Dead in the Dark

10

A hospital mortuary was always located near the boiler house and laundry, well out of the way of living patients as they came and went to their appointments. When you arrived for the first time, you looked for the chimney.

‘So you found me a body after all,’ said Dr Chloe Young. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘I’m sorry. Was it a nasty one?’

‘Young people,’ she said. ‘They’re always difficult. They have all their lives ahead of them. Or they ought to. They shouldn’t be lying on my examination table.’

Cooper nodded. ‘I feel the same, you know.’

‘Of course you do, Ben. I know.’

Against his own better instincts, Cooper had spent his time on the way here picturing Shane Curtis in a hospital shroud, with a tag on his wrist and a tag on his ankle, and the grey, drained face of the dead. He’d seen the funeral directors collect the body at the scene of the fire and transfer it feet first to their vehicle, the way funeral directors always did.

Of course, he could have left this one to Dev Sharma. In fact, Sharma had assumed he would be coming. He knew his DI had good reasons to avoid post-mortems on this kind of victim. But something had encouraged Cooper to make time for the call at the mortuary today.

‘His name was Shane Curtis,’ he said. ‘Eighteen years old.’

Dr Young didn’t need to look at her notes for the details.

‘He wasn’t very well-nourished for a young man of that age,’ she said. ‘I imagine he had a substandard diet. So many people I see in here do. He also had substantial amounts of alcohol in his blood. Cannabis too. They’re familiar lifestyle signs. But he died of smoke inhalation from the fire. He has thermal damage to the respiratory system, burns around the mouth and nostrils, pulmonary swelling caused by carbon monoxide and various toxic gases. That couldn’t be called a lifestyle choice.’

To Cooper, the physical details sounded all too familiar. For a moment, he couldn’t say anything. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, because the images in his mind were too clear.

Young looked up, immediately sensing his discomfort.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘A fire death victim. You should have sent someone else. Why didn’t you?’

Cooper shook his head. ‘I can’t avoid these things. They’re part of the job.’

‘Yes, but the memories must still be very painful. You were there at the scene when she was killed, weren’t you?’

‘Actually,’ said Cooper, ‘that’s not the problem. It’s the good memories that are the most painful.’

Young put a hand on his arm. He found her touch reassuring. Cooper took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the antiseptic smell of the mortuary.

‘There were no traces of accelerant on the swabs from the victim’s hands,’ he said. ‘We’re working on the assumption that someone else set the fire.’

Immediately Young became professional again.

‘So your job is to find out whether it was an unfortunate accident, or if young Shane’s death was deliberate,’ she said.

‘And who started the fire,’ said Cooper. ‘That will be the first step.’

Young looked at him closely. ‘What would be the most likely scenario from your experience?’

‘It would be someone Shane knew, possibly a friend. An escapade that went wrong. Our suspect will already have the death of a friend on his conscience, I’m afraid. He may be injured too. Those two factors will make it easier for us to identify him.’

Young tapped a pen on her desk. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I think your job must be a lot worse than mine. Dealing with the living is so much more complicated than handling the dead, isn’t it?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Cooper. ‘No matter what our skills and experience are, the living still tend to behave in completely unpredictable ways.’

‘That’s so true.’

Cooper had his car keys in his hand, but turned back to look at Chloe Young.

‘When will I see you again?’ he said.

‘Well, Thursday night. We’ve got the tickets for Buxton Opera House, remember? Tosca.’

‘Oh, sure. But not before?’

Young smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit busy at the moment. People keep bringing me bodies.’

Cooper felt irrationally disappointed.

‘Just one more of life’s unpredictabilities,’ he said.

At West Street, Ben Cooper looked around his team as they came back from their assignments. Dev Sharma was on the phone and Luke Irvine had his head down over his computer. Gavin Murfin was looking for something in his desk drawer. And he couldn’t ask Carol Villiers.

Cooper wandered over and hovered near Becky Hurst’s position. She looked up expectantly.

‘Sir?’

‘Do you listen to opera, Becky?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes, a bit.’

‘So what is Tosca about?’

‘Oh, the usual,’ said Hurst. ‘Murder, torture, suicide.’

‘Great.’

‘But in a good production it can be done really well. Who are you going to see?’

‘English Touring Opera.’

‘You’ll be fine, then. I’m envious.’

He saw Villiers glance across and wondered what she’d caught of their conversation, and what she knew already.

‘There’s been another armed robbery reported,’ said Dev Sharma when he saw Cooper had returned. ‘This one was at a corner shop and off-licence.’

‘Here in Edendale?’

‘Yes, on Buxton Road. At Singh’s Stores.’

‘I know it,’ said Cooper. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘No, but Mrs Singh was a bit shaken up. Two men entered the shop at about ten forty-five this morning and threatened her with a baseball bat and a knife. She gave them all the cash from the till.’

‘Sensible. From what I’ve seen of her husband, Mr Singh might have acted differently. He would probably have tried to resist, or even fought them.’

‘That could have ended badly,’ said Sharma.

