Scared to Live (44 page)

even then it would be at a distance. So no heroics. Follow him until he was in a location where the situation could be safely contained. Oh, yes. And pray he didn't get away again. 'Oh, and make sure you all stay in touch,' said Fry. 'That's what the radios are for.' 'Yes, how come you manage to get these radios and ear pieces issued, if we're here unofficially?' asked Murfin. 'Gavin, haven't you learned when not to ask questions?' They started from the northern end of the village and separated, taking the riverside walk and the parade of shops in pairs. The village really was getting packed. This was the last night of the illuminations, and the night would climax with a fireworks display from the top of High Tor. Tomorrow, the Heights of Abraham would close for the winter. The cable cars would stop running, the gift shops would shut, and the terraces of the Hi Cafe and Summit Bar would be left empty. The clocks went back an hour in the morning, and winter would have arrived. Actually, Cooper knew he should be glad of something to do tonight. He needed to occupy his mind. Ever since the incident on the tower, he'd been aware of a deep ache that he was reluctant to explore, a doubt that he'd never have the answer to. Could he have done more to save John Lowther? If he'd acted differently, if he'd stayed back, if he'd made a grab for the man sooner . . . Despite telling his story three or four times since the tragedy had happened, he didn't know whether he'd done the right thing or not. He supposed it would be for other people to judge him. 'This is more like home,' said Kotsev, watching the crowds. 'What?' 'A big party in the street. People having fun. Give me a few stalls selling sunflower seeds, and I would be happy.' 'You'll have to make do with fish and chips.' Kotsev laughed. 'Mnogo vkusno. Delicious.' They walked slowly through the beer garden behind the

Midland Hotel, overlooking the river. Clusters of people were gathered at the Bikers' Well near the war memorial. Here, the shallow river was bordered by horse chestnuts, branches skimming the surface of the water. Disused, ivy-covered steps led down to the water's edge. Tilted beds of rock formed multicoloured cliffs on the opposite bank. An old ceramic drainage pipe lay embedded in the mud near a scattering of shingle. The illuminated boats were due to parade from New Bridge at the southern end of the village as far as the Pavilion, passing along the length of Derwent Gardens. On a map showing the start and finish, some comedian had drawn in a black shape halfway along the route and marked it 'Bermuda Triangle'. Cooper looked across the road. Fry and Murfin were standing in front of the chop house at the bottom of Holme Road, watching the crowds using a pedestrian crossing opposite the Thyme Restaurant. Behind the Riverside Fish Restaurant was a boating jetty, then a row of shops leading to the Pavilion. Hulley's buses were ferrying people from the park-and-ride area to the Pavilion car park, which had been reserved for emergency vehicles. Scores of motorbikes now lined the kerb on South Parade, all the way from the ice-cream parlour up to the aquarium. A girl was selling ice cream and slush puppies from a kiosk. A pair of mallard ducks stood hopefully on the pavement outside a fish shop. There was no sign of Brian Mullen, and Derwent Gardens weren't open to the crowds yet. Cooper crossed the road to the corner of Temple Road. The car park here was full, too. He and Kotsev walked along the rows of cars, looking for Mullen's red Citroen without success. Cooper turned at the end of a row, and Kotsev touched his arm. 'Ben, it's OK.' 'What do you mean?' 'You shouldn't worry about such things. About such people.'

For a moment, Cooper thought he was going to lose control. He felt as though he might let all the stress out in a burst of anger against the wrong person. 'Look, just give me a minute, Georgi.' Just below the car park, he found a pond. It lay in a circular hollow near the road, overhung by bay trees. In the middle of the water, a fountain sprayed over a column of tufa. Dozens of the black beetles called waterboatmen sculled on the surface among floating lilies, perhaps fooled by the strings of coloured lights into thinking it was still daytime. In fact, the column looked to be more moss than tufa. But on the bank behind it were patches already turning to stone. The vegetation looked normal from a distance, except for its colour. But it was already dead and hard, retaining only the appearance of life. 'It looks as though the gardens are being opened up,' said Fry through his ear piece. 'The crowds are starting to move that way.' 'Well, at least they'll all be in one place. There are thousands of them. And they're still coming in. There's another busload arriving now.' 'I've asked for a car to cruise through the rugby ground to see if they can spot Mullen's car at the park-and-ride.' 'Good idea.' Kotsev was waiting for him on the pavement. Most of the police officers deployed in Matlock Bath tonight were on traffic duty, keeping the lines of cars moving. Across the road, the gardens themselves were being patrolled by security staff and stewards in yellow jackets. As soon as the fairground and fast-food stalls had set up, the barriers were taken down and people began to filter past the volunteers standing by with buckets for donations. 'There are so many people,' said Cooper. 'We'd better split up from here. You know what Brian Mullen looks like, Georgi?' 'I have the photograph. And there's the child with him '

