Already Dead (6 page)

Edendale was a magnet for tourists, and they seemed to come in greater numbers every year, whatever the weather. The Eden Valley straddled the two distinct geological halves of the Peak District – the limestone hills and wooded dales of the White Peak, and the bleak expanses of peat moors in the Dark Peak. Its position made a perfect base for exploring the national park, and all the usual services had developed to cater for the tourists – hotels, bed and breakfasts, restaurants, outdoor clothing shops. Some of the old-fashioned businesses were still there, the butchers and bakers and antique shops. But to Irvine’s eye, they looked more like antiques themselves, part of the picturesque scenery.

Gavin Murfin had been working in this area for so long that he knew a lot of useful things, and the best places to go. It had been Gavin who’d introduced him to May’s Café, just off West Street, the place where everyone nipped off to now that there was no canteen. It was one of the most useful lessons he’d learned during his first week in CID.

But it wasn’t the impending departure of Gavin Murfin that was bothering Irvine. He’d felt secure with Ben Cooper as his DS. You knew where you stood with Ben. He’d tell you the facts, give it to you straight, put you on the right path if you went astray. But you knew he’d always back you up. It was what you’d want from your supervising officer. It made you feel you were a valued member of his team.

Irvine had learned that being in the police was like being part of a big family. You didn’t always agree with each other, or even get on very well. But you were still family. It was a crucial factor when it came down to the ‘us and them’, the moment when you faced a dangerous situation together.

Yes, the loss of Cooper was bad news, whichever way you looked at it – even if it was temporary, and nobody knew if that was the case or not. For Irvine, the reappearance of Diane Fry in E Division was like the tsunami after the earthquake. If you survived one, the other would definitely get you. The old one-two flattened you every time.

When he thought about it, Fry made a pretty good tidal wave. She could knock you off your feet and leave you floundering.

He wondered how Becky Hurst truly felt about Diane Fry. It was difficult to tell with women. They were nice enough to each other face to face, but it was a different matter when their backs were turned. Becky was too smart to let it show if she felt strongly, though. She was an expert at keeping her head down and her nose clean. It was a skill he’d yet to learn for himself. Keeping his mouth shut was just too hard to do sometimes.

He’d known Hurst for a while – they’d applied for CID at the same time, done their detective training together, ended up being posted to E Division as a pair of new recruits. When he looked around now at other officers of his own age, Irvine was struck by how few of them showed any interest in CID. And why should they, when there was no extra pay, no promotion, not even any additional prestige?

There were specialist jobs in uniform which looked much more exciting – firearms, surveillance, air support unit. Some couldn’t resist the continually shifting demands of being a response officer, the first on the scene to every incident, driving on blue lights all day long. But Irvine had found the continuous adrenalin rush too exhausting. The brain never seemed to catch up with the body when you were working constantly on instinct and training. Life in CID might be far more bogged down in paperwork and procedure than he’d imagined, but at least you were called on to think occasionally.

He’d thought of going into intelligence. Even a Senior Intelligence Analyst with Derbyshire Constabulary earned only about thirty thousand pounds a year. A successful professional criminal would laugh at that.

And life on the Senior Management Team didn’t look enticing from this distance either. It seemed to him that the SMT tried to solve everything with spreadsheets and matrices. Common sense scared them. Extra resources meant more mobile data terminals, and more tasers. And for months now the chiefs had hardly been able to think of anything else but the new Police and Crime Commissioner and what priorities he’d decide on for Derbyshire.

Irvine laughed quietly to himself. If he spoke those thoughts out loud, people would think he was turning into Gavin Murfin. Except that Gavin had never understood what a spreadsheet was, or a matrix – and now he’d never have to. Lucky man.

He wished he was eligible to vote in the referendum on Scottish independence. But he was one of many thousands of Scots living in England who wouldn’t get a say in the future of the union. Not unless he left Derbyshire and moved up to live there in the next twelve months. It didn’t look likely to happen.

