Dancing With the Virgins

35

Despite the appeals in the paper and on TV, the youth, Gary Dawson, had been pushed into coming forward by his mum. Only a second dead body had made a difference to the potential excitement of being a witness. As a result, Gary’s evidence had been almost too late.

‘Did you know we were looking into the death of Mr Warren Leach?’ Ben Cooper asked him.

‘I heard. Did himself in, didn’t he?’

‘You worked for him.’

‘Used to. I walked out. I told him I wouldn’t stand for it any more. He got to be such a foul-arsed bugger. But I told him. “I don’t need to put up with this hassle and abuse all the time,” I said. “I can soon get a job somewhere else.”’

Gary was wearing a red woollen cap, even indoors. He had protruding ears that he had made look even bigger by pulling his cap down over them.

‘And have you? Found another job?’

‘Well, not yet. There’s not much about.’

Cooper produced the photographs of the three women. ‘Did you ever see any of these three near the farm?’

Gary pointed immediately at the picture of Maggie Crew. ‘That’s the one Yvonne Leach found, isn’t it? Warren went on and on about that for days. I saw her picture in the paper.’

‘Were you there when Mrs Leach found this woman?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see her around the farm at all?’

‘Not around the farm, no.’

‘All right, Gary. What about the other two?’

He tipped his head on one side. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But that one, I think I saw her.’

‘Yes?’

‘She looked different from that picture, but I reckon it could have been her on the moor. Bird on a bike, is that right?’

‘Gary,’ said Cooper carefully, ‘what day was this?’

‘The day I walked out on Warren Leach. I wasn’t hanging around to hear him ranting at me any more, so I walked out. Usually he gave me a lift home when I finished work, but I didn’t wait for that. I walked back over the moor. I live at Pilhough, just the other side.’

‘What day, Gary? Please be exact.’

‘It was a Sunday,’ said Gary. ‘But not last Sunday.’

‘The one before?’

‘Yes, it must have been.’

‘And on your way back over Ringham Moor, you saw this woman?’

‘On a bike — it was her, all right. She gave me the evil eye, she did. She didn’t want someone like me hanging around. There was no one else up there that day — no one else at all, except her and the other woman.’

‘The other woman?’

‘The one that was waiting for her.’ Gary noticed the sudden silence and read the expression on Cooper’s face for the first time. ‘Well, she was going up there to meet someone, wasn’t she?’

‘Why do you say that, Gary?’

‘She had that look about her. Like she was expecting to see someone, only it wasn’t me. Do you know what I mean? In any case, I saw the other one a bit earlier. Up near the tower, she was.’

‘The other one? Gary? Which other one?’

‘That one, the one that Yvonne Leach found. I never saw her near the farm, but she was up near the tower that day. And you could see she was waiting. She was smoking cigarettes like there was no tomorrow.’

A herd of heifers was being sold in the cattle market. The mart men dodged and danced round them as they went through the ring. The heifers were being sent for breeding, to a suckler herd, where they would meet the bull for the first time. And the bull would be some giant Limousin or Charolais, weighing two tons and bulging with double layers of muscle so heavy and deep into his body that he could barely move, except to hoist himself into position for the thrust. It would come as a shock to them, these black and white virgins. Their white eyes showed they were already getting a suspicion of things that lay ahead.

From where they were parked, Diane Fry could see through the doors to the side of the auction ring, where farmers and buyers milled around, absorbed in their own conversations.

‘Keith Teasdale is inside,’ said DI Hitchens. ‘His vehicle has been located in the car park.’

‘When do we make a move?’

‘We want to do it as discreetly as possible.’

‘Wait for the auction to finish, then?’

‘Yes. We take it easy, keep an eye on them and let the crowd disperse. It’s too full of people in there at the moment.’

The radio crackled, and Fry answered it. ‘I think we might have a problem, sir,’ she said.

‘What’s up?’

‘DC Weenink reports a group of women gathering in the car park. Fifteen or twenty of them, he says.’

‘What the hell do they want?’

‘It looks like some kind of protest.’

