It was the old man."' Cooper nodded, not surprised. 'It was the old man.' He thought of the old lead miners' saying, their hushed stories about the spirit they called 't'owd mon', who lurked in the unlit shafts of the mines. 'The old man' was blamed for everything that went wrong in the mine, from unexplained sounds in the dark to unproductive veins and fatal accidents. But he was also its guardian, a collective spirit of long-dead miners and of the mine itself. What the girl had said was an echo of the myth. 'It was the old man, the old man.' An ancient mantra of superstition.

‘She'll be on the False or Persistent Rape Allegation file now. Silly little cow. They've sent her home too, with a "morning after" pill. A WPC went to talk to her parents. Let them sort her out, if they can.'

‘What about Harry?' asked Cooper.

‘What about him?'

‘Was he all right?'

‘Him? He'll be all right. Tough as old boots, if you ask me. And too proud by half as well. What are you worrying about him for?'

‘It's not a pleasant experience, being pulled in as a rape suspect.’

Fry shrugged. 'Tough.'

‘Did anybody explain it to Gwen?'

‘He can explain it himself, can't he?'

‘I don't think he will,' said Cooper thoughtfully. 'I don't think he'll be making any excuses.'

'Like I said, too damn proud.'

‘It's not just that. I think he wants as much attention as he can get. According to one of the team who went to pick him up, he seemed to be expecting them. He was waiting for them to arrive. He said: "It didn't take you long." Now why would he say that?’

Fry set down her coffee cup thoughtfully. 'You're thinking about your link, aren't you, Ben? Have you still got that diagram?'

‘Yes.’

He put the diagram on the table, straightening out the creases to show the connecting lines.

‘I drew it for Mr Tailby after we sent Dickinson back to his cell,' said Fry.

‘Did you? And?'

‘I told him what you said. That the old man would protect someone for the sake of the family. But who might that be? That's the question. And Mr Tailby agreed with you on that.’

Cooper waited tensely, watching her face.

‘But he definitely doesn't think it's Simeon Holmes,' she said.

He sighed, his shoulders slumped. 'That's what I was afraid of,' he said.

He finished his coffee, and contemplated going back to detecting car crime.

‘Diane, do me a favour, though?’

She nearly said 'another one', but held her tongue. 'What's that?'

‘Talk to the bird-watcher again.’

She sighed. 'You've got an obsession about him.’

Cooper found the words hard to say, but knew he had to say them. For some reason, it was important enough.

‘Please, Diane.’

*

The atmosphere at the Mount had passed through every mood and emotion that Graham Vernon could think of, with the exception of the good ones.

For several days, Charlotte had succeeded in working her way up towards a brittle pitch of nonchalance that had shattered dramatically after the visit by the woman detective the day before. Now there was barely a word or a response to be had from her. All day she had clutched to her chest the photograph of Laura which had finally been returned by the police.

As for Daniel, once the shouting was over, an uneasy peace seemed to have descended. This morning, Graham had even begun to feel that he and his son might actually understand each other a bit better after this business was done with. But when would it be done with?

‘What the hell are they doing now?' said Daniel. 'God knows,' said Graham. 'They don't tell me what they're thinking.’

They were missing the village gossip that Sheila Kelk would normally have been delighted to pass on to Charlotte. The only other person that might have known what had been happening was Andrew Milner – but there was no way Graham was going to ask his employee for information of that kind.

Father and son stood together by the French windows in begrudging unity. Graham was glad that Daniel had at least cleaned himself up. His hair had been washed, and somehow he had found fresh clothes in the house. Even the kitchen had been cleaned recently, and Graham was sure that Charlotte hadn't done it. He was surprised, really, that his son was still in the house. And he watched Daniel for clues to his reasoning, fearing another rebellious gesture he would fail to understand.

But Daniel was staring into the garden, his eyes following the methodical movements of the dark shapes in the conifers that grew by the bottom wall.

‘What are they looking for, Dad?'

‘I just don't know,' said Graham.