Irvine crossed the Hollowgate bridge in the centre of Edendale and found himself halted in traffic. He looked down at the river, and was shocked to see how high it was. The water was rushing over the rocks on the river bed and building up great white heads of foam. It had risen much further up its banks than usual, and broken tree branches were being pushed against the stonework. When he wound down his window he could hear the roaring of the water above the sound of the traffic.

The streets around this part of town looked safe from flooding. They were well above the level of the river. Downstream, it might be different. To the east of Edendale the valley widened out and the land became flatter, more prone to flooding when the Eden burst its banks.

Just across the river from here was Welbeck Street. Irvine knew nothing about that particular street. Except that it was where Ben Cooper lived.

6

Half an hour later, Detective Sergeant Ben Cooper stepped out of his front door on to Welbeck Street, and panicked.

He’d hardly set foot on the pavement when he found himself facing his landlady, Dorothy Shelley. He took a pace back, fighting a surge of anxiety. For weeks, it had felt like a shock every time he met someone, no matter how well he knew them. His throat constricted and the palms of his hands became suddenly sweaty.

Mrs Shelley stared at him from under her PVC rain hood. It had stopped raining now, but she seemed to have forgotten to take it off. A part of Cooper wanted to remind her, to tell her she didn’t need to be wearing the hood this morning. That side of him hated the idea that people passing by in the street would think she was a batty old lady. She’d been good to him over the years. Mrs Shelley made him feel welcome in Edendale, and that meant a lot.

But another part of him found it was too much effort. The discomfort in his throat made it difficult for him even to get the words out. The conversation might get complicated, and that scared him too much. He felt anxious even thinking about it. So he said nothing. It seemed the safest option.

‘Oh, Ben,’ said the old lady brightly. ‘There you are at last. Are you just going out?’

‘Yes, Mrs Shelley.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Just fine.’

Of course he didn’t feel fine. He hadn’t felt fine for a very long time. It seemed like years and years and years. He’d even forgotten what it felt like. But he nodded at Mrs Shelley and said he felt just fine. And when she eyed him dubiously, he nodded again and kept nodding, like an idiot. He could feel himself doing it, but couldn’t stop.

Mrs Shelley scraped her stick on the pavement anxiously.

‘And are you on your way—?’ she said.

‘Yes, the usual place,’ he said. ‘I’m going to visit Liz.’

He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and rattled them, as if to prove what he was saying. His Toyota was standing by the kerb a few yards away, waiting for him. He was free to go, wasn’t he? There was nothing else he was supposed to do.

Cooper stopped rattling his keys and looked more closely at Mrs Shelley, wondering if there was something he’d forgotten. He felt almost certain there wasn’t. He definitely didn’t have to go to work. He was still on leave. Extended leave, they called it. That meant he didn’t have to think about work for a while. He hadn’t thought about it for … how long?

His airways spasmed and the pain began to spread into his lungs, making it difficult for him to breathe. The old burns on his arms itched, and his fingers clenched into fists. He recognised the signs, and his sight blurred for a few moments as he fought the attack. He gritted his teeth, determined not to let it show in front of Mrs Shelley.

When his vision cleared again, she’d moved a step or two closer and was holding out her free hand as if she was about to touch him. She looked almost as though she was expecting to have to catch him if he fell, as if he might faint and fall flat on the pavement at any moment. His landlady got such strange ideas. She was definitely going a bit batty.

‘Would you like me to come with you?’ she asked.

Cooper frowned. Why did she suggest that? In what universe would he ask Mrs Shelley to come with him to visit Liz? Didn’t she understand?

‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘But—’

‘Yes?’

‘But it’s kind of you to offer.’

That was right, wasn’t it? That was the sort of thing you said to fob people off, when you just wanted them to leave you alone. He began to move towards the kerb, but Mrs Shelley was still holding out her hand. He was afraid she might be about to grab hold of his arm and keep him back.

‘I could get you a taxi, perhaps?’ she said.

‘No, I’ll be okay, really,’ said Cooper. ‘I can drive, I still have a car.’

Even as he said it, he felt his voice weakening. He looked towards the road again, to make sure the Toyota was still there. He did have a car. He was holding the keys to prove it.

