Dead And Buried (Cooper and Fry) (26 page)

‘Stop. Back
off. I’m a police officer.’

‘We know that.’

The second blow came too quickly for him to react. It struck from behind, an impact with a heavy object on his back, throwing him forward. He stumbled as he tried to keep his balance.
Don’t go down, you mustn’t go down.

A third swing from his assailant glanced off his shoulder and struck his temple. Cooper fumbled for his ASP, twisted his body, struck out at the dim shape looming out of the night. He heard a curse of surprise as the ASP hit home.

But then someone else grabbed him from behind. Cooper jabbed an elbow backwards and felt it sink into cushiony flesh. A whoosh of breath past his ear was followed by a relaxation of the grip on his neck. He twisted his hips and grabbed at an arm, forcing it back against the wall. He was vaguely aware of the size and weight of the body he was heaving against – a billowing torso and clumsy limbs, as if he was wrestling a king-size mattress.

He struggled to get a grip on something, but his fingers slid off the surface of a waxed coat. He could smell the wax itself, and deeper smells ingrained into the fabric. He saw the business end of a baseball bat swinging back for another strike.

Then lights came over the hill and swept across the field, briefly illuminating a corner of the barn.

‘Shit,’ muttered one of the men. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The arms released him, and he dropped to the floor. He heard the confused sounds of running feet, an engine starting up, doors banging, someone shouting.

Groggily, Cooper picked himself up and felt the side of his head. There was no blood, but it was painful, and he could feel a lump developing where the the bat had hit him.

He lifted his eyes at the sound of a vehicle slowing, and
peered into the headlights to see a familiar face behind the wheel. The car stopped, a door opened and the driver jumped out.

‘Matt? What are you doing here?’

‘Thank God. Ben, are you all right? What happened?’

‘What do you think? Somebody jumped me.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Because I was asking too many questions in the wrong place?’

‘What questions? Who could be so worried about questions?’

‘Actually, I thought you might know, Matt.’

His brother flinched away. ‘What?’

‘In case you hadn’t put two and two together, I was attacked right after you talked to your mates who used to be in the Young Farmers Club.’

‘No.’

‘Oh yes. It’s hardly open to debate.’

‘They wouldn’t do such a thing,’ said Matt.

‘I think so. But I’m just wondering whose side you’re on.’

‘I never wanted for this to happen.’

But Ben could hear the doubt in his voice, and see it in his eyes. He still knew his brother well enough for that. He’d retained some of the ability to read Matt’s thoughts in an expression or a small gesture.

‘If your friends had nothing to do with the Pearsons, what are they so sensitive about? Why do they object to people asking questions?’

Matt looked distressed.

‘I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one who told you this, Ben,’ he said.

‘What?
What?
’

‘There was something going on at the Light House,
something that had nothing to do with drinking beer. Maurice Wharton had lock-ins, you know.’

‘Why? What was going on?’

‘Drugs, they reckon.’

‘I had no idea. You mean someone was dealing at the Light House?’

‘Yep.’

‘Did Wharton know about it?’

‘I couldn’t say. Though it’s hard to imagine him not being aware of what went on at his pub.’

A blue Land Rover drove in to the gateway and stopped.

‘Who’s that?’

‘The lads you were supposed to be meeting,’ said Matt.

‘What?’

‘They phoned and said you weren’t alone, that someone else was here.’

‘So who were those guys?’ said Cooper. ‘I must have been followed. Was it a white pickup?’

‘Ben, I have no idea.’

Ben
Cooper woke up the next morning sore and angry. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, he could see a bruise developing rapidly on his temple. His hands were scratched and raw where he’d grappled with his assailants, trying to get a grip on a waxed jacket and a bloated body.

He’d reported the incident, without any expectations of a result. He was unable to identify the two men, and the farmers who’d turned up with Matt knew nothing about them, or what sort of vehicle might have been following him.

Turning his face from one side to the other in the mirror, Cooper hoped that nothing like this happened just before the wedding. He’d be in big trouble then. Very big trouble.

