Stephen Booth - The Dead Place

‘With a bit of help from my sons. Joinery used to be my trade, but this was a challenge. I wanted something that’d last, not some rubbish that would blow down in the first gale.’

‘It won’t do that.’

Jarvis kicked a post reflectively. His boot connected with a dull thud. ‘No, I reckon it won’t.’

Cooper grasped the rail to help himself up the last step. The wood felt smooth and comfortable, and he saw that it was turned in decorative patterns, like the end of a church pew. It was the sort of smoothness that resulted from the touch of many hands over centuries of use, wherever it had originally come from.

‘You’ll be all right,’ said Jarvis from the end of the porch. ‘They won’t bother you. They always sleep at this time of day, and it’d take Armageddon to wake ’em up.’

Puzzled, Cooper looked up. Four huge mongrel dogs lay in a tangled heap on the porch, like a badly made rug. At least, he thought there were four. There could have been another shaggy head or two somewhere in the middle of the heap, without making much difference.

‘What are their names?’ he said, knowing it always went down well with the punters to show an interest in their pets.

Jarvis grimaced at the dogs. ‘Feckless, Pointless, Graceless and Aimless.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t ask me why. It was her idea.’

‘Whose?’

He jerked his head towards the house. ‘ Hers . The wife’s.’

‘Well, I don’t need to ask why. Mrs Jarvis must be a fan of Cold Comfort Farm . The Starkadders and Aunt Ada Doom.’

‘Aunt who?’

‘“Something nasty in the woodshed.”’

Jarvis shrugged, his expression unreadable. ‘If you say so.’

Cooper stepped carefully over the dogs. None of them moved, or even opened an eye to look at him. There seemed to be an awful lot of muddy paws and scruffy tails protruding from the heap and sprawling across the oak boards. But Mr Jarvis said there were only four dogs, and Cooper had to believe him.

‘Just routine,’ said Jarvis. ‘That’s what you all say, isn’t it? Do they teach you that in police school?’

Cooper laughed. ‘Yes. But I do mean it for once.’

Jarvis gave him a brief nod. ‘You’ve time for a brew then, if it’s just routine.’

‘No, sir. Thank you.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘Actually, it’s about the human remains that were found at the edge of your property,’ said Cooper.

‘Bloody hell, that was weeks ago. Have you found out who the poor bugger was?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Some dropout, I reckon,’ said Jarvis.

Cooper smiled at the old-fashioned term. It was what his grandfather had called anyone with long hair, an expression he’d picked up in the sixties and never stopped using.

‘Why do you say that, sir?’

‘Well, it was a skeleton. That person must have been there for years. Yet nobody missed them.’

‘Perhaps.’

Cooper produced the photographs he’d been given by Suzi Lee. ‘This is a facial reconstruction. Does it remind you of anyone you might have seen around this area at any time?’

‘The dead person?’ said Jarvis, making no attempt to reach for the pictures.

‘Yes, sir. We’ve had them done by a forensic artist, so the likeness won’t be exact. We’re hoping it might jog someone’s memory.’

Rather reluctantly, Jarvis took the photos. He frowned at the appearance of the face, perhaps noticing the inhuman aspects of it first before focusing on the features that might be recogniz able.

‘A woman,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir. We know that much, at least. She was white, aged between forty and forty-five, five feet seven inches tall. The hair and eyes may not be quite right.’

Jarvis was silent, staring fixedly at the photos. Cooper waited patiently, conscious of a trickle of dampness in his collar and a pool of water forming at his feet as the rain ran off his clothes on to the porch.

‘Do they ring any bells, sir?’ he asked.

But Jarvis shook his head. ‘Strange to think she was lying dead as a doornail just down there. It makes me feel a bit peculiar.’

‘I understand.’

‘She doesn’t look like a dropout, though.’

‘No,’ agreed Cooper. ‘She doesn’t.’

Jarvis handed the photos back. ‘I never thought it would be a woman. No bugger told me that.’

‘While I’m here, would you mind if I had a look at the site where the remains were found?’ asked Cooper.

‘If you like. There isn’t much to see.’

As Cooper turned, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the dogs was loping across the grass towards the woods. Matted lumps of hair bounced on its sides, and legs flew in all directions as its tongue sprayed saliva into the air. The dog had a curious gait — it ran almost sideways, with one shoulder pointing in the direction it was going, but its head turned to the side, like a circus clown grinning to the audience. Cooper had no idea which of the dogs it was, but he knew which name would fit perfectly.

‘Yes, that’s Graceless,’ said Jarvis. ‘The only bitch in the bunch. Lovely nature, she has. Ugly as sin, though.’

‘Yes, I can see.’

Graceless seemed to be the only one of the dogs with enough energy to reach the woods. Feckless, Pointless and Aimless lay on the porch and watched her with weary, patronizing expressions. One of them yawned deeply and dropped his head back to the floor with a thump, rolling his eyes at the two men.

‘They’re hoping it’ll be dinner time soon,’ said Jarvis. ‘Idle buggers, they are. I don’t know why I give them house room.’

‘Are they any good as guard dogs?’

Jarvis snorted. ‘Guard dogs? Well, if I could train them to sleep in the right places, they might trip somebody up in the dark. But that’s about the strength of it.’

‘Still, they’re big enough,’ said Cooper. ‘The sight of them alone might deter burglars.’

‘Aye, happen so.’

But Jarvis didn’t seem convinced. Perhaps living at the damp end of the valley for so long had given him an eternally sceptical view of life. The outlook was always rain at Litton Foot. He would probably react the same way if Cooper told him the sun would break through one day. Aye, happen so .

Jarvis descended the steps and headed down the path, not looking to see if Cooper was following.

‘Graceless, now, she really likes people,’ he said. ‘Whenever somebody new comes to the house, she always wants to …’

‘What?’

‘Well, she likes to sniff their trousers, if you know what I mean.’

‘Their trousers?’

‘If you know what I mean.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Not everybody likes it,’ said Jarvis.

‘No, I can imagine.’

‘But she’s only being friendly. I’m wasting my time trying to stop her. She’s a big lass, and if she wants to go somewhere, she goes. She doesn’t mean any harm by it, but some folk get the wrong idea when they see her coming.’

‘Yes.’

‘ She hates it,’ said Jarvis, with that jerk of his head again.

‘Your wife? Well, it must be a bit embarrassing when you have visitors.’

‘What visitors?’

‘Business not good, sir?’

Jarvis gave him a sour look and wiped the moisture from his hands on the legs of his jeans.

It had been dry on the porch, but now Cooper was glad he’d put on his jacket before he left the car. It was the one he’d taken to the Black Mountains with him for the weekend, so the pockets were full of all kinds of odds and ends, but it kept him dry as he waded through the long grass in the rain.

Litton Foot lay deep in Ravensdale, above Cressbrook village. Ash woods hung above the stream here, deep and dank. Ivy had wrapped itself around the tall, slender trunks of the trees, spiralling high into the canopy, seeking a bit of sun. Everything at ground level was covered in moss so thick that it was difficult to tell what was stone, what was wood, and what was something else slowly rotting in the damp air.