They watched the police team assemble for a few minutes on the lawn, brushing the soil off their knees as they discussed their next move. Then the officers dispersed again. They pulled on their gloves and approached the densely planted bushes on the eastern border of the property, gradually getting nearer the gate that led on to the Baulk. And they started looking again.

That afternoon, Cooper left Edendale to visit a family from East Anglia who were holidaying in a cottage near Bakewell. Their Mitsubishi had been taken from the roadside near one of the show caves at Castleton, full of the usual items – a camera, binoculars, mobile phone, a wallet and cheque book locked in the glove compartment. They were fortunate that their insurance allowed them to get a hire car to finish their holiday, but he had a feeling they wouldn't be coming back to Derbyshire again. However, one of the family thought they might have caught a glimpse of the thieves near their car as they had headed for the cave. It was a very small clue in a hopeless task.

From Bakewell, he drove up the A6 as far as Ashford in-the-Water. There were clumps and wisps of yellow straw lying all along the roadside, swirling in the blasts of air from passing traffic and settling to the ground again like broken shreds of sunlight.

The schools were still on holiday for another week, and the main roads throughout the Peak District were choked with cars and caravans. If the hot weather held a bit longer, the tourist honey pots would be at a standstill again at the weekend, with thousands of people sweltering in narrow, gridlocked lanes surrounded by the stench of exhaust fumes and hot tarmac.

In Ashford, the streets were lined with cars and the bridge over the weir was packed with people watching the ducks paddling in the shallow water or the families picnicking on the grassy banks. There was a small car park behind the church in the middle of the village, but it was overlooked by houses and relatively safe. Cooper drove on.

Through Ashford a road ran up to Monsal Head, where the spectacular view of the old railway viaduct crossing the wooded valley of the Wye attracted many motorists to stop. The railway line here had long since been dismantled and was now used as a footpath. Across the other side of Monsal Dale was the parish of Brushfield and a plateau scattered with more of the hundreds of disused mine shafts that littered the landscape. He was deep in White Peak country here, a land of glittering streams and green pastures, where narrow side-valleys had elbowed their way through the prehistoric fossil sea bed to form craggy gorges.

Northwards from Monsal Head he passed opencast limestone workings and turned right towards Foolow and Eyam. After a call at a disused quarry that was used as an unofficial car park for walkers following the Limestone Way, Cooper found himself crossing Eyam Edge and arriving, as he knew he must, on the road into Moorhay.

He parked the Toyota at the Old Mill at Quith Holes, persuading himself that this meant he was still pursuing his routine enquiries into car crime at local tourist spots. There were plenty of other cars at the Old Mill, and several families were seated at the tables set out on the grass. A cluster of cottages were set behind the mill on a narrow road protected by 'private' no entry signs.

Cooper crossed a small stone bridge near the original ford and took the path that skirted Raven's Side, wincing at the bruises on his legs and back but glad of the opportunity to loosen up his limbs. He had to consult his OS map, because he hadn't approached the path from this direction before. But by following his instinct and steering slightly downhill, he soon reached the area where he had walked to with Harry Dickinson four days previously.

Once again, he left the path and crossed the tumble of boulders to the spot at the top of the slope above the stream. There was no sign of the crime scene now, except for a wide, bare patch where the undergrowth had been cut down to the ground and removed to the forensic laboratory.

He peered down on to the stream below. He knew there was nothing he could see that wouldn't already have been found and identified by the SOCOs. But sometimes he did get feelings that he couldn't account for. He didn't talk about these feelings much at E Division. He couldn't afford to be considered an eccentric. In the police service, you had to fit in; you had to be a team player and follow the rule book. Now, though, he was hoping that some feeling, some small insight, might just strike him at the place where the body of Laura Vernon had been found. Somewhere at the back of his thoughts, indistinct and deadened by the remains of his hangover, was an idea that had been suggested to him sometime last night. Something to do with dogs. Or was it pigs? Cooper found his mind filled with a vivid image. He saw a sharp, black muzzle filled with white teeth that snapped and tore at pale, dead flesh. Behind the fangs were jaws dripping with saliva and a pink tongue that curled and twisted and rolled out a rumbling growl from deep in a fur-covered throat. Fierce red eyes stared madly as the teeth bit and pierced. The white skin darkened and punctured, but there was no blood. He saw the dog finally letting go of its victim and looking up at the dark, contorted shapes of the Witches as it began to howl, its dirt-encrusted claws scrabbling in the earth with frustration. The black dog had come for a soul, and had been thwarted.