'Yes, probably.' Cooper worked his way past the St John Ambulance, the Venetian Boat Builders Association, stalls for the Cats Protection League and a Chernobyl children's charity. A woman who looked like a gypsy pulled a scarf across her face and turned away from the light. A fortune teller, or perhaps a pickpocket. Well, it wasn't his business tonight. It was dark now, and all the children were carrying rainbow spinners, yellow light sticks or flashing fish. One by one, they stopped and pointed at the illuminated butterflies and dragons in the trees. Cooper came to a central area lined with fast food vans. The local radio station, Peak FM, had set up its roadshow in the bandstand, where an ageing Elvis in a black outfit was belting out songs from a cloud of green artificial smoke. Further on was the fairground. An old-fashioned ferris wheel, a mini waltzer, a set of dodgem cars and a train ride. Down at this end of the gardens, the mixture of smells was enough to make your head swim: diesel fumes from the generator running the dodgems, chemicals from a row of portaloos, hot dogs and onions from a fast-food van. He stood between the boom of rap music blasting across the dodgems circuit and the sound of a teenage rock band performing 'Layla' in a cloud of green smoke at the Peak FM roadshow. Around him were the screams of children on the pirate boat, the constant clang of a bell on the train ride. A would-be Eric Clapton launched into a dramatic guitar solo. 'Even if they're here, there's no way we'll spot them in this crush. We don't stand a chance.' 'Stay near the front of the crowd. He won't have Luanne at the back, if he wants her to see the boats.' 'OK.' The strings of coloured lights were reflected and elongated in the water, and across the river the trees on the hillside were lit by patches of brilliant colour - blue, green, red. Seven thirty

came and went. By the time announcements over the PA system warned of the impending boat parade, people were already jostling for the best positions along both banks of the river and on the new bridge. Above the gardens, a bus passed behind the illuminated trees. In the distance, Upper Towers was lit up on the Heights of Abraham. It floated in the sky like some airborne castle. 'There are people standing three deep on the bridge. I don't know how it can take the weight.' 'That's nothing. They're about five deep this side of the river. It looks pretty much the same across the other side.' 'At least they're standing in one place now, instead of moving about. Let's try and get round the crowd while the boats keep their attention.' The commentary was almost impossible to make out from here. It was a loud blare, an indistinguishable voice echoing among the trees, only the occasional word emerging from the babble. The announcer seemed to be telling the crowd that the winning boat was called American Express. The boats drifted out one at a time from the boat jetty until they were in the middle of the current. When they were midstream, each one lit up suddenly, to a cheer from the children on the bank. So the Empire State Building and the White House appeared all at once in the darkness, drifting above the water, glittering in multi-coloured lights that reflected on the surface. The winner was followed by more boats. A steam engine rode magically on the river, a miniature paddle steamer floated in a pool of its own light. There was a vintage car, a carousel, a bi-plane, a Viking longboat. As they came by, it was impossible to distinguish the boats from their reflections, red cascades bursting and rippling across the surface in the splash of oars. 'It's hopeless, Diane.' 'Keep trying.'

Cooper worked his way through the crowds on the bank. People were so tightly packed that it was impossible to walk normally. He found it uncomfortable to move with such short steps, squeezing his way between the backs of strangers. Some of the faces were too close to make out. People were standing on the slopes to see over the crowd. Some were under the lights, and some were in darkness. Underfoot, it was impossible to see if you were treading in mud or a puddle. A light drizzle had begun to fall, adding a mist to the blur of coloured lights above the heads of the crowd. Soon after eight o'clock, people began to drift out of the gardens again, and Cooper made his way back across the bridge. The raised areas of grass had been trodden into mud and people slipped on damp tree roots. Fast-food cartons crunched underfoot. The rock band was still playing, but had moved on to 'Sweet Child of Mine'. 'Where are you, Ben?' 'I'm near the bandstand. Look for the Dinky Donuts van. You can't miss it - there's a big pink thing on the roof, like an inflated condom.' 'OK, I see it.' Cooper waited, the crowds separating around him, music blasting his ears. Teenagers walked by with their mobile phones held out in front of them to take photographs of each other. He thought he caught a glimpse of the gypsy woman again, a blue scarf flashing briefly in the lights. When the band finished playing, the announcer started trying to persuade everyone to move across to the west bank of the river for the fireworks display. 'I'm still here, Diane. I can't see you yet.' His ear piece was silent. And for a moment, Cooper remembered that you didn't have to be a recluse to be alone. It was possible to feel desperately alone even in the middle of the biggest crowd.

