6

Cooper had a message waiting for him next morning. He had to see Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh, the head of E Division’s CID. That never boded well. But it was even worse when he had no idea what he was being summoned about.

Before he went up to the management floor, he took a couple of minutes to bring himself up to date on what had been happening overnight. His heart sank when he read about the discovery at the Light House. The incident report read like his worst nightmare. Especially when it began: Call received from DS Fry of East Midlands Major Crime Unit …

Damn, he said to himself when he’d digested the details. Better get it over with then.

The top floor at West Street was marginally more comfortable. A bit of carpet here and there, a recent paint job on the office doors. There was less of an air of desperation: no piles of evidence lying around waiting to be processed, no signs of the public intruding, let alone sweating suspects and drunks detained for a night in the cells.

Superintendent Branagh’s office was near the end of the corridor, where the quietness was itself intimidating. He knocked and was called straight in.

Whenever he looked at Branagh, Cooper couldn’t help remembering Gavin Murfin’s comment when he’d first set eyes on her: She’d look good in the front row of a scrum. It was the shoulders that did it.

‘Ah, DS Cooper,’ she said.

He knew it was serious then, just by the tone of her voice, the underlying hint of disapproval or disappointment. The super had always liked him, or so he thought. But things could change.

‘So. How did we miss a body in the pub?’ asked Branagh.

‘It was just bad luck.’

‘Worse luck that Detective Sergeant Fry made the discovery instead. One up for the Major Crime Unit. It makes us look incapable.’

‘I know,’ said Cooper. ‘Believe me, I know.’

He could have wished it was anyone else except Diane Fry. Even Gavin Murfin would have been acceptable, stumbling across the body while looking for a cup of tea. Murfin would have gloated, but it might have been bearable.

He knew Diane Fry. He anticipated that she would say nothing about it. But she would definitely look smug. Boy, would she look smug.

Branagh spread her hands on her desk, and looked at Cooper thoughtfully. They were strong hands, probably the strongest he’d ever seen on a woman. They inspired confidence in him, a feeling that he could rely on her leadership.

‘The death of the man found in the abandoned pub should be our first priority,’ she said. ‘It’s a fresh case, and we’re still in the first twenty-four hours. We’re far more likely to get a result.’

‘We haven’t even identified him yet, ma’am.’

‘Well, get on to it.’

‘There’s a briefing in half an hour,’ said Cooper. ‘DCI Mackenzie from the EMSOU.’

‘I know him,’ said Branagh. ‘Alistair Mackenzie will do a good job. But …’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘If you do have problems, talk to your DI, who will keep me in the loop. EMSOU need our help at the moment. We won’t let ourselves be pushed around by them.’

‘I understand.’

‘It would be nice,’ said Branagh, ‘if we could tie up the Pearson inquiry as well as the new case. David and Trisha Pearson are names that have been haunting this division for years. And not only E Division. The subject comes up regularly at meetings of the Senior Command Team. It’s never been forgotten. We hear about it often from the family.’

Cooper nodded. ‘I’ll make sure I get up to speed on the Pearson situation before the briefing starts.’

‘That’s an excellent idea.’

‘I wasn’t on duty myself at the time it happened,’ he said. ‘But I think I know someone who was.’

It was more than two years since David and Trisha Pearson had gone missing. Two visitors from Dorking in Surrey, they had been known to no one in the area until they disappeared. Now everyone had heard their names.

The Pearsons had vanished one night in December, when a snowstorm closed in suddenly as they walked back to their rented cottage. Their winter break in the Peak District had ended that night. They had been in their thirties, fit and active. But they had never been seen since.

It had been just before Christmas, too. Cooper knew what that would have been like. All over Derbyshire people would be winding down for a long break at home with their families, snatching up those last-minute presents, gathering for seasonal parties with their friends or office colleagues, going out and getting drunk on any old excuse. Well, who needed an excuse? It was nearly Christmas, after all.

That was how it had been for most people. But not for those who were obliged to work over the holiday period. There were always a few who drew the short straw. And they tended to let you know how they felt about it.

‘Yes, I was duty DC,’ said Gavin Murfin, when Cooper sat him down in a chair in the CID room. ‘Funny how I always seem to pull the Christmas rota. Anyone would think there was a conspiracy to land all the worst jobs on the local sucker. I must have a big neon sign on my head or something. Dump your unwanted shit here.’

Cooper signalled to the rest of the team, and they gathered round Murfin like a family listening to their ageing grandfather tell a favourite story. Becky Hurst sat upright with her arms folded and a sceptical expression on her face. Luke Irvine slouched casually in a swivel chair, eyes moving constantly from his computer screen to Murfin and back. Carol Villiers leaned against the wall, the light from the window behind her. Cooper perched on a desk and studied Murfin as closely as if he’d been a suspect in an interview room.

‘Did you go up to Oxlow Moor, Gavin?’ he asked.

‘Well, not at first. I was called out to the cottage where the Pearsons were staying. They were reported missing by the farmer’s wife, who’d gone to see if they needed anything after the snow stopped. That was quite late the next day, you understand.’

‘The day after they disappeared?’

‘Right.’ Murfin shivered at the memory. ‘It was damn cold up there. Snow on the ground, a wind that cut right through you like a knife. You should have heard me moaning about being dragged out of a nice warm office on a false alarm. We were having a bit of fun here, those of us who were in over Christmas. There were mince pies and everything.’

‘But it wasn’t a false alarm, was it, Gavin? Did the incident escalate quickly?’

‘I wouldn’t say it was quick. People are reported missing all the time – everyone knows that. And they were adults, after all. It wasn’t as if they were kids who’d run away from home. But given the weather conditions … well, there was a bit of concern about their welfare, like.’

Cooper could understand why Murfin sounded defensive. Decisions could seem mistaken with the benefit of hindsight. But no one wanted to call it wrong in the early stages and end up looking like a fool.

Murfin gazed round the circle of faces. ‘Well, the owners of the property had keys, so there was no problem getting inside the cottage. But we could already see the Pearsons hadn’t slept there the night before. In fact, no one had been there since before the snow started. There was a drift up against the door, and no footprints in the snow outside, except the owner’s. The cottage was cold, too.’

‘The Pearsons’ car was still there, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. A Range Rover, as I recall. Smart motor. It was covered over in snow, so it hadn’t been driven for a good twenty-four hours.’

‘That must have set alarm bells ringing.’

‘Right. People die of exposure in those conditions. But we had no idea at first where they might have been, what they’d been doing – what they were wearing, even. They might have gone to stay with friends, been picked up by a taxi. We just didn’t know. No one was keen to start making big decisions that would tie up a massive amount of resources over Christmas.’