The Corpse Bridge

9

Outside, the centre of Hartington village was gradually getting busier. Some of the people he could see were probably local, calling at the post office or filling up their cars at the little petrol station in Mill Lane. But there were visitors too. There were always folk looking for somewhere to spend their time at the weekend, as long as the weather wasn’t too bad. And even then some hardy individuals would venture out in the snow.

Near the village stores they passed a row of eighteenth-century cottages. The door of one stood partly open, with a sign offering free range eggs and pure Hartington honey straight from the hive.

‘The part-time girl, Kimberley, hardly ever saw Sandra Blair,’ said Irvine. ‘She knew a lot more about the old dear she works for.’

‘Miss Grindey? Anything interesting?’

‘Not really.

They turned into Hyde Lane, where the village hall stood. This end of the building still showed traces of its original sign, which had been painted on the wall. Hartington Amusement Hall. Cooper wondered if the amusements in those days had been the same as those enjoyed by Hartington residents now.

He opened a small gate and they climbed a set of steps into the graveyard of St Giles’ Church. According to a plaque, the bench at the top of the steps was a gift from His Grace the Duke of Devonshire in 1978. That must have been the old duke, father of the present incumbent at Chatsworth. From somewhere in his memory, Cooper dredged the fact that the eldest son of the duke held the title of Marquis of Hartington, at least until he succeeded to the dukedom.

As in many English villages the signs of the ancient landowners were everywhere, even if they no longer owned any of the properties. That part of English history would take a long time to disappear. It would still be evident while the pubs existed and while some of these houses remained standing.

Cooper turned at the bench and looked back at the village. The organisers of events held at the amusement hall would probably have been obliged to get approval from the duke for their entertainments. He must have had the final say in pretty much everything else.

In the graveyard they found a thickset, middle-aged man vigorously raking leaves off the paths into a big heap. He was wearing a baseball cap and he had receding grey hair sticking out in untidy clumps. He didn’t see them coming at first and Cooper was struck by his grimly determined expression as he lashed out with the rake. He was digging out the last of the dead leaves from cracks between the stones, but his mind appeared to be dwelling on something entirely different that made him angry.

‘Mr Naden?’ called Cooper when they got closer.

The man looked up, startled. Almost frightened. For a moment Cooper wondered if he was deaf, or listening to an iPod while he worked. But it appeared he’d just been so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he was noticing nothing around him. That took quite a bit of concentration.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ he said, with the rake poised in mid-air. ‘I can’t show you the church. I don’t have the keys.’

‘We’re not visitors, sir.’

Cooper produced his warrant card and introduced himself and Irvine.

Naden looked around him and hefted the rake in his hand. For a second Cooper thought he was going to do a runner or lash out at the two police officers. He almost took a step backwards to put himself out of reach of a weapon, but stopped himself. He was surely just imagining things. Everybody was starting to look suspicious.

‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ asked Naden finally.

‘We’re making enquiries about a lady called Sandra Blair,’ said Cooper.

‘She works at the tea rooms.’

‘That’s the lady.’

Naden began to poke at some more leaves, but in a desultory fashion. There was no longer the passion he’d been showing with the rake when Cooper first set eyes on him.

‘We’re trying to contact her family. Would you know-’

‘There’s a sister in Scotland, I think.’

‘We’re aware of that.’

‘But that’s all I know.’

Cooper sighed. He was beginning to wonder if this sibling north of the border actually existed. Could she be a figment of Sandra Blair’s imagination, casually mentioned to everyone she met in order to give the impression that she had a family like everyone else? If the sister in Scotland couldn’t be tracked down, he might have to turn his attention to finding the family of the deceased husband. For some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he had no faith in the existence of a grandfather who’d arranged a meeting at one o’clock in the morning.

‘Are you the churchwarden or something?’ asked Cooper.

‘No, I just help out,’ said Naden. ‘We all have to do our bit.’

‘And how did you first meet Mrs Blair?’

Naden shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, really. I suppose she’s always been working at the tea rooms.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, that’s where we always saw her. She doesn’t live in Hartington.’

‘No, you’re right there.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper noticed Irvine had walked a few yards away and was kicking at a pile of leaves. He was getting bored.

But Cooper waited a little longer. Naden raised his head, sensing from the silence that he was supposed to say something else.

‘What’s happened to Sandra Blair, then?’ he said. ‘Has she had an accident?’

I thought you’d never ask, thought Cooper.

‘Something like that, sir,’ he said.

‘Well, he was a washout,’ said Irvine as they returned to the car. ‘Mr Grumpy with the rake. What was his name?’

‘Mr Naden,’ said Cooper.

‘He didn’t tell us anything.’

‘He might do, though. Given time.’

Irvine laughed. ‘I don’t know how you can have so much patience with people like that, Ben.’

‘Sometimes it’s the only way,’ said Cooper.

‘Are we going back to West Street now?’ asked Irvine.

‘Yes.’

‘What next, then?’

‘That address book has to be gone through,’ said Cooper. ‘Sandra Blair’s remaining relatives must be in there somewhere. The sister in Scotland…’

‘And her grandfather,’ said Irvine.

‘Yes. Well, possibly. And perhaps someone who knew her a bit better than her employer and her neighbours. Gavin should be in the office. You can do the job between you. But let me know if you think you’ve traced the sister. We’ll need her to come down for a formal identification and start going through all the formalities.’

‘Couldn’t someone else do the identification? Someone who knew Mrs Blair well?’

‘Yes, of course, if we really needed it,’ said Cooper. ‘We could get Miss Grindey to do it. But it’s a sensitive issue for the family of a murder victim. They feel it’s their job, to make that official confirmation of the death of their family member. They don’t understand when it’s been left to some person they didn’t even know, and they can get very upset about it. It just doesn’t feel right to them. They should be the first to know about the death, too. But in this case…’

‘Understood.’

Cooper took a last look around the centre of the village. His route back to Edendale would be up through Hartington Dale and north on the A515 to the turning for Tideswell.

Despite the visitors, Hartington was actually quieter than he remembered it. That was due to the closure of the cheese factory, he supposed. There were no delivery vehicles coming and going to the empty factory in Stonewell Lane. There was no major employer in the village now. And he didn’t have time to buy that piece of cheese either.

‘After that you can call it a day, Luke,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if there are any house-to-house enquiries to do near the crime scene.’

‘There are no houses there,’ said Irvine.

‘Exactly. I’m going to get the press office to start putting out some public appeals as soon as possible. Tomorrow we’ll see what forensics have come up with. Then we ought to have some leads to follow up.’

‘Suits me,’ said Irvine. ‘I’ve got a date tonight anyway.’

Cooper looked at him as he started the Toyota. He couldn’t help a twinge of envy. He’d been Luke Irvine’s age once and it wasn’t all that long ago either. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to say those words to a colleague: ‘I’ve got a date tonight.’ It sounded so innocent. The sentence seemed to hang in the air inside the car, oozing with freedom and hope for the future.

With a jerk, Cooper put the car into gear and drove away from Hartington.

‘Good luck with that then, Luke,’ he said.