Dead in the Dark

17

Ben Cooper was waiting to make an awkward right turn in front of the bookshop in Bakewell. The road up the hill past the church reached Burton Moor, the only route to Over Haddon without heading further on towards Monyash.

From the top, he was looking down over Lady Manners School towards the house near Haddon Road.

In the valley, Haddon Hall nestled among the trees where the River Wye meandered through water meadows to join the Derwent. Haddon had been abandoned by the Vernon family as their residence in the early eighteenth century in favour of Belvoir Castle. The result was an unspoilt medieval mansion, which had remained unmodernised throughout the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It was a bit of a miracle that it had escaped the fate of so many grand country houses.

The Vernons had sometimes exercised their power through crude and violent methods. In the ancient ‘trial by touch’, a suspected murderer was made to touch the body of the victim. If the suspect was guilty, the victim would begin to bleed again. It was said that one local peasant panicked so much at the prospect that he tried to run away — only to be pursued by a posse and lynched in a field near Ashford-in-the-Water. The Peak District had been like the Wild West in those days.

Over Haddon was a small village perched on a ledge above Lathkill Dale, with a population of less than three hundred. At the bottom of a narrow road running down from the village, a clapper bridge crossed the Lathkill.

Cars parked along the side of these narrow village roads made driving a hazard. When two cars met from opposite directions, it was sometimes a test of politeness as to who would gave way. After three o’clock on a weekday, it was best to avoid the villages altogether. School-out time meant lines of extra cars as parents waited to collect their children.

The Swanns’ home was an eighteenth century stone cottage, with a conservatory added and a path leading into a cottage garden. Tubs and planters clustered round the front door and on a paved terrace.

Cooper had been obliged to phone and make an appointment with Frances Swann. Often he could call on people at work, but she was a teacher and schools were sensitive about the police coming on to the premises unless it was necessary. She had taken the opportunity of a free period to come home.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Swann. I understand you teach at Lady Manners School.’

‘That’s correct. I’m in the Modern Languages department.’

Cooper didn’t ask what languages she taught. He had no doubt she was fluent in several languages that he had never managed to learn. He also knew that being in the Lady Manners catchment area was one of the reasons that property in this area tended to be so attractive to buyers, and therefore expensive.

Frances Swann had sharply defined cheekbones, which might have made her face look attractive when she was younger. But age had narrowed her eyes and made her lips purse in disapproval. Cooper imagined she could be quite fierce, a forbidding presence in the classroom, a stern instructor if he got his French conjugations wrong.

Cooper was glad Gavin Murfin wasn’t here with him. Frances Swann would probably have disapproved.

She led him through into a dining room. They passed a kitchen with a Belfast sink and an Esse range set into a deeply recessed fireplace. The dining room had a wood-burning stove, though it looked more expensive than the one in his own cottage at Foolow.

Mrs Swann’s manner was brisk, and Cooper got the impression she would like to get him out of the house as soon as possible.

‘I’m afraid we haven’t heard anything from Reece, if that’s what you’re going to ask me,’ she said.

‘Well, that was one question,’ he said.

‘I have no idea why he should have left Naomi. We’re not privy to what goes on over there now, not the way we were when my sister was still here.’

‘You were a frequent visitor to the Bowers’ house in Aldern Way at that time, I gather?’

She looked at him sharply. ‘Oh, I imagine you’ve been reading all the old paperwork. The details of the case against Reece.’

‘It isn’t all that old,’ said Cooper. ‘Ten years.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that. I still think about it, of course. Almost every day I think about Annette. This latest business has brought it all back. No doubt people will be talking about it all over again, and asking questions.’

‘People like me, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, it’s your job, I suppose. At least you have an excuse. A lot of people don’t have that pretext. Their interest is just prurient.’

‘I’m aware that you were the first person to raise the alarm about your sister’s disappearance, although it was Mr Bower who actually made the phone call.’

‘That’s true.’

‘And your concern started when Annette failed to return from a run.’

‘It wasn’t like her,’ said Frances. ‘She knew we were coming. She would normally have been back at the house getting ready. When I say “normally”, I mean always. Except that one occasion.’

‘So you were sure from the start that there was something wrong.’

‘Yes, I was. Certain. Much more than certain than Reece seemed to be. That was why...’

Her voice tailed off. She had probably been over this part of the story many times, when she was questioned a decade ago. But clearly she hadn’t forgotten it. The details must still be sharp in her mind.

‘That was why you had suspicions about Reece,’ suggested Cooper.