But that wasn't it. Cooper shook his head to clear the image. He knew the black dog was his own. He had carried it around in his mind since childhood, and it was him that it had come to claim, not Laura Vernon.

After several minutes, he was forced to give up and move on, with no great inspirations. He walked back to the path and looked up the hill. He ought to go back to Quith Holes now – back to the car and his routine enquiries. He was off the Vernon case.

But instead he turned and began to walk up the path towards Moorhay, his muscles protesting and the bruises on his ribs throbbing. Out of the trees, the sun beat on his back and neck, and he began to feel a bit light-headed. This was no way to restore himself as a candidate for a sergeant's job. But something had happened out here on the Baulk. Who had Laura Vernon met here? Had she met him by design or accident? Had she been followed, or had she walked down this path with someone she had spoken to behind the garden at the Mount? The final results of forensic tests might reveal some of that information. So far they had at least established that the bite mark on the victim's thigh had been the work of canine teeth. A dog, possibly. But it could just as easily have been a fox, coming across the dead body as it lay in the undergrowth attracting maggots. But would forensics reveal the identity of the killer? Cooper didn't think so.

When he got to within a hundred yards of Dial Cottage, he almost bumped into Harry Dickinson, who was standing under a tree in the shade, with his dog at his feet. He stared wordlessly at Cooper, like a man interrupted in his own sitting room.

‘Oh, you.’

Aye, me. Like a bad penny.'

‘Not your usual time for walking the dog, is it, Mr Dickinson?'

‘I needed to get the taste of your police station out of my mouth, lad.'

‘So where have you been?'

‘Minding my own business.’

Cooper was hot and sore, and felt himself starting to get angry. But Harry only tilted his head, revealing his unfathomable eyes.

Are you going to arrest me again? There are no young lasses in these woods, you know – not at this time of day.'

‘I don't think it's a subject to joke about, Mr Dickinson. Do you?’

Aye, maybe you're right, lad. Maybe I've had enough enjoyment for one day.’

The hint of bitterness in the old man's voice made Cooper's ears prick up. Evidence of emotion was rare enough from Harry. There was an air of finality in his words too, a feeling of something coming towards an end. He'd had enough – but enough of what?

‘They had Jess in a cage at that police station,' said Harry. 'Shut up in a cage with a lot of mongrels and strays. What has she ever done wrong to anybody? Tell me that.’

Cooper felt a strange sensation coming over him, a powerful physical surge that sent a shiver of excitement up his spine. His eyes were drawn down to the ground, where Jess, the black Labrador, was lying on the grass at Harry's feet. Her lolling pink tongue was the only splash of colour in a tangle of black fur.

‘Right,' he said, catching his breath. 'Yes, that's right.' Harry looked at him sharply, suddenly suspicious at the silence. Cooper shook himself and stared back at the old man, beginning to smile for the first time in days.

*

Gwen Dickinson saw Ben Cooper coming up the path. She had been watching for Harry from the kitchen window. Her face was drawn, and her eyes were red from lack of sleep and too many tears.

Cooper remembered that she, too, had been questioned in an interview room at Edendale, to be informed that her husband was a suspected rapist. Suddenly, he felt sick at the thought of what was done to people like Gwen – innocent people who happened merely to find themselves on the sidelines of a major enquiry as unwilling witnesses, possessors of some snippet of information the police were determined to get hold of, while the foundations of their lives were being pulled apart in front of their eyes. For Gwen, he knew, life with Harry would never be the same.

‘What did he say?' asked Gwen, when he reached the back door of the cottage. She clutched at his sleeve as if expecting him to put everything right. 'I saw you speak to Harry.'

‘He didn't say anything. I'm sorry.’

