The Corpse Bridge (11 page)

‘Ah, young Ben,' he said in surprise, when Cooper called him. There was a short pause, during which Cooper could almost hear the old clergyman mentally checking through his recollection of the stories he'd heard and making sure he'd got it right. ‘I was so, so sorry to hear about your loss…'

‘Thank you. It's in the past now.'

‘Of course.'

In fact, Latham had taken the trouble to write to Cooper at the time of Liz's death – a long handwritten letter that arrived at Bridge End Farm addressed to him, along with the more usual sympathy card. Cooper still had the letter, stored away in its envelope. He'd taken it out and read it a few times during those months on sick leave and alone at home in Welbeck Street. It was strange how much comfort you could glean from a few heartfelt paragraphs written by someone you respected, a man who'd played an important part in your life. They didn't need to share a religious belief for that to matter.

‘So you're keeping well, Ben?'

‘Yes, I'm fine.'

‘I'm very glad to hear it.'

Latham enquired about the rest of his family. Once he'd dug into his memories, they seemed to start flowing unstoppably, like a rusty tap being turned on. He not only remembered Matt and Claire, but he knew the name of Matt's wife Kate and recalled that they had two children.

‘Two girls, am I right? They must be, oh … I suppose they're almost grown up now. It's been such a long time.'

‘They're teenagers anyway,' said Cooper.

‘Ah. Well, perhaps not such a long time, then. It's difficult to keep track. And your Uncle John and the rest of the family?'

‘All fine.'

‘Good, good.'

Latham paused, possibly feeling that he'd achieved a success. He must be approaching eighty now. Cooper remembered him as being very active and fit, so he was pleased the old man's mental faculties seemed to be intact too. It encouraged him to ask the favour he wanted. The reaction was enthusiastic.

‘Oh, I'd be delighted,' said Latham.

‘Are you free today?'

‘Any time you like.'

‘I'll pick you up later,' said Cooper.

G
eoff and Sally Naden were sitting together in an interview room at West Street. Mr Naden had managed to tame the wild tufts of grey hair that had sprung from the sides of his head when Cooper saw him in the churchyard at Hartington. But his expression hadn't improved. He still looked just as angry.

His wife sat primly next to him, her arms folded and her knees pressed tightly together, as if she were afraid of touching anything. Perhaps she was frightened of being contaminated by the taint of crime that might be staining the table and seeping out of the walls. Cooper couldn't really blame her for that. He sometimes thought he could smell it himself.

‘Mr and Mrs Naden, thank you very much for coming in,' said Cooper, sitting down across the table from them. ‘We really appreciate your help. This is my colleague, Detective Constable Villiers.'

Carol nodded and smiled. Her smile always looked genuine and trustworthy. She could play the ‘good cop' role very well, if required.

‘We saw the appeal on the news,' said Mrs Naden. ‘It was asking for people to come forward. If they were in the area where … you know.'

‘Yes, that's correct.'

Her husband looked surprised and irritated that she seemed to have appointed herself spokesperson. There was a definite edginess between them. It dawned on Cooper that it might have been his wife that Mr Naden was thinking about yesterday, when he was wielding that rake so passionately.

‘We heard there had been an incident,' said Naden. ‘A body.'

‘You did the right thing,' said Cooper. ‘It could be very useful to us. But we'll try not to keep you too long. If you could just tell us in your own words what you saw or heard that night.'

‘Well, it was dark of course,' said Naden.

‘Ah yes,' asked Cooper. ‘Is it your usual practice to go for walks at night?'

‘It wasn't that late actually,' said Mrs Naden. ‘It was barely dark at all. Dusk, really.'

‘It's the quietest time,' put in her husband.

‘Anyway,' said Sally hurriedly, as if she thought he'd said the wrong thing, ‘we saw something, so we thought we'd better come in and tell you about it. Didn't we, Geoff?'

‘No, we
heard
something,' said Naden. ‘To be accurate.'

His wife pursed her lips. ‘I,' she said firmly, ‘I thought I
saw
something.'

