Stephen Booth - The Corpse Bridge

‘Of course. We had all the lights turned off. For atmosphere, you know.’

‘Is the earl himself at home at the moment?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes, he and the countess are in residence, along with their younger son and their daughter, Lady Imogen.’

‘And do you happen to have a photograph of Lord Manby that we could use?’ asked Cooper.

Burns looked surprised. ‘Why on earth would I have one of those? He’s hardly some kind of rock star handing out signed photographs to his fans.’

‘No, I just thought-’

‘In fact, Walter is a very private man,’ said Burns stiffly. ‘He prefers not to be recognised, even when he’s here around the abbey. And he doesn’t do much in public, if he can avoid it. To be honest, I think he would rather find some other way of paying for the upkeep of the abbey, instead of letting all these visitors in. It’s his home, after all.’

‘I understand.’

When they left the estate office, Cooper and Fry followed the arrows pointing towards the main entrance. But Cooper paused in a passage lined with peeling doors. While Fry fidgeted impatiently, he opened a door marked ‘Nursery’. Even if he hadn’t been told by Meredith Burns, it would have been obvious that the army had been billeted in this part of the house. There were maps and flags scattered among the toys. The wallpaper was filthy, and the doors and skirting boards looked as though they had been kicked repeatedly by heavy boots.

In the Great Hall the walls were lined with enormous Manby family portraits. The present earl was there — Walter, 9th Earl Manby of Knowle Abbey. In previous generations his ancestors seemed to have been christened with wonderful aristocratic names like Algernon, Peregrine and Clotworthy.

The collection of earls and their relatives gazed down with apparent astonishment at the crowds of strangers who must come through this hall every weekend to gawp at the abbey. Walter’s Victorian grandfather, the seventh Lord Manby, looked particularly outraged at the prospect.

When they got back to the car Fry sat and stared at the façade of Knowle Abbey for a while. From her expression she didn’t seem to be impressed by the quality of the architecture. Maybe the pillars and porticos weren’t quite symmetrical enough for her taste.

Or perhaps something else was causing the sour look on her face.

‘What are you thinking, Diane?’ asked Cooper curiously.

‘Have a guess.’

‘You’re wondering whether they used this as a location for filming Downton Abbey ?’

‘Idiot.’

‘Thanks. So, what, then?’

Fry was silent for a moment, so Cooper waited. Finally, she started the car and let the engine turn over slowly before putting it into gear.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m asking myself why ordinary people should be expected to cough up millions of pounds to maintain a privately owned pile like this, when there’s no money available for proper policing.’

Cooper nodded. ‘Fair point. But she did say it’s a national treasure. And the earl can’t afford to maintain it himself.’

‘Personally,’ said Fry, ‘I don’t care if his chapel leaks and his statues erode.’

In the CID room at West Street, Cooper found a message waiting for him that Detective Superintendent Branagh wanted to see him ASAP. And that meant before the morning briefing took place on the Sandra Blair inquiry.

All of his team had come in for the briefing, except Luke Irvine. Cooper had a couple of jobs he needed doing. First of all he asked Becky Hurst to hunt out a photograph of Walter, 9th Earl Manby.

‘There should be something on the internet,’ he said.

‘Everything is on the internet, Ben.’

‘So I hear.’

‘The ninth Earl,’ said Hurst.

‘Yes, the living one. Walter. If you find something and I’m not back before the briefing, pass it to DI Walker.’

‘Okay.’

Cooper turned to Carol Villiers and asked her to produce a list of residents in Bowden.

‘All of them?’ she said.

‘If possible. The adults anyway.’

‘Okay, Ben.’

Cooper straightened his tie. ‘I won’t be long. I hope.’

Down the corridor the door of the superintendent’s office was standing partly open, but Cooper knocked anyway. Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh got up from her desk and waved him to a chair.

‘Come in, DS Cooper,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I just want to catch up. Tell me how things are going generally.’

Cooper sat down, not entirely reassured. Rumours around the station said that Branagh had been on a diet recently, though she would never have admitted it. She seemed to have lost weight around her face, though, and the combination of broad shoulders and lean cheekbones made her even more intimidating. Cooper was actually glad when she sat down again.

‘Fine, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’m very happy with my team in CID. They’re doing nicely.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Branagh consulted a note on her desk. ‘You have DC Villiers — I’ve heard very good reports of her since she joined us.’

‘She’s a valuable asset,’ said Cooper, conscious that he was immediately falling into management speak, but unable to prevent himself.

‘And DCs Hurst and Irvine. Very promising, would you say?’

‘Absolutely, ma’am.’

She paused, placing a finger on the list in front of her. ‘And I see you still have DC Gavin Murfin at the moment.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, we’ll be giving him a good send-off soon,’ said Branagh. ‘There’s no point in going over his faults now, is there?’

‘I’ve found Gavin’s experience useful,’ said Cooper.

Branagh glanced up at him. ‘Very loyal, DS Cooper. Of course, we’ll look at the possibility of finding you a replacement for Murfin when he goes. But I’m sure you understand, in the present circumstances … The budget cuts…’

‘With respect, ma’am, there should be five detective constables in my team, according to the official establishment. I’m already one down.’

‘I know. But I’m afraid we have to get used to these reductions across the board. It’s the same for all of us.’

Cooper said nothing. He’d heard a lot of officers express the opinion that Derbyshire Constabulary was a victim of its own success. The crime rate in the county had been reduced by about 15 per cent in the past year. And this was despite the fact that all the neighbouring forces had higher rates of crime and larger urban centres of population, with the result that Derbyshire was often a target for travelling criminals from Greater Manchester, Nottinghamshire or South Yorkshire. If your crime rate was falling, even in those circumstances, then clearly you didn’t need so many police officers. It seemed counter-intuitive and very short-term thinking.

But Superintendent Branagh had probably heard that view plenty of times. There was no point in Cooper repeating it now.

Branagh pushed her list to one side. ‘But what about you , DS Cooper? How are you doing yourself?’

That was a question he couldn’t hesitate in answering. Not for even a second.

‘I’m absolutely fine, ma’am,’ said Cooper firmly.

‘Good. Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. But could I suggest, perhaps…’

‘Yes?’

‘That you need to push yourself forward a bit more. You’re in danger of getting overlooked.’

‘Overlooked?’

‘For promotion.’

‘Oh.’

Cooper hadn’t really thought about further promotion yet. There didn’t seem much point. There was already a log-jam in human resources since promotions were frozen by budget cuts.

‘You’ve talked up all the DCs in your team,’ said Branagh. ‘Even DC Murfin, who we all know about. But you don’t talk yourself up at all.’