Cooper didn't know what he was apologizing for. But he knew he had disappointed Gwen by the way her face fell and she turned to go back inside, shuffling her feet in a pair of old slippers decorated with pink roses.

‘Come in. Helen's here.'

‘Oh no, it's all right. I don't want to intrude.’

He began to back away, out into the sunlight. But Helen herself appeared in the kitchen at the sound of his voice. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and had a polishing cloth in her hand. Her red hair was tied back in a ribbon.

‘Come in, Ben. Don't stay out there, please.'

‘Helen's been doing a bit of cleaning for me,' said Gwen. 'I can't seem to be bothered with it any more.' As the old woman shuffled through into the sitting room and settled herself with a sigh into an armchair, Helen turned troubled eyes on Cooper.

‘None of this was because of me, you know,' he said.

‘I know. I'm sorry, Ben.'

‘I'm off the enquiry anyway. They don't need me now.’

Helen laid a hand on his arm, sensing his pain. 'I'm really worried about Granddad now. I think he's planning something. That's why he's kept out of the way ever since he came back from the police station. Because he's worried I might be able to tell what he's thinking; he knows that I can understand him. We're too close, you see. I think that's the reason he's been behaving so strangely. He's trying to keep me and Grandma at arm's-length, so we can't guess what he's up to. But he's certainly up to something. Can you help us, Ben?'

‘Hasn't he said anything to you at all?'

‘There was just one thing he said, when he first came back. It worried me even more. He said, "It was meant for Vernon."‘

The sound of the phone was loud and jarring in the little cottage. Gwen jumped with alarm, but stayed in her chair, gripping the arms, her eyes turning pleadingly towards Helen. Her granddaughter went to answer it, and Cooper watched Helen's face change as she listened, turning pale under her tan. It was obvious there was more bad news.

Helen turned slowly back to Gwen and Cooper as she replaced the phone. But she couldn't meet Cooper's eyes. 'That was Mum,' she said. 'The police have been and taken Dad in for questioning.’

*

DCI Tailby smiled wolfishly at Andrew Milner, noting the nervousness in his posture and his gestures and the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. A cup of tea stood going cold on the interview room table in front of him, untouched and beginning to form a scum on its muddy surface.

‘Mr Milner, your daughter Helen has told us about the parties at the Mount.'

‘Oh,' said Andrew, his face crumpling immediately. 'She has described an incident with Graham Vernon. Your boss, Mr Milner.'

‘Yes.'

‘You know all about that incident, don't you? I refer to the occasion when Mr Vernon lured your daughter to one of the bedrooms. From the description, it might well be considered an attempted rape.'

‘Yes, Helen told me. She was very upset.’

And how did you react when you heard about it, Mr Milner?'

‘Naturally, I was shocked and angry. I've always had a good relationship with Graham. I knew he had those parties, of course. Him and Charlotte. They got something out of them, that I could never hope to understand. Different lives, Chief Inspector. Different from mine, anyway.'

‘You knew what these parties were like? But you didn't stop Helen going when she was invited?’

‘Stop her? How could I?' Andrew spread his hands, appealing for sense. 'She's an adult. She takes no notice of me.'

‘You didn't even warn her?'

‘Well, I hoped that everything would be all right. I didn't expect Graham would try . . . something like that . . . with Helen, with my daughter. I thought it would be all right, you see. In any case, she wanted to go. I couldn't have stopped her. I thought it would be all right.'

‘But it wasn't all right.’

He slumped. 'No.'

‘Did you speak to Mr Vernon about it afterwards?’

‘Yes, I did.'

‘What did you say?'

‘Well . . . that I was upset about what Helen had told me. That she had complained he had assaulted her. Sexually, you know.’

And his response?’

Andrew twisted his hands, appealing to Tailby with his eyes for sympathy. He was reliving the moment, just as Tailby wanted him to do. In the end, Andrew sighed deeply and sagged a little further into his chair. 'He just laughed at me,' he said.

