Dancing With the Virgins (33 page)

*

Wayne Sugden was working himself to a peak of out
raged innocence. He had been easily prompted to it by
the first questions about the burglary. It had turned on a
tap, the flow gradually becoming hotter until the steam
began to rise.

‘
That tart, why did she say all those things? She said
I nicked jewellery and all sorts of stuff. She said I pissed
on her carpet and chucked some kind of sauce at her
walls. Why would I want to do that?
’

DI Hitchens explained patiently: 'It was done by whoever burgled her parents' house, Wayne. The court said
that was you.'

‘
It's rubbish. I wasn't even there.'

‘
Come on, Wayne. There was enough evidence to convict you.'

‘
I don't care. It was all crap.
’

Hitchens sighed. 'We can't help you if you're so stubborn.'

‘
That bitch got me sent down. The things she said, they were wrong. She turned the magistrates against
me, otherwise I could have got off with probation or
something. Pissing on the carpet — I mean. That's not
me.'

‘
How well do you remember Jenny Weston? Did you
see her in court?
’

Sugden's face went pale.
'She got done, didn't she? I saw it on the telly.
’

‘
Yes, she got done.'

‘
You're never going to try and fit me up for that!
You're bloody not!' Sugden peered nervously at Hitch-
ens. 'No, you're not. I can see you're not. Even you lot,
you know better than that.
’

Hitchens looked at Ben Cooper, inviting him to change tack. 'Wayne, how did you feel when young Gavin was killed on that school trip?
’

Now Sugden really did look confused. 'What?
’

‘
You remember the accident to your nephew?'
"Course I do.'

‘
They had to turn his life-support machine off. How
did you feel about that?'

‘
I was upset. Obviously. We were all upset. Gavin was a good lad. But —'

‘
Who did you blame for his death?
’

Sugden closed his mouth. His eyes flickered. He looked at the tapes.

‘
Wayne? It would be normal to blame somebody for
what happened. To hold somebody responsible. Maybe
even to want revenge on them,' said Cooper.

‘
Look, don't mess about with me,' said Sugden. 'I know it was Weston who was in charge when Gavin got hurt.'

‘
Do you still say you didn't burgle the Westons' cot
tage?' asked Cooper.

‘
And do you still say you don't know anything about
their daughter?' added Hitchens.

‘
Yeah,' said Sugden. 'I do say that. Still.'

*

Sugden's insistence worried Cooper. If the man lurking
around Jenny Weston's house wasn't Martin Stafford
or some boyfriend, it had to be Sugden. The description
was vague, but it did fit him. And he had a motive
for wanting to do Jenny harm. But Cooper trusted his
own ability to judge when somebody was lying and
when they were telling the truth, even if he could never
prove it
.

Of course, Sugden might have dwelt on the idea of
revenge long enough while in prison, with no one to contradict him, for it to have festered in his mind. Cooper could even imagine the conversations with other prisoners that would have taken place, full of
mutual self-pity and recriminations against those on the
outside. Sugden had alibis for the day Jenny was killed.
But might he have made some jail-cell pact? It seemed
unlikely, though the things that went on in the minds
of men in prison were far worse than that
.

*

As he walked out of the station towards his car, Ben
Cooper became aware that he was being followed. He
thought at first it was Diane Fry coming after him,
determined to open some new argument. But then he
recognized the jacket, and he saw that it was Mark Roper
.

Cooper stopped. 'All right, Mark? Still here? Do you
want a lift or something?'

‘
I came with Owen, but he's stayed to have a word
with the inspector. They want us to put on more patrols
round Ringham.'

‘
I know.'

‘
There's something I wanted to tell you. I didn't like
to say anything in the meeting.
’

Cooper leaned against his Toyota, noting how ill at
ease the young Ranger was. Mark took a radio handset from his pocket, fingered the buttons, flexed the aerial,
and put it back without seeming to realize what he was
doing.

‘
Tell me about it,' said Cooper.

‘
It's Warren Leach. We see him often at Ringham
Edge. He doesn't know we're there — he never bothers
to look up at the hills these days, only down at his boots.' Mark paused. 'For a while now, I've thought there was something going on in the big shed at the
back of the farmhouse. The new one, with the steel roof.
It's always locked, and Leach doesn't go near it during
the day. I've seen Yvonne Leach go out there and try
the doors sometimes, when Warren is out of the way.
She wants to know what's in there, too.'