36

An air of anticipation developed again as nine o'clock approached. Streams of people came back over the bridge to the gardens, or stood on the pavements outside the Pavilion and the Fishpond pub. Their faces were turned up towards the rock face of High Tor. The hill rose into the night sky above the swathes of multi-coloured trees. An expectant hush gradually developed, but for a little chatter here and there. Then the crowd was silenced by a terrific bang that hit the village like a huge hand had been slapped down on the landscape. It punched eardrums and stopped a few hearts, judging by the expressions on the faces around him. It was the maroon, the single loud report that signalled the start of the display. The maroon was followed by flares, fountains and rockets, candles. Brilliant white star bursts and red blossoms. They produced a barrage of bangs and whistles, whizzes and crackles, intense light and smoke. Glittering, coloured fire hung over the tor. A canopy of colour exploded into sparks, bangs, crackles and whistles. He saw the characteristic sparkling tail of a rocket on its way up. Screamers and screechers chased each other into the sky. Small stars and balls of fire changed colour in flight, finishing with a series of bangs. Comets grew brighter, their tails

splitting into small fragments. Serpents snaked and wriggled through the air. 'Hold on. Diane, I can see him.' 'Brian Mullen?' 'Yes.' 'Are you sure?' 'It's him and Luanne. They're right down the north end of the gardens, near where the boats are docking after the parade.' 'Can you get to them, Ben?' 'I'm on the wrong side of the river. The nearest crossing is the footbridge. I'll have to go back and cross over.' 'Which way is Mullen heading?' 'He's standing still at the moment. No, wait - he's moving.' 'Has he seen you, do you think?' 'I don't think so. I'm on the darkest part of the bank over here. But he's moving all right. God, he's running. Diane, he's started to run. He'll be on the road in a minute.' 'I'll get back to the car and drive down. Gavin, where are you?' 'By the ice-cream kiosk in the Pavilion car park.' 'Get to the road, and I'll pick you up.' There was no way of spotting Brian Mullen again, once he'd disappeared into the crowd. There were too many paths up there in the trees, too many dark corners, too many members of the public in the way. And too many of them were parents with small children. 'I'm pretty sure there's no way out at the other end of the gardens,' said Cooper. 'Not unless you're fit enough to scramble up the slope and get over that wall. Mullen couldn't do it with a small child in tow.' 'So he'll have to come back this way?' 'The nearest way out on to the road is by the netball court. I left my car at this end, Diane - opposite the church.' 'OK, we'll catch you up. Don't worry, he hasn't got a big start on us.'

But the police on traffic duty had closed off the entire stretch of road when the fireworks started, and Fry found lines of traffic were already backing up in both directions. 'Oh, shit.' 'Did Mullen get through?' asked Cooper when she told him. 'A CSO up here says a red Citroen went through like a bat out of hell just before they closed the road.' 'It's lucky I was on this side of the gardens. Georgi's with me now, and we're nearly at my car. Where do you suppose he's going?' 'He isn't going anywhere, as far as I'm concerned. His car will be stopped when it reaches Cromford. There are two officers posted at the junction, with manual control of the traffic lights.' Kotsev followed Cooper into his Toyota, and it bounced off the kerb as Cooper accelerated down the empty roadway. 'He's definitely heading south, Diane?' 'Yes. There's nothing else that way, is there? No other roads? No way he can dodge us?' 'There's just Masson Mill. It's only three hundred and fifty yards downstream from the gardens, but he'll be able to see the Cromford junction from there. He's not an idiot - if he sees the uniforms standing at the lights, he'll know what's going on.' 'Masson Mill? The shopping village?' 'That's it. He could turn into the car park at the mill - the walls are high enough for him to get out of sight there.' 'OK. He might think we'll go flying straight past into Cromford. We'll probably find him sitting quietly with his headlights off, praying that we don't stop.' 'Let's hope so.' The central storeys of the mill were lit up, picking out Arkwright's name on the brickwork. But the rest of the building and the roofs of the weaving sheds below the road were in complete darkness. At the entrance to the car park,