As he entered the hospital ward, Ben Cooper nodded to the nurse at the desk, who smiled at him. She looked a nice girl, but tired and preoccupied, too busy to engage in social intercourse. But for the colour of her uniform, she could have been in the police service.

There were twelve beds in the ward. Some of the patients were old men, stirring restlessly or sitting up in their striped pyjamas, staring at the unexpected visitor. It was outside normal visiting hours and there was little to occupy them until the next meal arrived.

At first Cooper thought it might have been a mixed ward, one of those relics of the NHS. But then he remembered who he had come to see. Stride lay on his side, a slight figure too slender and too mannered in his pose to be at home among the old men. He was running his pale hand through his long hair, pushing a strand away from his face.

As Cooper came nearer, he saw that Stride’s eyes were distant and unfocused, like a man listening to a personal stereo or an audio tape of some absorbing thriller that had taken him away from the real world. But there were no headphones. Stride needed no artificial aids to distance himself from reality. That distancing must be a great talent.

‘Visiting time, Simon,’ he said.

The young man didn’t stir. ‘They call me Stride.’

There was a bottle of mineral water on the bedside cabinet and a glass. Stride seemed to be fascinated by the slow floating of the bubbles towards the surface.

Stride had told the police nothing so far — nothing useful either about the night he had been attacked, or about anyone he might have seen on Ringham Moor. But Cooper knew Stride spent more time on the moor than anyone else. He was there at night, too — to talk to the Virgins, according to Cal. Like Mark Roper, he probably saw more than was good for him.

But Stride’s vagueness was more than just an absence of memory which might be brought back by the right triggers, like Maggie Crew. What sort of unimaginable triggers would release Stride’s knowledge?

‘I wanted to tell you something,’ said Cooper. ‘There was a youth on the moor that day — the day that Jenny Weston was killed. His name was Gary and he’d been working for Warren Leach at Ringham Edge, but they had a row and he walked off. He saw Jenny reach the top of the path, and he says she went towards the Hammond Tower. It was very helpful that Gary came forward. Eventually.’

‘Yes?’

‘You didn’t come forward, though, Simon. You didn’t tell us anything. All that stuff about the Fiddler. What was the point?’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘This youth, he saw Jenny Weston. Who else do you think he might have seen?’

‘I could call for the nurse. You’re not good for my condition.’

‘I thought about you first. Were you there, Simon? And was your friend there too?’

Stride stayed on his side and stared straight ahead.

‘He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’ said Cooper.

‘Nobody ever accepted me for what I am. But Cal did.’

‘I understand,’ said Cooper. ‘But, Simon — did you see Jenny Weston?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘It was something you said once. You said: “I saw her face.” Simon, I think you saw her after she was dead.’

‘Oh.’

Stride shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his face pale.

‘Do you need more painkillers?’

‘No, don’t worry.’

‘It looks uncomfortable.’

‘Yeah. Will you tell me something?’

‘What?’

‘Is this what anal sex is like?’

Cooper blinked. Stride laughed at his expression, and his fingers went to his mouth. Men in the other beds turned to look at them. They were already curious about Stride.

‘No, you wouldn’t know, would you? Anyway, it’d have to be a bloke with a cock as big as a broom handle. Not many of those about.’

‘I’ll ask around a bit,’ said Cooper.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Stride. ‘For your own safety.’

‘Cool.’

Stride looked around for the mineral water. Cooper poured it for him and passed him the glass, to save the young man having to stretch too far.

‘Did you actually see her?’ he said.

Stride looked dreamy again. But if the painkillers were wearing off, he couldn’t blame the medication for his spiritual absence.

‘Did you?’ said Cooper. ‘Did you see her? Jenny Weston?’

But Stride didn’t answer.

‘Or was it the other woman you saw?’ said Cooper. ‘The one with the scars on her face?’

Finally, Stride stirred. ‘No, the first one. Jenny.’

‘You won’t be going very far, will you?’ said Cooper. ‘We’ll want a statement from you.’