‘
And at night?'

‘
People come. Vans, four-wheel drives. They all park
by the shed. But only when it's dark.'

‘
Mark, you're not normally on patrol at night, are you?'

‘
Of course not. But I've been up there in my own time
a couple of nights. I want to know what's going on. It's
my patch, you see. Owen told me it's my patch now, up
there.' Mark hesitated and looked sideways at Cooper.
'Owen doesn't know I go up on the moor at night.'

‘
All right, Mark.'

‘
Leach is going through a really bad time. You've been to see him, haven't you?'

‘
We took a captive bolt pistol off him the other day.
It was unlicensed.
’

Mark frowned. 'Why do you think Leach would have
a captive bolt pistol?'

‘
To use on his own animals, I suppose. There must
be some he has to put down.'

‘
Farmers are supposed to have their fallen stock removed by a proper slaughterman. There are regulations these days.'

‘
Even so ...'

‘
Would he risk getting into trouble just for that?
’

Cooper waited for him to say more, but Mark looked
round at the door to see if Owen had emerged. He began to edge towards the Ranger Land Rover a few places away from Cooper's car.

‘
Have there been any people coming to the farm that
you recognized, Mark?' asked Cooper.

‘
Oh, one or two vehicles that were probably local. Most of them I don't recognize.'

‘
What about a white van?
’

The young Ranger nodded. 'Ford Transit? Almost ready for the scrapyard? Front bumper held on with baling twine?'

‘
Yes, that sort of van.'

‘
I know him, all right. That's the rat man.'

‘
You've seen him down at the farm?'

‘
Several times. He gets around a bit.
’

Owen Fox came out of the station. He was chatting to a uniformed officer, and they paused on the steps. When Owen saw Mark, a faint shadow slipped across
his face.
'Thanks for sharing that with me, Mark,' said Cooper
.

Mark put out a hand to hold him back for a second.
'I'd rather that nobody found out who passed that on
to you,' he said.

‘
Why?'

‘
I have to live and work round here. If people think
I'm spying for the police, it won't make any difference to them whether what they're doing is right or wrong.
No difference at all.
’

*

Diane Fry had a phone call she wanted to make before
she got involved in anything else. It was to Maggie
Crew's sister. Her name was Catherine Dyson, and her
phone number was in the file — a number in the Cork
area, in the south of Ireland.

‘
Yes, I know Maggie is having major problems bring
ing back the memories,' said Catherine when Fry got
through to her. 'If you're asking my opinion, the more
you press her to remember, the more she'll bury the
memories. I think it's automatic with her now. It's her
instinct to push things away, not to dwell on the past.'

‘
She is suffering partial amnesia from the assault,'
said Fry. 'The doctors say she may never recover
memory for the period several hours either side of the
incident.'

‘
Well, if they say so. But Mags was always frightened
of memories coming back out of the past. She's built up a whole system of defences. Her memories are
locked up more securely than Fort Knox. Sometimes I
think she barely remembers
me.
’

Catherine's voice was very like her sister's, but softer
and more comfortable. There was even a faint hint of
an Irish accent creeping into the vowels — more, anyway,
than might be expected for a woman from Chester
field. Fry conjured a picture of a white-painted cottage
reflecting the sunlight on a hillside over an Atlantic
fishing port, and Catherine Dyson in an armchair with a cat on her knee as she gazed out of the window. She pictured a large woman, her body allowed to run to fat
after four children, her time taken up with washing
and ironing, baking and tending the garden. A woman
nothing like Maggie Crew. A woman who was happy.

‘
Are you thinking of any particular memories from
your sister's past?' asked Fry. 'Apart from the assault,
I mean?'

‘
Yes, of course,' said Catherine. 'I was thinking of her
daughter.'

24

That morning, the dowser was working his way back
wards and forwards across the edge of the birch wood,
treading carefully as if he was walking an imaginary
white line, his eyes fixed on a forked twig held in front
of him. He held it strangely, with his palms turned
upwards. Every now and then, the twig twitched, and
the dowser would stop and scuff at the ground with
the toe of his boot. Then he would move on. He looked
cold and disconsolate
.