Her husband sighed. ‘I'm afraid my wife has a bit of an overactive imagination, Detective Sergeant Cooper. She starts putting two and two together in her mind and gets five, then she convinces herself it's a scientifically proven fact. I'm sure you must know what women are like.'

‘Er…'

Cooper could sense Carol Villiers shift uncomfortably next to him, as if about to argue. But Villiers was no Diane Fry. She wouldn't let any animosity show. She knew when to hold her tongue and let people talk.

Mrs Naden's face was set into rigid lines, her mouth turned down at the corners. She looked sour and obstinate. It was probably her normal expression.

‘Perhaps we could just let you tell your stories one at a time,' suggested Cooper.

‘Certainly,' said Naden. ‘I'll go first, shall I?'

‘Well, that was the trouble, right from the start,' said his wife. ‘He insisted on going first, as always. He thinks he knows better than everyone else. But he's usually wrong.'

‘Rubbish,' said Naden, turning slightly pink. ‘If you'd just shut up for a few minutes—'

Cooper held up a hand. ‘We're not here to offer marriage guidance counselling,' he said. ‘So if you don't mind, could we stick to the subject?'

Now they both looked offended. But there was a limit to anyone's patience.

‘Well, we were just there, that's all,' said Naden sullenly.

Mrs Naden tapped her fingers on the table, then seemed to remember the risk of contamination and tucked her hands hastily into her lap.

‘And what did you hear, sir?'

‘A noise. You'll ask me to describe what kind of noise, of course.'

Cooper nodded expectantly.

‘Screaming, I suppose you might call it. But not, you know…'

‘What?'

‘Well, it didn't sound like someone being attacked, if you know what I mean.'

‘Mmm. Not exactly.'

‘Shrieking,' said Mrs Naden, ‘is what I would have called it. If I'd been asked.'

Cooper looked from one to the other. ‘Would you agree with that, Mr Naden?'

‘It might just have been high spirits,' he replied.

Sally Naden snorted derisively and her husband began to look angry again.

‘Anyway,' he said, ‘someone was definitely there. That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?'

Cooper turned to Mrs Naden. ‘And you say you might have seen something.'

‘I believe so. Just … something white, there in the trees.'

‘Something white? A person? Or a light, perhaps?'

‘I don't know. It could have been either.'

‘You're not certain, Mrs Naden?'

‘No,' she admitted reluctantly.

Geoff Naden tilted his head on one side and regarded Cooper seriously, as if about to pass judgement.

‘You see, we're all much better off when we just stick to the facts, aren't we?'

Mrs Naden coughed and glanced at Villiers' notebook.

‘Detective Sergeant,' she said tentatively, ‘you spoke to my husband yesterday in the churchyard at Hartington.'

‘Yes, Mrs Naden.'

‘Do we take it that the person who was killed … well, was it Sandra Blair?'

‘Actually, we're still waiting for a formal identification,' said Cooper.

She nodded. ‘I understand. We did wonder. We know her a bit, you see.'

‘From the tea rooms,' said Naden.

‘Yes, from the tea rooms,' agreed his wife.

Cooper smiled at them. It was quite satisfying to see the Nadens in agreement for the first time since they'd arrived at West Street.

C
ooper had barely managed to get back to his desk in the CID room after the Nadens left, when Carol Villiers took a phone call.

‘Ben, someone else is coming in,' she said. ‘Name of Jason Shaw.'

‘Another one in response to the appeals?'

‘It seems so.'

‘Amazing.'

Cooper had to admit he'd been wrong about the use of the official name by the press office for the location of the crime scene. At least three local people had recognised the name of Hollins Bridge, after all. And their response had been very prompt.

But it felt too good to be true. The Nadens' account seemed unreliable at best. Their story wasn't very convincing. He wondered if Mr Shaw would be the sort of person who put two and two together and got five.

B
ut, in fact, Jason Shaw was very matter of fact about it. There was no messing around with imaginative leaps or hesitation about what he might or might not have seen near the Corpse Bridge that Thursday night.

