The Corpse Bridge (29 page)

Cooper ran a hand through his hair, envisaging disaster. His initial witness, the person who found Sandra Blair's body, had slipped through his fingers. Worse, Rob Beresford might end up as the next of those bodies.

He heard a cough and found Wayne Abbott standing at his shoulder.

‘I thought you'd like to know straight away,' said Abbott. ‘Digital forensics have managed to retrieve some interesting images off Sandra Blair's computer. It looks as though she took them on her smartphone, then emailed them to herself.'

‘Great. Let's have a look.'

Abbott placed a laptop on his desk and flipped open the screen. A familiar image appeared, caught in a glare of sun.

‘As you can see, first we have some shots of the bridge,' said Abbott. ‘Taken in daylight, of course.'

‘The Corpse Bridge, taken from west and east banks of the river. It must have been a planning visit. They were well organised.'

‘Right. And here are some of the dummy, but taken indoors.'

‘That's Mrs Blair's sitting room,' said Cooper.

He was looking at a badly lit picture of the effigy of Earl Manby. It was sitting in one of the chintzy armchairs at Pilsbury Cottage with the African rug on the wall behind it.

‘Why would she take a photograph of it, do you think?'

‘She was very proud of her handiwork,' said Cooper.

Abbott nodded. ‘This will interest you most. Digital forensics managed to retrieve an image from a few months earlier. The quality isn't very good, but they've done their best to enhance this one. It might be important. It was taken in London, I think. Some kind of railway depot. Perhaps a repair yard or a sidings for old rolling stock.'

Cooper leaned forward eagerly. There they were in the photograph, all of them. Geoff Naden stood slightly in front, as if leading a guided walk, with Sally at his elbow. They were flanked by Rob Beresford, Jason Shaw and, lurking to one side, Sandra Blair herself.

The group were standing on a path with trees behind them. The background was fairly unremarkable and undistinguished, except for one thing. The most striking detail in the picture was a London Underground train on a track in a dip between the group and the belt of trees. The last carriage of another train could just be made out past Sandra Blair's head. It looked as if the train were drawn up in a sidings.

There was one more photo. It was of Sandra herself, standing on her own. The shot was taken by flash at night, so her skin was washed out and pale, her eyes flared red, her figure stood out in unnatural detail from her surroundings as if she were an illusion or phantom. In that instant of the flash going off, Sandra Blair already looked like a ghost.

‘What's the date stamp on this?' asked Cooper.

‘October thirty-first.'

‘The night she died.'

Cooper peered more closely. Though the colours weren't accurate, he could see Sandra was wearing the same clothes that her body had been found in, including the blue waterproof jacket and the walking boots. And he'd been right about the hat. It was woollen, with ear flaps and decorated in some kind of Scandinavian design. Sandra's dark hair peeped out of it over her forehead. She was holding something in her hand, close to her body. Cooper couldn't see what it was, but his bet was on a torch. That was missing from the scene too.

‘Can we zoom in a bit?' he said.

‘Sure.'

In the background he could make out the distinctive arched outline, only just visible but recognisable, even in the darkness. Its wet, moss-covered stones glittered eerily in the light of the flash. Sandra Blair was standing right in front of the Corpse Bridge, no more than a few feet from where she died.

Cooper asked Abbott to go back to the group shot again.

‘Yes, strange, isn't it?' said Abbott. ‘A couple of Tube trains. It must be in the London area somewhere. There are no Tube trains in Derbyshire.'

‘Where do you live, Wayne?' asked Cooper.

‘Me? In Sheffield.'

‘That explains it.'

Abbott stared at him in puzzlement. But Cooper was remembering what Poppy Mellor had said.
They walked all the old coffin roads
. Of course they did. And this was one of them.

‘No Tube trains in Derbyshire?' he said. ‘Actually, I think you'll find there are. Or at least, there were when this photograph was taken.'

D
C Luke Irvine had been sent to Bowden with Carol Villiers. They parked near the church and walked across to Jason Shaw's address.

Villiers had seen Shaw before, but it was the first time Irvine had set eyes on him. He was recorded as being in his early thirties. Irvine noted the dark stubble. He envied the silver ear stud – he would have one himself, if he could.