He had the impression that Gavin Murfin was whistling as he entered the CID room at West Street that morning. Murfin seemed to have perked up considerably since the arrival of Diane Fry. Everything he did was contrary to his previous behaviour. He’d disparaged Fry for years, referred to her in private as the Wicked Witch of the West. Now he seemed glad to see her.

It gave Cooper an uneasy feeling. In Murfin’s present
end-of-term mood, he might be planning something drastic. A final farewell that would ensure he was remembered for ever, his name enshrined in station legend.

Murfin placed his bag carefully on the desk, looking thoughtful. Over the years, Cooper had learned that his colleague could occasionally produce a flash of insight from his long experience in CID. This might be one of those moments, if he was lucky.

‘What are you thinking, Gavin?’

Murfin sniffed. ‘I’m thinking about what’s in this bag.’

‘Which is?’

‘A steak and kidney pie and a vanilla slice.’

‘What else have you been buying?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

Cooper peered into the bag.

‘Blow-up Bonking Baa Baa? Seriously?’

‘Stag night,’ said Murfin, snatching the bag away.

‘No need to be embarrassed, then.’

‘I’m not.’

‘That had better not be for me, Gavin,’ said Cooper.

‘Course not. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Who else is getting married, then?’

‘No one you know.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I do have a life outside the office.’

‘A mate down your local pub, maybe?’

‘Could be.’

‘Well you don’t have any other social life. Unless you’re in the habit of making friends at the chippy.’

Becky Hurst was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Blow-up Bonking Baa Baa. Does that sort of thing still go on at stag nights? Incredible.’

Irvine laughed. ‘What? Are you saying women don’t get up to the same sort of stuff on hen nights? Have you seen
Edendale town centre in the early hours of a Sunday morning?’

Cooper leaned towards Murfin and spoke to him quietly.

‘We need to talk, Gavin.’

‘All right, I don’t mind.’

‘And I mean soon. When we go off shift today.’

‘It’s a date.’

Cooper straightened up again, turning back to face the room

‘What’s going on then? Anything?’

‘You asked me to track down the vehicles owned by Ian Gullick and Vince Naylor,’ said Irvine.

‘Yes?’

‘Gullick has a blue Ford Transit van. He’s a market trader, so that makes sense.’

‘And Naylor?’ asked Cooper.

‘A Toyota Hilux pickup.’

‘A pickup? What colour?’

‘White.’

‘Of course it is.’

For a moment, Cooper forgot his bruises. Were things starting to come together at last? If so, it would be worth it.

‘Did we know that Maurice Wharton was an ex-copper?’ he asked.

Irvine nodded. ‘Yes, it’s in the files.’

‘It’s not unusual to find a retired police officer running a pub, is it?’ said Villiers.

‘He wasn’t retired. He got kicked out. Gross misconduct.’

‘Was he bent?’

‘No. He put the boot into a suspect once too often. You wouldn’t have heard about him because he wasn’t serving in this region. He was down in London, in the Met. He was rooted out of the Territorial Support Group in one of the Met’s regular clean-ups.’

‘It’s hard
to imagine.’

‘He went to seed a bit after they dumped him,’ said Murfin.

‘You can say that again.’

‘He’s a big guy, though. At one time, when he was younger and kept himself fit, he would have been pretty intimidating.’

Diane Fry entered the CID room, came to a halt in front of Cooper and tilted her head on one side to examine his bruises.

‘I suppose you’re going to ask what happened,’ said Cooper.

‘No, I heard.’

He wondered for a moment who would have rushed off to spread gossip to Diane Fry. She wasn’t usually the sort to be whispering in a huddle over the coffee machine. But then he remembered her ability to enter a room unobtrusively, a trick that must allow her to overhear all kinds of things.

‘I gather there’s even a suggestion that it was some members of the local farming community who were responsible,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know there was a provisional wing of the National Farmers Union.’

Cooper gave her a curt nod. It seemed the only suitable acknowledgement to the closest that Diane Fry had ever come to making a joke.

‘Someone else’s blood on David Pearson’s anorak,’ he said. ‘So what happened, do we think?’

‘The Pearsons did something bad, and realised they had to disappear?’ suggested Irvine.