‘I’ve already given one. I never saw them properly — it was too dark.’

‘Not about that, Simon. About the murder of Jenny Weston.’

Stride could be sharp enough when he wanted to be. Yet his eyes were closing, and he looked about to drift off to whatever place it was he went to.

‘I don’t know who killed her,’ said Stride. ‘There’s no point in asking me.’

‘Maybe not. But it was you that found the body first, at least,’ said Cooper. ‘Nobody else would have arranged her like that, in the stone circle. I have to tell you that Jenny was no virgin, Simon. And it wasn’t the Fiddler who made her dance. It was you.’

Stride closed his eyes tightly. His face was a ghastly white now, as pale as the underside of one of those obscene fungi that never saw the light.

‘But I don’t believe you killed her either,’ said Cooper. ‘Not you or Cal. Not in a million years. It was you that made Jenny dance, Simon. But you and I both know that it’s someone else who has been playing the tune.’

Diane Fry watched Todd Weenink make his way round the edge of the building, looking for their car. DI Hitchens rolled down the window to speak to him.

‘There’s not much we can do,’ said Hitchens, ‘if the women don’t seem to be committing any offence. They could just be here for the auction, like anybody else. They do let spectators in, apparently.’

‘But they’re not even trying to go inside,’ said Weenink. ‘The town centre PC has spoken to them, but they say they’re just looking at the animals.’

Fry leaned across. ‘What do you think their intentions are, sir?’

‘No idea,’ said Hitchens. ‘All we can do is keep an eye on them.’

‘They’re going to be in the way,’ said Weenink. ‘Do you want to call it off?’

‘Oh no,’ said Hitchens. ‘We can’t do that. We need an arrest.’

‘There is one thing,’ said Weenink. He looked at Diane Fry in the passenger seat. ‘One of the women is known to us.’

‘You recognized her?’

Fry felt a cold sensation. There was an awful inevitability about what Weenink was going to say. He was looking at her when he spoke again, not at the DI.

‘It’s that woman who was attacked the first time. The one who had her face cut.’

‘You mean Maggie,’ said Fry.

‘Yes, her,’ said Weenink. ‘Maggie Crew is with them.’

As Ben Cooper walked through the door of the CID room, the phone was already ringing. It was Cheshire Police at last.

‘Your people are back,’ said the DC in Wilmslow. ‘Mr and Mrs Daniels. They had booked a midweek flight to Ringway, so that was lucky. They’ve been to Hawaii, had a great time and they’ve got wonderful suntans. It makes me sick.’

‘When can they come to make an identification?’

‘They’re on their way. They’ll be with you in a couple of hours.’

‘Have they said anything?’

‘Mainly “Aloha” and “Book him, Danno.”’

The Cheshire DC sounded much too cheerful for Cooper’s liking. Policing must be very different in the affluent towns on the plains between the Pennines and Wales to make him so happy in his work.

‘What about their daughter? Did you ask them when they saw her last?’

‘Yes, but it was months ago. They’re upset about what’s happened to her, but not too surprised, it seems to me. They never expected her to come back home when she left. Rosalind said as much to them, in fact. She said she had things she wanted to do with her life, which didn’t involve them. She also said she was going off to find her real mother.’

Cooper frowned. He thought the DC was making another joke. ‘Sorry? What was that?’

‘She’s not the Daniels’ real daughter, apparently. They adopted Rosalind nineteen years ago. Brought her up as their own and all that. But they finally told her she was adopted when she came of age. And, far from showing any gratitude, she seemed to resent them for it, according to Mrs D. It seems Rosalind decided to opt out of the respectable life they had planned for her and got into bad company. She got involved in all sorts of causes, but animal rights was her latest big thing. She’d been in trouble a few times already for her part in some demos that went too far. Direct action, they call it. Trespass, criminal damage — you know the sort of thing. Like Mrs Daniels says herself, “Blood will out.” I thought that was rather an unfortunate turn of phrase myself.’

‘So Ros Daniels was looking for her real mother?’

‘That’s right. What do you think, mate? Do you reckon she ever found her? It would be something at least, before she got killed.’