They'd found Shaw in a small backyard behind his cottage. It was paved and only large enough to contain a couple of wheelie bins and a dog run. A blue Land Rover Discovery was drawn up by the side wall.

The dog began barking before they went round the corner of the house, so Shaw knew someone was coming. He'd put down a bowl of dog food and some water in the run and was just closing the door. The dog was a collie cross of some kind. Irvine couldn't have been more accurate, though he was sure Ben Cooper would have known.

Shaw knew who they were straight away. He didn't seem at all surprised.

‘I thought you lot would be here before long,' he said.

They showed him their IDs anyway. The dog began barking again, but Shaw yelled at it and it cowered away from the fence.

‘You know why we've come, then,' said Villiers. ‘You didn't tell us the truth when you came in to make a statement in Edendale on Saturday morning.'

‘I didn't lie,' said Shaw. ‘I told you some of the truth. The part that mattered.'

‘Well, we don't agree with that attitude, sir. It all matters to us.'

Shaw wiped his hands on his jeans. ‘I don't see that it's relevant. I came forward like a good citizen when I heard the appeals. That's the end of it.'

‘Obviously we have to ask you about the protest group you're a member of. We need to know what was going on last Thursday night at the bridge.'

‘I honestly don't know what I can tell you about the group,' said Shaw.

‘You didn't tell us anything before.'

‘Okay, but – you've talked to some of the others already, haven't you? So you'll know all about it by now. More than I could tell you, anyway. I'm just a humble foot soldier. The others are the ones with the brains. They did all the talking and I just trailed along behind, if you get my meaning.'

‘So who sent the threatening letter to the Manbys and wrote graffiti on the wall of the chapel at Knowle Abbey?'

Shaw shrugged. ‘No idea,' he said. ‘I don't think that was ever part of the plan. Somebody taking a bit of individual action, by the sound of it. Graffiti? Ask Rob Beresford, that would be my suggestion. It sounds like his sort of trick.'

‘And what about Sandra Blair?'

He stalled for the first time and looked genuinely upset for a few moments. But the expression passed. ‘That was a real shame. She was okay, Sandra. I bet the others told you she was a nutcase. Well, she was a bit wacky in some ways, I suppose. But she meant well.'

‘You were with her that night at the bridge, weren't you?'

‘Only up to a point,' said Shaw.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, I had her stuff in my Land Rover – you know, the effigy thing and the other bits and pieces.'

‘A noose? A witch ball?'

‘I think that was it. I'd collected the stuff from her earlier in the week. Then that afternoon, when she finished work, she walked across from Crowdecote and I met her in Longnor, in front of the general stores. She wouldn't have got her own car anywhere near the bridge, you see. But with the Land Rover, I got right down to the last few yards, until the track was too broken up. I mean, she wouldn't have wanted to walk down to the bridge with those things. If anybody had seen her, that would definitely have looked weird.'

‘Then what did you do?'

‘I left her to it,' said Shaw.

‘You left her there on her own?'

‘Yes. Well, she was on her own when I drove back up the track. I had to get the Land Rover clear. If anybody saw it going down, they would just think I was another off-roader. But if it was parked by the bridge for a couple of hours, well – that looks suspicious.'

‘Who worked all this out?' asked Irvine.

Shaw laughed. ‘Not me, anyway. I just did what I was told.'

‘So why were you there on the track again later?'

‘Once I shifted the Land Rover, I was supposed to go back. That was the plan. We were going to get photos when it was all set up. The group standing round the noose. We'd have our faces covered by hoods and scarves. It was going to be like a terrorist video – you know, when they kidnap some tourist and put pictures on the internet standing round him with their Kalashnikovs. You know what I mean?'

‘Yes. But it didn't happen, did it?'

‘No,' said Shaw. ‘Well, I told you the rest, when I came in the first time. I don't know any more than that.'

‘You're saying you have no idea what happened to Sandra Blair at the bridge?'

‘Not a clue. Did … did someone do that to her? They killed her?'

‘Who do you think might have done that, Mr Shaw?'

‘I don't know.'

‘One of the group?'