‘He thought assaulting your daughter was a joke?' Andrew nodded. 'Apparently. He said those sort of games were expected at their parties. "Games", he called it. And then he said something like: "Never mind, she's a big girl now". I didn't know what to say or what to do. I felt so stupid. He made me feel as though I was the one who didn't know how to behave properly. He can always make me feel like that.'

‘Some fathers would have known exactly what to do,' commented Hitchens.

‘I suppose I'm not that sort of father. Not that sort of a man. I have never seen violence as an answer.’

‘Violence. Ah yes. Was that what I meant?'

‘Wasn't it?' asked Andrew, surprised. He looked confused now and somehow accusing, as if the detective had pulled a trick on him.

‘And, of course, Mr Vernon is probably three or four inches taller than you, a stone or two heavier, younger and fitter. It was better to show discretion, in the circumstances. Very wise.’

Andrew inclined his head, accepting the point without objection.

‘You could have reported it to us. You could have resigned,' said Tailby. 'Yet to choose to go on working for this man ..'

‘Chief Inspector, I can't afford to throw away my job. There are too few for a man of my age and background. I've got a wife, a mortgage. Things have gone badly for me in the past. I can't have it happen to me again. I need that job at Vernon's. Resign? No.’

Tailby eyed the man, suppressing a surge of pity, keeping his face impassive. 'Let me ask you about Mrs Charlotte Vernon, then.'

‘Charlotte?'

‘Mrs Vernon has named you as one of her lovers.' Andrew's mouth dropped open, and he shook his head vehemently. 'Oh no.’

Are you saying she's lying?'

‘I was never that.'

‘Never? Why would she lie about it, Mr Milner?’

‘I don't know.'

‘But you had been to one of the Vernons' parties yourself, hadn't you?'

‘Well, yes. But I wouldn't take part in . . . anything like that.’

Tailby was silent for a few moments. Andrew Milner hung his head, waiting for the next question with the air of a man expecting the inevitable.

‘Where were you on Saturday night, Mr Milner?' Andrew looked puzzled. 'I gave a statement days ago,' he said defensively.

Ah yes.' Tailby consulted his notes. 'You had been to a meeting with some clients in Leeds. A bit unusual on a Saturday?'

‘Not at all. We've been very busy. If the clients work on a Saturday, then we do too.’

And you state that you were tired and stopped for a rest on the way home.’

At Woolley Services on the Ml. I'd had a long day. I dozed for the best part of an hour, I think. It's not safe to drive when you're tired.'

‘Of course. And you state that you were then held up in traffic on the Ml.’

And getting through Sheffield from the motorway, yes. There had been an accident somewhere, I think. And the usual roadworks, you know.’

Tailby slapped the file with his hand. 'Of course there were roadworks. There always are roadworks. The rest of it is quite impossible to substantiate.'

‘I can't help that.'

‘So,' said the DO, 'let's go back to your relationship with Mr Vernon, then. You can't afford to resign, and you can't afford to upset the boss too much. Is that it? So you just grin and bear it when the man assaults your daughter. You accept the humiliation.'

‘I'm afraid that's what I did.’

Tailby stood up. He towered over Andrew Milner, and Andrew cringed as the detective's expression changed to anger.

‘No, I don't think so, Mr Milner. I don't think you did just accept it, did you?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I think that the humiliation rankled. I think it ate , away inside you – the anger and the humiliation, the self-disgust. The shame that you hadn't been man enough to respond in the way that so many fathers would. You already hated Graham Vernon for his condescension, for the way he treated you like a servant. But now your hatred festered and you wanted to strike back. I think you saw a way of doing that in what must have seemed the most appropriate manner – through his own daughter. Revenge – wasn't that it, Mr Milner? Vengeance for your humiliation, for Helen's ordeal and your own impotence. Tit for tat. Laura Vernon was an obvious target of your anger.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I think you do. Where did you really go on Saturday night, Mr Milner?’

The silence grew, with Tailby leaning down towards Andrew, glaring at him as he waited for an answer. The tapes whirred uninterrupted, waiting for the next person to speak. Andrew Milner did nothing for a long time. Then his face seemed to convulse and collapse. His hands clutched at each other, and tears began to ooze down his cheeks.