‘They attacked or killed someone? But who?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Apart from the timing being so far out, you’d think it might have been Aidan Merritt.’

Fry
snorted. ‘Oh yes. Out by around two and a half years, that’s all.’

‘It would be convenient, though. We’d solve two mysteries at one go.’

‘Have we got any other theories, aside from these fantasies?’

Everyone was silent, until Hurst chimed in. ‘We’ll just have to hope for a DNA match from the blood.’

‘Is that the best we can do?’

No one answered, and Fry sighed.

‘It looks as though it is.’

‘Otherwise, we’re going to ask all the same questions that were asked before?’

‘Yes, and as many more as we can think of,’ said Fry.

‘Why?’

‘If you ask enough questions, the person who’s lying will eventually change their story. Anyone who’s telling the truth can’t do that.’

‘A small bunch of regulars were looked at closely by the original inquiry team. Vince Naylor, Ian Gullick.’

‘Their stories tallied.’

‘Everyone’s stories tallied. At least anyone who was sober enough to remember what happened.’

‘You left a name off the list,’ said Hurst.

‘I know. Aidan Merritt. It’s too late to ask him any more questions.’

‘It had to be someone local.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, who else was in the immediate area apart from locals?’

‘Nobody that we know of, apart from the party of four tourists we can’t identify.’

‘What about guests staying at the Light House?’

‘They’d already
stopped taking bookings before Christmas, remember? There was no one staying at the Light House.’

‘No one?’

‘Well, no one who wasn’t local. No one except the Whartons themselves.’

‘Is that right?’ Cooper turned suddenly to Murfin, who stopped chewing whatever it was he’d surreptitiously sneaked into his mouth. ‘Gavin, when you finally got to the Light House that day, it must have been a few hours after the Pearsons had been reported missing?’

‘Of course.’

‘Who was there?’

‘At the Light House? Just the Whartons, and a couple of regulars.’

‘Which regulars?’

‘Ian Gullick, Vince Naylor. They were always there. Practically lived in the place. They spent every hour they could in the games room.’

‘It was the day before Christmas, though.’

‘So?’

‘Hasn’t everyone been telling us that the Light House was always closed over Christmas? If the pub was shut, what were Naylor and Gullick doing there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t ask?’

‘Ben, we were in the middle of a major search operation, not to mention the effects of a snowstorm. It never occurred to me to ask them what they were doing there. I suppose I just thought they were helping to clear the snow or something.’

‘How had they come? In a four-wheel drive, or what?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember seeing anything. When I think about it, I don’t think even a four-wheel drive would
have made it to the pub in those conditions. Our vehicles couldn’t. We had to walk.’

‘Yes,’ said Cooper, picturing the depth of snow covering the access to the Light House from the road. ‘There’s only one way anyone could have got up there. It would have needed a farmer with a tractor.’

‘I’m amazed this wasn’t followed up at the time,’ said Fry. ‘Here are two individuals who might have had a grudge against the Pearsons. They were witnessed having an argument with them forty-eight hours previously, and they were on the scene not long after David and Trisha disappeared. What was the SIO thinking of?’

‘There were multiple witness statements taken from customers and staff who were at the Light House on the night after the argument,’ said Cooper. ‘Gullick and Naylor had no contact with the Pearsons that night. Maurice Wharton said he would never have let the two of them back into the pub if they hadn’t promised to behave themselves and stay away from the Pearsons. And by all accounts they did behave themselves. Apart from the angry words spoken the previous night, there was no suspicion against Naylor or Gullick, or any of their friends.’

‘We need to ask them some more questions.’

‘Of course. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘One more thing,’ said Fry. ‘Samantha Merritt gave us the names of some teachers she said her husband used to have a drink with sometimes after school. We talked to those teachers. And guess what? They said that a group of them often used to go for a drink, but that Aidan Merritt hardly ever joined them. They couldn’t explain why he would say that.’

‘And what do you think, Diane?’

She shrugged. ‘The usual reason would be an affair,
wouldn’t it? You know,
I’m going to be a bit late, dear – I’m just going for a drink with a few people from school
.’