‘Like who?'

‘You tell me.'

He shook his head slowly. ‘I honestly can't imagine. I mean, they didn't always see eye to eye. They argued sometimes. Particularly…'

‘Yes?'

‘Well, Sally Naden. She didn't think much of Sandra. I heard her say once that Sandra was a liability. But it wasn't serious. She would never kill her. Why would she do that? It doesn't make sense.'

‘It was your suggestion.'

‘I'm just trying to help.'

‘As it happens,' said Villiers, ‘the post-mortem examination suggests that Mrs Blair wasn't deliberately killed. She may just have had an accident.'

Shaw looked faintly relieved. ‘Well, even so – it's still a real shame.'

Irvine cast around for any questions that Villiers hadn't asked. As usual he found himself wondering what Ben Cooper would do or say. Something a bit unexpected, which might catch their interviewee.

‘You work here at Knowle Abbey, don't you, sir?' he said.

Shaw looked at him. ‘I'm on the estate staff. Gamekeeping mostly.'

‘Have you always worked on the estate?'

‘No. I used to have a job in Hartington. It was good work too. But that went belly up.'

Villiers frowned. But Irvine had picked up a thing or two while he was with Cooper.

‘Did you have a job at the cheese factory?' he said.

Shaw's entire attention was on him now and it made Irvine smile.

‘Yes, I was in the warehouse,' said Shaw. ‘I did a bit of forklift work too. You know what happened to the factory, then?'

‘Yes, of course,' said Irvine, feeling smug. ‘It was sold and you were all made redundant.'

Shaw scowled. ‘That's the truth. And it's the same story everywhere you go.'

T
he last time Cooper had been to Harpur Hill was for a match at Buxton Rugby Club's ground, which claimed to have the highest posts in the country. They often played in appalling weather conditions up here. But then, Buxton was notorious for its weather, ever since a cricket match was interrupted by snow in the middle of June.

The village itself lay between the outskirts of Buxton and the quarries off the A515. A large proportion of Harpur Hill had been occupied for years by the sprawling, derelict buildings of an old University of Derby campus, which had once been High Peak College. After a new campus was created from Buxton's former Devonshire Royal Hospital, the empty Harpur Hill buildings lay damaged and rotting, like a set of broken teeth, an incongruous lump of urban decay that split an ordinary village housing estate in half.

As Cooper passed through, he recalled that the site had attracted intruders, despite the security fencing. Thieves removed lead from the roofs and stripped out wiring. Once, a large pentagram had been found scratched into the floor of the refectory. Empty buildings were like a magnet for the curious and the opportunist.

DCs Becky Hurst and Gavin Murfin were in the car with him, the only officers available and willing to follow his instinct. He was lucky they hadn't already been appropriated for other assignments.

At least he seemed to have got Diane Fry out of his hair for the time being. Her attention was on the George Redfearn inquiry, like everyone else – though Cooper had a strong suspicion the results might lead her straight back to him before long.

‘So what's in Harpur Hill?' asked Hurst doubtfully as they slowed almost to a halt behind a tractor towing a trailer of manure.

‘Elf 'n' safety,' said Murfin. ‘The temple of our new God.'

‘Is it?' said Hurst. She twisted round to look at Murfin, who was slumped in the back seat. ‘I thought your God worked at the local pie shop.'

Cooper glanced in the rearview mirror. Murfin might well have a pie hidden somewhere in his pockets. He could smell the warm juice now, drifting through the car.

‘You're just a heathen,' said Murfin. ‘You wait until Judgment Day. Then we'll see who gets chosen.'

‘You're too heavy to float up to heaven,' said Hurst. ‘You'll sink the other way.'

Murfin sniffed and maintained a dignified silence for a few moments.

‘And the Blue Lagoon,' he said suddenly. ‘Am I right?'

‘The what?' asked Hurst.

‘Yes, you're right,' said Cooper.

Directly opposite the old university campus, the flooded Far Hill Quarry had also hit the headlines for a while. For years it had been known as the Blue Lagoon, because of its azure colour, which made it a popular place for swimming. It was also one of the most polluted stretches of water to be found anywhere in Derbyshire.