‘Of course. If you’re sure you’re well enough…’

Mrs Shelley’s face was screwed up in concern. Cooper knew she must be referring to the burns on his arm. But they were healing slowly, and they weren’t so painful now. The skin felt tight on his forearm when he flexed the muscle, but that was only a bit of discomfort. Why should Mrs Shelley think it would prevent him from driving safely?

‘I’ll see you later then, Ben,’ she called as he walked away. ‘Don’t catch a chill.’

And the old lady stood on the pavement in her PVC rain hood and clutched her walking stick, as she watched him unlock the door and get into his car.

It was only when he was sitting in the driving seat of his Toyota and struggling to fit the key into the ignition that Cooper looked down at his hands and saw how badly they were shaking. They had a tremor so violent that it looked as though he was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.

He took a deep, ragged breath, trying to steady the shaking.

‘Okay, Liz. I got rid of her. I’m on my way now.’

He pulled out into Welbeck Street, his wheels splashing through a pool of rain water that was spreading across the road from a blocked gutter. Spray splashed on to the windscreen, creating a sudden glittering sheen like a shower of confetti as he turned the first corner.

He knew what he had to talk to Liz about today. It should have been their wedding next week. Liz had been planning her big day for the past year or more. Yes, probably for a lot longer, now he thought about it. She just hadn’t told him until he’d needed to know. The reception had been booked, the order of service agreed, the honeymoon destination settled on. A cake had been ordered, the flowers chosen. It was all written down in a special A4 notebook with a gold cover, which Liz had kept for the purpose.

A few minutes later, on the other side of Edendale, Cooper got out of the Toyota then saw that he’d parked it awkwardly, the rear end sticking out into the roadway. He used to be so good at parking, could fit the car neatly into any available space, and was careful never to cause an obstruction for other road users. But now he couldn’t do it. He’d lost the necessary co-ordination. And it didn’t seem to matter any more, either.

Last night, when he came home late, he’d been surprised to see that the boot of his car contained fencing spikes and a sledgehammer. Then he’d remembered that his brother Matt had left them there weeks ago, when he persuaded Ben to help him with repairs to a few fences at the farm. Matt kept reminding him about them, but he always forgot to take them back.

And that was the way he was now. Small details just slipped out of his mind as soon as he turned his back or lost sight of them. Cooper supposed the presence of the fence posts in his boot would surprise him every time he saw them. None of these things seemed important to him. Nothing mattered, really. Nothing.

He seemed to be experiencing sensory hallucinations too. When he got out of the car, he smelled fish and chips. Right there in the middle of nowhere, a powerful scent hit him, without a soul around, let alone a fish and chip shop nearer than half an hour’s drive away. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Standing in his kitchen one night, he’d suddenly got the scent of horse manure. It was such a distinctive smell, very specific. Strange, then, that there should be no horses within a couple of miles of him. Not there in the centre of Edendale. Fish and chip shops, yes. Lots of them. But horses, no. His senses were having a joke.

He wondered if there was something wrong with him. He’d never heard of this happening to anyone before. But people did hear voices and see things that weren’t there. Maybe hallucinatory smells were a symptom of some brain disease. It was a possibility he’d rather not think about just now.

Cooper walked a few yards to the entrance. Across the valley, he could see Edendale District General Hospital, a complex of white buildings on the far edge of town. It seemed an immense distance away. The hospital was too far away be any use to him now. And it always had been.

Cooper turned, recollecting what he’d come to do, and walked through the gates of the cemetery. The newer graves were at the far end of the site, and he had to walk a hundred yards or so on fine gravel that crunched like autumn leaves under his feet. Cooper knew the route well. He’d trodden this path every day for the last three months. Every day that he’d come to visit Liz.

And then the fire came again, Through the mask, he could smell the reek of petrol. He saw flames around the door, floorboards reduced to ashes, black smoke rolling across the ceiling, hanging like a curtain, sinking steadily downwards. Carbon monoxide. Two or three lungfuls would kill him.