‘There was somebody running through the trees in white. Somebody else chasing her. One of them, I don't know which, shouted something, but I couldn't make out any words. And that was it.'

Shaw looked at Villiers as she wrote it down. When she'd finished the last word, he seemed to be about to get up and leave the interview room.

‘Her?' said Cooper.

‘You what?'

‘You said “her”. This figure in white was a woman, then?'

Shaw licked his lips as he considered how to answer. He was a different type to the Nadens certainly. He was one of those members of the public who thought they just had to make a statement, say what they wanted to say, and they would never be asked any questions.

‘Er … it could have been.'

‘You're not sure?'

‘I'm not totally sure,' he said. ‘It was just…'

‘An impression?'

‘Yes.'

Jason Shaw was about thirty years old, with a complexion darkened not by sunbathing but by a lot of time spent outdoors. He had a few days' growth of dark stubble and a silver stud in his left ear. His eyes were a bright blue, which was always a striking combination in someone so dark-haired. Shaw was dressed in blue jeans and a well-worn Harrington jacket, which smelled of something earthy that Cooper couldn't quite identify. Smells like that were always amplified in an interview room at West Street. It resulted from the fact that there was no air conditioning or ventilation, and no windows to open.

Over the years Cooper had experienced some interesting aromas from suspects during interviews. Often the individual himself didn't seem to be aware of the odour, until it was bounced back at him from these claustrophobic walls. It could work as a perfectly good interview technique. It made a suspect feel uncomfortable about himself, without resorting to tactics that might breach the procedures of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act.

‘But you're quite confident there were people in the trees,' said Cooper.

‘Right. That's it.'

‘What vehicle do you drive, sir?'

‘Why does that matter?'

‘In case someone saw it near the scene, then we can identify it as yours.'

Shaw nodded. ‘It's a Land Rover Defender. Blue.'

‘Thank you. And you say that at the time you were walking your dog on the trackway.'

‘It's a Border Collie,' said Shaw. ‘His name is Patch.'

Cooper exchanged glances with Villiers. Unlike Diane Fry, Carol knew what he was thinking. She was always on the same wavelength.

‘Mr Shaw, did you see anyone else on the track? Any other walkers?' asked Villiers.

‘Not a living soul.'

Cooper gazed into Shaw's blue eyes while he answered Villiers, but he saw not a flicker of amusement or deceit.

‘Do you know some people called Naden?' asked Villiers.

Cooper held his breath. That was a good question. He watched Shaw pause for a moment.

‘Naden? Naden … no, I don't think so. Should I?'

‘Perhaps not.'

There had been a slight hesitation there, though it might mean nothing. A lot of people had trouble remembering names. If they saw each other, it might be different. Maybe Cooper should have arranged an accidental face-to-face encounter before the Nadens left the station, and observed the reactions. But it was too late now.

‘Well, thank you for coming forward, Mr Shaw,' he said.

Shaw nodded. ‘I hope it was a help.'

Cooper saw him pause, as if he wanted to say more.

‘Is there any other detail you'd like to add, sir?'

‘No, but … I was wondering, has anyone else come in? After the appeals, I mean.'

‘We've had some other response,' said Cooper.

‘Good.'

Shaw stood and Villiers got up to show him out.

‘By the way, sir,' said Cooper before he reached the door. ‘Where do you work?'

‘Me?' said Shaw. ‘I work at Knowle Abbey.'

T
he scene at the Corpse Bridge was much quieter today. There was a marked police car blocking the entrance to the trackway and a scene guard further down, with a crime-scene examiner still working in a tent erected over the stretch of riverbank where Sandra Blair had been found.

But Cooper didn't want to go all the way down to the scene and nor did the Reverend Latham. The elderly clergyman was content to stop and rest on a bench halfway down the track, where they could see the river and the arch of the stone bridge below them, as well as the hills on the Staffordshire side of the Dove, and even a corner of Knowle Abbey behind a plantation of trees.

‘I think something was going on here,' said Cooper. ‘More than just a simple murder, if there is such a thing.'