Diane Fry had a copy of the latest
Eden Valley Times.
The attack on Karen Tavisker had come too late for the newspaper's deadline, though it was already appearing on the local radio news bulletins. The
Times
did have three pages covering a public meeting and protests outside the hall, with all the old material
about Jenny Weston and Maggie Crew rehashed into
one big mess that somebody had to take the blame for. The guilty faces of Jepson and Tailby stared out from a crowd waving banners that said 'We demand action'
.

There was a highly speculative piece headed 'The
Sabbath Slayer?' It attempted to make a link between
the legend of the Nine Virgins, who had been turned
to stone for dancing on the Sabbath, and the fact that
the attacks on Crew and Weston had both taken place
on Sundays, when the women had been out walking or
cycling on the moor. The conclusion was that a religious
maniac could be punishing women for enjoying them
selves on the Lord's Day. As a theory, it held plenty of tabloid drama, but little substance. Yet it had already
been murmured by officers on the enquiry team, in their
more desperate moments
.

There was also an interesting secondary story on the third page. A reporter and photographer had found two
young men living in an old VW van in an abandoned
quarry at Ringham Moor, and they had scented a differ
ent angle.

‘
Have you seen this photograph? Calvin Law
rence looks a mass murderer if ever I saw one,' said Fry.

‘
But they've made Stride look like a half-wit.'

‘
That youth needs psychiatric help. Have you seen
their background reports? He dropped out of university during one of his recurring periods of acute depression.'

‘
That doesn't make him a half-wit,' said Cooper.

‘
Simon Bevington tried to kill himself twice. It might
mean that he shouldn't be out and about unsupervised.
The bloke's a nutter.'

‘
He isn't a danger to anybody but himself. Besides, I
think he
is
supervised. Cal takes care of him. I reckon
Stride's better looked after where he is than he would
be in any hostel. That's real care in the community. He's
found someone who actually cares about him, no strings
attached.'

‘
Oh, lucky him.'

‘
He isn't dangerous,' insisted Cooper. 'He just sees the world in a different way from most people. Different, that's what he is.'

‘
Yeah, yeah. Different like the Yorkshire Ripper was
different. He's a nutter, Ben.'

‘
He's strange, that's all. My mother would say he was
a bit fey.
’

Fry snorted. 'You're a bloody strange copper, Ben.
Do you really think there are people in this world who
are complete angels?'

‘
Well . . .' said Cooper. 'I suppose he
is
a bit like that.
In a way.'

‘
What?'

‘
Innocent, you know. Detached from the real world.
Ethereal.
’

Fry stared at him. 'Hey, you don't have to look too
far for nutters round these parts, do you?' she said. 'The
real loonies can be right there in front of your eyes.
’

Cooper read the newspaper article over her shoulder.
'They quote Stride as saying the wind chimes and tree
sculptures will keep away the vengeful spirits of the moor.'

‘
Why do they print that crap?'

‘
It gives them a chance for a funny headline: "Tate
for tat? Quarry dwellers' art is more than just rock and
roll-ups".'

‘
Very clever. At least they don't mention Simon Bevington's history.'

‘
No,' said Cooper. 'But I think they might have done
enough.'

‘
All the attention might persuade them to leave the
quarry. That would be no loss, in my opinion.'

‘
They're all right. They're the sort of people we
should be protecting.'

‘
What
are you talking about?'

‘
You remember. That oath we took. "I do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm . .." '

‘
Yeah, yeah.'

‘
"... and prevent all offences against the person and
properties of Her Majesty's subjects."'

‘
Ben, do you realize you're the only copper in the country who can still quote his oath more than two minutes after his swearing in?'

‘
Maybe I happened to check on it the other day.
’

‘
What the hell has that got to do with those two van
people, anyway?'

‘
I think they're at risk. Just like the others.'

‘
What others?'

‘
Well, like Jenny Weston and Maggie Crew. Like Will
Leach and his brother, little Dougie. Their mother as
well. Even their father, in a way. And, well . . . others.
They're our responsibility.'

‘
Ben, it's a big mistake to think you've been recruited
as one of the Knights of the Round Table. They don't
issue shining armour these days. And your name isn't
Sir Galahad.
’

Cooper shook his head. 'Maybe I'm a bit old-
fashioned and quaint. The fact is, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try to do something for
the people who need protecting. What a joke, eh?' And he began to walk off, scuffing the loose stones,
so that they left white marks on the toes of his shoes
.