‘I felt a little guilty about it at first. Having those suspicions seemed unworthy. He was my brother-in-law, after all. But I couldn’t keep the suspicions to myself — not once I noticed the blood.’

‘Ah, yes. A splash of blood in the kitchen.’

Mrs Swann gave a small shudder at the recollection.

‘It was hardly a splash,’ she said. ‘A speck, that’s all. But I knew it was blood.’

‘And what was your conclusion?’

She sighed. ‘It’s difficult to admit, even now. But the sight of that one speck of blood formed an absolute certainty in my mind that Reece had harmed Annette in some way. I know it doesn’t sound logical seen objectively. It probably doesn’t make any sense to you, when you’re looking from the outside and at this distance from the events. But it was very different for me. My conclusion was a culmination of several factors.’

‘What factors, Mrs Swann?’

‘A number of comments Annette had made to me about the ongoing state of her marriage, the fact that they’d been arguing recently and that Reece had been drinking more than usual. And his apparent lack of concern that afternoon about her disappearance. He kept saying she would be back soon, coming up with all kinds of unlikely explanations. I didn’t believe a single one of them.’

‘And then there was the blood,’ said Cooper.

‘And then the blood,’ she agreed. ‘And it was Annette’s blood.’

‘Yes, it was. The DNA tests proved it.’

‘So I was right,’ she said.

‘But your sister’s body was never found,’ said Cooper as gently as he could.

She was silent for several moments. He saw that her composure was beginning to break down and he didn’t want to do that to her. But sometimes there was no choice. Mrs Swann clenched her hands together.

‘No, and that’s the worst aspect of all,’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine what that’s like. No one can.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She turned away. There was nothing Frances could say to that. And nothing else he could say to make it better when ‘sorry’ just wasn’t enough.

‘I have to ask this, Mrs Swann,’ he said.

‘I know you do. Go on.’

‘At the time, did you have any ideas about where your sister’s body might be found?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, when they began to search the garden, I was confident something would be found. I’d noticed that fresh digging myself. I remember one of the investigating officers seeing it... what was his name now?’

‘Detective Inspector Hitchens?’

‘That was it. And from that moment, when I saw the expression on his face, I expected a discovery. I had to leave the house then, of course, and return here. I sat waiting for the phone to ring, or a knock to come on the door. Can you imagine? I could have been waiting for a very long time, couldn’t I? Ten years or more. I might still be waiting now for a discovery that never came.’

‘They dug almost the whole garden up, but didn’t find Annette.’

‘That’s right. I thought the police would do more, you know. A lot more.’

‘What do you mean, Mrs Swann?’

‘I wanted them to start a search in Lathkill Dale,’ said Frances. ‘Reece and Annette went there often, and it seemed the sort of place Annette would head for if she wanted to be on her own for a while, to think things through. If Reece hadn’t killed her after all, it seemed likely to me that she’d gone there and met with an accident of some kind.’

‘In that case, she would have been located years ago,’ said Cooper.

‘I know, but it would have made me feel easier in my own mind.’

‘And what do you think of your father’s conviction that he had a sighting of Annette in Buxton?’

‘Oh, that.’ She sighed. ‘It’s hard to know what to think, or who to believe. Of course, I’ve always wanted to believe that Annette is alive and just doesn’t want to come home — although I don’t understand why she wouldn’t have got in touch in all these years. On the other hand...’

‘You still suspect that Reece killed her.’

‘In my heart of hearts, yes. It’s ruined my relationship with my father, you know. He’s become very cut off. He talks to Adrian more than he does to me. I think Adrian trusts him. They’re men together with a shared interest. So I doubt they talk about things like this.’

‘Mrs Swann, I take it you don’t have any of the same suspicions about the disappearance of Mr Bower?’

She laughed rather nervously. ‘Oh, no. Reece has gone somewhere. I have no idea where, and I don’t particularly want to know. There won’t be any good involved, I’m sure of that.’

‘I see. How close is your relationship with Naomi Heath?’

‘We don’t have a relationship,’ said Frances, suddenly cool.

‘And your husband?’

‘Adrian would tell you the same.’

Through an open door, Cooper glimpsed what looked like a study or workshop in an adjoining annexe. On a table stood an amazing object that caught his eye immediately. It was a carved tawny owl, almost life-sized.

‘That’s beautiful,’ said Cooper.

‘Yes, Adrian is putting it in for the show this weekend,’ said Frances.

‘What show?’

‘The Festival of Bird Art in Bakewell. The National Bird Carving Championships are held there every year.’

‘So your husband is a bird carver.’

