‘We could try asking the first Mrs Rochester.’

‘Who?’

‘Betty Wheatcroft,’ said Cooper. ‘Mrs Wheatcroft was very upset by the death of Aidan Merritt. She’s a bit nervous about being on her own, I think. In fact, she seems to be developing irrational fears about someone coming to her house to attack her.’

‘Violence like that can be very worrying to old people. They feel vulnerable, and they don’t really know where the danger might come from.’

‘Yes, you’re right. But in my view she was a little too upset. It wasn’t just a general fear. I’m sure Merritt meant something to her personally.’

That morning, Superintendent Branagh sat Cooper down in her office. DI Hitchens was already there, leaning against the window. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, like a man who’d decided on a course of action and was determined to go through with it.

‘DS Cooper, how is your team settling down?’ said Branagh.

To Cooper, it sounded very much like preparatory small talk. His team had been settling down for months already.

‘Very well, ma’am. Thank you.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it. We’re in for rough times, you know.’

‘We’ll survive, ma’am,’ said Cooper. ‘We’ll survive.’

Branagh nodded, but he had the impression she hadn’t really been listening to the answer.

‘I hate having to bring in outside help,’ she said. ‘I would prefer to feel that the division can do the job with its own resources. As you know, there’s only one thing I detest more. And that’s leaks to the press.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’

‘But we had no choice in this case. The Major Crime Unit have taken responsibility for the Merritt murder inquiry.’

She put an unusual amount of emphasis on the last few words. Cooper glanced at Hitchens, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of some unspoken message.

The superintendent frowned, noticing the bruise on Cooper’s temple.

‘Did something happen to you last night?’

Cooper automatically touched the sore place. ‘No, it’s nothing.’

‘Not falling out with your fiancée over the wedding plans, are you?’

Cooper tried to laugh politely, but Branagh wasn’t fooled.

‘Oh well. None of my business, perhaps?’

‘Thank you for asking, though,’ said Cooper.

‘No problem. The thing is, DS Cooper, we want you to understand that the presence of officers from the Major Crime Unit doesn’t preclude us from taking appropriate action for ourselves when we think it’s necessary. For example, if new information should come to light in our ongoing inquiries into the disappearance of David and Patricia Pearson.’

‘Ah,’ said Cooper, a light beginning to dawn.

‘Which,’ continued Branagh, ‘I believe you’ve been working on.’

‘I have, ma’am.’

‘Well, I would be very happy to hear we’d made some progress in our part of this operation. A suspect or two brought in for interview, perhaps. That would be good news, wouldn’t it? The sort of thing that would reflect well on E Division’s capability. Do we understand each other?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Cooper.

He was sitting up straighter in his chair, feeling the adrenalin already surging through his veins at the prospect of action. Those bruises didn’t hurt at all, now he thought about it.

Cooper stood up to leave the office. Branagh held him back by fixing him with her steady, piercing gaze.

‘DS Cooper,’ she said.

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Remember what I told you. Any problems or concerns you have, feed them back to me via your DI here. You have our full backing.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Cooper.

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll take it you don’t have any problems.’

Cooper strode back into the CID room. Everyone looked up as he entered, as if sensing the new mood in the air already.

‘Luke,’ he said.

‘Yes, boss?’

‘Ian Gullick is running a greengrocer’s business, you said.’

‘He has a stall on the market in town twice a week,’ said Irvine. ‘The rest of the week he’s probably setting up pitches on other markets around the county. Chesterfield, Buxton, I don’t know where. But Edendale is his home ground.’

‘And what day is it today?’ said Cooper.

‘Thursday. Why?’

‘Because it’s market day.’

‘Are we going shopping?’ asked Villiers.

‘No,’ said Cooper. ‘We’re going to make some arrests.’

21

Markets always seemed to be the coldest, windiest spots. He supposed it was in the nature of the layout – an open space with streets funnelling into it from every direction. In winter, stallholders often shivered in heavy overcoats and fur hats, as if they were trading on a street market in Moscow.

Shop windows all around the market square in Edendale were filled with posters advertising the town’s campaign against the building of a new Tesco store. There was a Sainsbury’s Local right here on the market square, but many of the other businesses were independents.

The register office was still located here in the town hall, but the magistrates’ court and county court round the corner had a less than promising future. Court facilities were being closed and centralised in bigger population centres, just like police stations

Cooper had to admit that Edendale market wasn’t the most exciting in Derbyshire. Chesterfield and Bakewell were both better. On this side of the market, the main attractions seemed to be a fish van, a plant stall, a hot-dog trailer, and a trader selling Union Jack rugs.

Ian Gullick was doing business today on his vegetable stall. Piles of potatoes and carrots failed to hide his beer gut, which stretched a T-shirt and a leather money belt to breaking point. Though his stall was right in front of Jack’s Barbers, he clearly hadn’t been inside recently for a wash and cut.

‘Okay, we’re going to go in nice and easy,’ said Cooper into his radio. ‘Gavin, can you see him from your position?’

‘Yes, got him.’

Murfin was standing by the window of the tattoo parlour, just behind the artisan bakery, partially obscuring a poster advertising ear-lobe tattoos.

‘Becky?’

‘Right behind the stall.’

‘Excellent. Let’s hope the uniforms stay out of sight until we’ve got the cuffs on.’

Without showing any signs of hurry or drawing attention to themselves, they closed in towards Gullick’s stall. A young assistant was weighing out onions for a customer, and Gullick himself moved down to the end of the stall to shift some empty boxes. When Cooper was within a few yards, the customer paid for her onions and the stall was clear.

‘Right, move in.’

Cooper picked up speed as he moved towards the stall. But Gullick, seeming to sense that something was wrong, looked up and spotted him. Cooper saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. A pile of boxes went flying as Gullick barged his assistant out of the way and ran round the end of the stall, toppling a pile of Golden Delicious, which spilled into the aisle and rolled under the feet of passing shoppers.

‘He’s spotted us, Ben,’ said Hurst. ‘He’s doing a runner.’

Cooper could see Hurst grabbing for Gullick, but missing.

‘Police!’ he called. ‘Stay where you are!’

‘Damn, I almost had him there,’ called Hurst.

‘Police! Stop!’

Gullick took no notice. It never did work anyway, unless you had a dog handler to enforce the command.

Cooper tried to dodge between the shoppers, who milled about in confusion, getting in his way. There was a crash, a splintering of wood, and someone screamed as if they’d fallen on to the stone paving.

‘Gavin?’ said Cooper.

‘Yeah?’

‘Where the hell are you?’

‘Right here. Just waiting for you to join me, like.’

‘What?’

Cooper pushed his way through the crowd, and Becky Hurst came panting up behind him. When the press of bodies cleared, he saw Gavin Murfin in his old anorak, standing there like someone’s mildly confused uncle out doing his weekly shop.