The Singhs’ shop was close to where Cooper had lived until a few months ago, just across the other side of Buxton Road from his old flat in Welbeck Street. He’d visited the shop many times and remembered both the Singhs, as well as their daughter, Jatinder, who’d attended Eden Valley High School a couple of years below him. Mr Singh had once beckoned Cooper into the back of the shop and showed him his kirpan, the ceremonial knife that he wore under his clothes. It was only a few inches long, but Cooper had been unsure at the time of its possible illegality as an offensive weapon. Mr Singh had assured him that a kirpan was kept sheathed except when it was withdrawn for an occasion such as a religious ceremonies.

‘It is not a weapon, Mr Cooper. Not even a symbolic weapon, any more than a Christian cross is a symbolic torture instrument. Do you understand?’

Mr Singh had shown him the kirpan because he knew Cooper was a police officer. It made Cooper smile even now when he thought of all those individuals whose arrests he’d been involved in, who’d gone to great trouble to conceal their blades from the police.

‘Gavin has been down to the shop to take Mrs Singh’s statement and make initial inquiries,’ said Sharma. ‘He brought back some CCTV footage.’

‘Excellent. Have we got the suspects on camera?’

‘Very much so. Take a look.’

The CCTV images from the shop were excellent. Good resolution and in colour — and pretty accurate colours by the look of the background. One of the robbers was wearing a blue top and a black baseball cap, with a blue scarf covering his face. The other was dressed in a grey top, blue tracksuit bottoms, and was wearing a motorcycle crash helmet. He had a scarf over his face too. Cooper looked a bit closer. The crash helmet was red and covered with a distinctive pattern of white stripes and black stars.

‘That gives you a reasonable chance of making an identification,’ said Cooper, ‘if you can find some possible suspects.’

‘I’m sending Gavin back out to canvass the neighbouring properties. Initial reports suggest the two men left on a motorbike, possibly a Kawasaki, heading away from town. I’ve asked for CCTV from the cameras at the junction of Buxton Road with High Street, in case they came from that direction.’

‘More likely they came in and went out the same way,’ said Cooper, ‘rather than risking the area where there are most cameras.’

‘I thought it was worth a try.’

‘Of course, Dev.’

Cooper looked at the map of Edendale on the wall of the CID room. What was further up the Buxton Road?

‘The convent,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘The convent. Sisters of Our Lady. The nuns are very security conscious. They have a comprehensive CCTV system covering the gates. They might have caught a motorcycle passing with the two suspects.’

Sharma looked doubtful. ‘Who should I send to a convent of nuns?’ he said.

Hurst and Irvine both looked up as if their names had been mentioned.

Cooper smiled. ‘You could go yourself, Dev. Consider it part of your acclimatisation to the local community.’

‘There have been a spate of robberies over the past few weeks,’ said Sharma. ‘Not just in Edendale, but all across North Division. Some have been raids on businesses like the Singhs’ shop, some have been street robberies. They’re all opportunistic offences. They see a chance, and they go for it. They seem to be travelling around the area after dark looking for a target. The only common factor is the use of a motorbike.’

‘A red crash helmet?’ asked Irvine.

‘Not always.’

‘There may be more than two suspects, then. More than one motorbike.’

‘It looks like it. The descriptions from witnesses differ in some details. The height and build of the suspects, the colour of their leathers and helmets. Oh, and there was some variation in the accents they spoke with. Some witnesses say they were local, others couldn’t identify the accent. One victim said in her statement that they had Manchester accents. She’s from the area herself, so she recognised it.’

‘Manchester isn’t the best known of accents, not like Liverpool or Birmingham.’

‘I can’t think what it sounds like at all,’ said Hurst.

‘Think of Oasis,’ said Irvine.

‘The Gallagher brothers?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Oh, did they call people scrotes and muppets?’

‘No,’ said Villiers, ‘but before they left one of them did tell the other it was “sound”.’

‘Which means “okay”.’

‘Right.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Cooper. ‘If we have two or more pairs of suspects carrying out these attacks, it suggests some level of organisation.’

‘We’ll keep on it,’ said Sharma.

‘What about the boy who was killed in the arson attack at Castle Farm? Have we spoken to his family?’

‘Yes, we’ve interviewed Shane Curtis’s mother,’ said Sharma. ‘Martina Curtis. There doesn’t seem to be a father. She’s distraught obviously. But she’s got friends and relatives there with her now. A support network.’

‘Are there any other children?’

‘A daughter about sixteen, three more boys of fourteen, twelve and nine.’

‘And no father?’ asked Cooper.

‘It would probably more accurate to say “no fathers”. I don’t think there was just one.’

‘Five children. She already has it pretty tough, then. And now this...’

‘They’re all on benefits, of course,’ put in Irvine. ‘Mrs Curtis spends a fair part of her allowances on fags and booze. And she told us she buys National Lottery tickets every week, scratch cards and all.’

‘Waiting for the moment that will change her life, I suppose. A moment that will never come.’

‘It doesn’t do any harm to keep your hopes alive,’ said Hurst.

‘Oh, fine. But she’s doing it on taxpayers’ money.’

‘What did she tell you about Shane?’ asked Cooper.

‘Well, she says Shane was no angel,’ said Sharma.