The women had gathered in the corner of the cattle market car park. They huddled together in a tight circle of anoraks, bending towards each other conspiratorially, with glances towards the buildings behind them and at the PC waiting by the offices.

For a few minutes, Maggie Crew stood to one side, a little outside the circle, hesitating, as if unsure whether she was part of the group or not. But then the women parted and let her in, and immediately she was absorbed and became one of their number. Under the cover of coats and shoulder bags, there was a surreptitious glint of steel. And Maggie found herself in possession of a knife.

Diane Fry stood with Todd Weenink below the seating of the store ring, where they could see the group in the car park from the shadows. Fry took Maggie’s presence as a personal insult. It was as if the woman were taunting her.

‘It’s her, all right,’ she said.

‘You can’t make a mistake with a face like that,’ said Weenink.

‘What the hell is she up to?’

‘Is she a member of this animal rights group?’

‘Not that I know of. If she is, it’s another thing she never told me.’

‘Here comes Slasher, anyway,’ said Weenink. ‘The DI wants to do it now, before the women cause any complications. You know, like women do.’

Teasdale was herding a group of brown heifers from the outdoor pens towards the auction ring, swishing his stick from side to side as they clattered against the steel gates. Fry waited for Teasdale to look up. Then she saw him glance towards the women and see Maggie. He winced, half-closing his eyes at the sight of her scars, stared for a moment, then went back to his job. No recognition.

As Teasdale walked past them towards the ring, he twitched his stick against the haunches of a lumbering heifer. He grinned up at the police officers, showing a double gap in his teeth. Watching Fry, he gave the animal an extra slap between its back legs, and it broke into a frightened trot.

Fry looked at Maggie. She was frowning at the treatment of the animal, but showed no sign of recognizing Teasdale. DI Hitchens was already waiting for Fry near the ring, and she turned towards him to help make the arrest.

Ben Cooper ran down to the control room. He needed to get the information through to DI Hitchens and Diane Fry as soon as possible. There were too many coincidences stacking up. How was it that Daniels had been killed at about the same time and in the same place that Maggie had been injured? And Jenny Weston, whom Daniels had lived with for a short while? Was it really Maggie who had been waiting to meet Jenny on the moor?

Before he could do anything, Cooper became aware that the control room sergeant was already taking an urgent call from Edendale cattle market.

Suddenly, the group of women had begun to surge forward. They surrounded a cattle transporter in which two large dogs were occupying the cab — an Alsatian and a Rottweiler. The dogs began to leap around on the seats, bouncing off the half-open windows and setting up a loud, furious barking as the women crowded round the lorry.

‘Remember Ros Daniels!’ one woman shouted.

‘She didn’t die for nothing!’

Weenink signalled to the PC and they moved towards the women to intercept them. But Diane Fry was watching Maggie, startled by the transformation in her manner. Maggie stood transfixed as the officers moved in. She had tilted her head to one side to listen to something, and her nostrils flared as if at a distinctive smell. Her whole body had changed; she straightened and stood to her full height. Her eyes widened in astonishment.

Just before the broad shoulders of DC Weenink moved in front of her, Fry saw Maggie’s expression change again. Shock was followed by fear, then anger. Her mouth opened in a scream of rage.

Then there was a confused melee, a mass of suddenly struggling bodies, shouting and shrieking. Fry couldn’t see what was happening, and she could tell that the women and the police officers didn’t know what was going on either. There were just a lot of bodies near to each other, barging, stumbling and staggering, like cattle herded too close together.

Then a gap appeared and Maggie was standing in the middle of it, with a knife in her hand. A trickle of blood ran down the blade to the hilt and dripped on to her finger. But Maggie didn’t notice it. She looked as though her mind was far away from the cattle market, maybe somewhere up on Ringham Moor on a night she had almost wiped from her memory. She seemed oblivious to the stunned crowd close around her, unaware of the noise of screaming women and barking dogs. Unaware of the body of DC Todd Weenink, lying on the concrete at her feet.