‘A very good one,’ she said.

‘So I see.’

‘Would you like a closer look at it?’

‘Very much so. Can I touch it?’

‘I don’t think he would mind. He likes people to appreciate his work. Adrian is a member of the British Decoy and Wildfowl Carvers Association. He’s entering the Advanced Class of their competition this year for the first time. The owl is his entry for the Bird of Prey category.’

Gently, Cooper touched the perfectly carved feathers on the wings of the owl.

‘It’s wonderful.’

‘Decorative style is the most challenging. A carver is trying to recreate a lifelike depiction of the bird. A finished piece can be almost indistinguishable from the real thing. It’s very different from decoy carving, or the interpretive style.’

Cooper wondered if she was repeating word for word what her husband had told her, if she was genuinely interested in his passion for bird carving.

‘Adrian says “Inside every piece of wood there’s a bird waiting to be released”,’ she added.

That seemed to confirm it. Cooper looked around the workshop and saw a small wooden cabinet.

‘Are these his tools in the canvas roll?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Two rows of carbon steel chisels and gouges lay neatly in their pockets, along with a fine-toothed rasp, a sharpening stone and a small mallet. Alongside was a set of seven-inch knives with long handles, some straight and some with curved blades.

‘Those are Mora,’ said Frances. ‘A Swedish make. They’re high quality woodworking tools.’

‘They look pretty lethal to me.’

She laughed. ‘That’s not the way Adrian would see it. These knives are for creating, not destroying. Just look at the tawny owl. It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? He brought it to life using only his hands, and these tools.’

Cooper dutifully admired the owl again.

‘Do you see much of your niece these days?’ he said.

‘Lacey?’

‘Yes, Lacey.’

Frances sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s a difficult relationship.’

‘But she stayed with you for a while, didn’t she?’

‘Well, we did our best for her after her mother went missing and her father was arrested. I suppose that’s always the way with teenagers. They don’t appreciate the efforts of people who are looking out for them. Perhaps, when she grows up properly, Lacey will see things differently. I do hope so.’

‘Do you have a current address for Lacey?’

‘Not an up-to-date one. She moves around a bit. Lacey has gone her own way, you see. She lives in a flat in Sheffield now.’

‘What is she doing in Sheffield?’ asked Cooper.

‘She’s at college, studying.’

‘I see.’

‘We used to have a mobile phone number for her. Lacey doesn’t have a landline. In fact, she rarely makes phone calls. She usually communicates by text. But I think she must have changed her mobile, and we’ve heard nothing from her for a while. You could probably get her address from the college.’

‘Thank you anyway, Mrs Swann.’

‘Are you going to talk to her?’

‘I’m going to try.’

Frances Swann showed him to the door. He had the feeling there was something else she wanted to say, but she didn’t manage to get it out until he was right on the threshold.

‘Do you know,’ she said. ‘Every time I hear about a body being discovered, I find myself praying that it will be someone else who is dead, not my sister. That’s a terrible thing, isn’t it, Detective Inspector Cooper? A terrible thing.’

As he left the house, Cooper’s phone buzzed, and he saw a call from Gavin Murfin waiting. He rang Murfin back as soon as he got in his car.

‘I’m on my way into Bakewell now,’ said Murfin.

‘Good. Can you meet me at the address for Evan Slaney off Church Street?’

‘No problem.’

‘How did you get on with Madeleine Betts?’

‘She’s a bit of a frosty one,’ said Murfin. ‘She says she’s had no contact with Reece Bower and doesn’t have any idea where he is.’

‘Did you believe her?’

Murfin hesitated. ‘Well, I don’t think she knows where he is. But my nose tells me she’s keeping something back.’

‘Okay.’

‘I had no luck at the steel fabrications company by the way, boss.’

‘Nothing?’

‘No one admits to saying anything out of the ordinary to Reece Bower before he went missing. I talked to everyone who had contact with him in the last few days before his disappearance. I think they were genuine. They admitted pulling his leg a bit when he first went to work there, like. But he didn’t react to it, they said.’

Cooper didn’t know whether he was disappointed, or if he’d subconsciously expected it. The story had sounded like an excuse, a means of passing off an obviously stressed state and deflecting questions.

‘That sort of stuff does get tired very quickly,’ he said. ‘People lose interest when it isn’t a novelty any more.’

‘Right. Actually, they all say Bower was pretty good at his job. They’re missing him, Ben. They wanted to know when he might be coming back to work.’

‘I can’t answer that,’ said Cooper. ‘It might be never.’