‘But then, they always do, don’t they?’ added Irvine.

‘Does she have any idea what he was doing in the barn at Castle Farm?’

Sharma shook his head. ‘No, not a clue. But I got the impression she never knew where he was anyway. “He does his own thing” was the way she put it. He was unemployed, though he seems to have had a bit of money to spend, over and above his jobseeker’s allowance. I’m sure he didn’t get it off his mother. She says he liked to go out on his own for hours on end. She doesn’t seem to have any idea what he was doing all that time.’

‘Well, from the forensic evidence,’ said Irvine, ‘he was clearly drinking lager and smoking pot. And considering his criminal record...’

‘... he was probably getting up to other things too,’ put in Hurst. ‘The logic of prior conviction.’

‘He does have a record,’ said Irvine. ‘So he was almost certainly involved in drugs or petty crime.’

‘A record?’

‘Well, it’s true Shane was no angel. He spent eighteen months in juvenile detention at Werrington Youth Offenders Institution.’

‘In Staffordshire, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, near Stoke on Trent.’

‘You’ve got to wonder who he met in there,’ said Irvine. ‘It often leads kids into worse things when they get out.’

‘What were his offences?’

‘Taking a vehicle without consent, driving without a licence or insurance, theft, shoplifting, possession of drugs. The usual sort of list, really.’

‘No mention of previous arson offences?’

‘No. But that doesn’t mean—’

‘It doesn’t mean anything, Luke. Keep an open mind.’

Irvine scowled. ‘Yes, sir.’

Cooper was starting to get worried about Luke Irvine. He’d started off so promisingly when he first transferred from uniform into CID. He’d been a bit naïve, but keen. He’d reminded Cooper of himself when he was at the same stage of his career. But now he was beginning to get awkward and opinionated. His mind wasn’t as open as it should be. Cooper didn’t know what was having this effect on him — perhaps it was something going on in his private life. He would have to make a point of sitting down and talking to Irvine seriously about it when they both had time.

‘What about his friends?’ asked Cooper.

‘A loose association of youths of a similar age around the Woodlands and Cavendish estates,’ said Sharma.

‘A gang?’

‘Mrs Curtis would never have used that term.’

‘And I suppose she doesn’t know the names of any of them?’

‘Shane didn’t exactly bring them home for tea,’ scowled Irvine.

‘So we’re no closer to knowing who he might have been planning to meet there at the barn. Or if he was planning to meet anyone at all. He might have been the victim of a rival gang who took the opportunity of trapping him inside.’

‘You mean a rival loose association of youths,’ said Irvine.

Cooper shook his head. ‘Whatever the circumstances, I don’t think Shane intended it to end up that way.’

Then he looked around the CID room.

‘DC Villiers,’ he said, ‘are you free at the moment? I’d like you to come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

Cooper waited until they were out of the room before he answered.

‘To Bakewell. We’re going to talk to Naomi Heath.’

‘Reece Bower’s partner?’ said Villiers. ‘I thought you’d be interested.’

‘You know me so well. I could use your opinion on this one.’

Cooper decided not to mention his call to Superintendent Branagh. He would wait until after his meeting this afternoon. Things might have changed by then. He didn’t want to involve Carol Villiers too deeply if he could avoid it.

So he was very quiet as they left the building and walked to the car park. The words of Detective Superintendent Branagh were echoing in his mind. The Bower case was a miscarriage of justice.

Cooper knew there were many ways for a miscarriage of justice to happen. Derbyshire had experienced its fair share of cases. But as he got into his car he was thinking of a much older one — the story of the notorious Dr Hawley Crippen, who was hanged at Pentonville Prison in 1910 for the murder of his wife. It was a case that he’d studied as a police cadet when the history of criminal justice was one of his obsessions.

In that instance, Cora Crippen had disappeared from the family home after a party. Her husband told everyone that she’d returned to the United States and that she’d later died and been cremated. Crippen had immediately moved in his lover, Ethel Neave. Under questioning, he admitted that he’d made up the story to avoid having to explain that Cora had left him for a music hall actor. The Crippen house was searched, but nothing was found and the police had no option but to conclude he was innocent. Yet Crippen panicked and fled to Canada with Neave.

It was only their disappearance that led Scotland Yard to carry out three more searches of the house. On the final search they found a human torso buried under the basement. A mark on the skin of the abdomen was said to match a scar Cora had. Otherwise, the evidence against Dr Crippen was entirely circumstantial. And still he had been hanged.

‘Ben, the barrier’s open.’

Cooper realised he’d been distracted and his car was sitting motionless in the entrance to the car park. He was aware that Villiers was staring at him.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, not at all.’

He drove out on to West Street, back into the modern world of policing. He reminded himself that many years after Crippen had been hanged for the murder of his wife, DNA techniques were used to establish that the remains from the basement were not those of Cora — and weren’t even female. Some said the police had planted the body parts to use as evidence, after becoming convinced of Crippen’s guilt by his attempt to escape.

That wouldn’t happen these days. But when a suspect attempted to escape, it usually pointed quite clearly at their guilt. Reece Bower had evaded justice once. Was he trying to do the same thing again?