Stephen Booth - One Last Breath

Sure enough, he found it was possible to get a car off the farm road. The track was wide enough to drive along the back of Rebecca Lowe’s hedge. It would be too muddy in the winter perhaps, but at the moment the surface was fine. A car could be parked unseen, and there were gaps in the hedge where anyone could approach the back door of Parson’s Croft.

But who would have done that? It was all very well having a feeling that Mansell Quinn didn’t fit the crime, but who else was there? Diane Fry herself had asked him if he had another suspect in mind. And, of course, he didn’t.

Raymond Proctor drove a bright red Renault van with the caravan park’s logo emblazoned on the side. It wasn’t the sort of vehicle to go unnoticed in the lanes of Aston. William Thorpe might have made it up to the house on foot. But if the Newbolds’ sighting was genuine, he’d already been to see Rebecca two weeks previously. Why would he come again? And why wasn’t he seen a second time — a passing vagrant would be sure to attract attention in this sort of neighbourhood.

That left only one person who was close enough to Rebecca Lowe. In fact, the only person who would logically have a key to let himself into the house. Granted, there wasn’t a glimmer of a motive that Cooper could see. But motive often came later, and could be surprising.

He still remembered a case from several years ago, where a seventeen-year-old boy had murdered his mother. Friends of the family had said the two of them always had a good relationship. But on that particular night, the victim had refused to let her son borrow her car to go out with his friends. So he’d killed her. Sometimes, it was impossible to understand what was going on in other people’s minds.

Simon Lowe lived in Edendale. Could he have been in the Hope Valley area when his mother was killed? There had been sightings of cars reported by residents, but what sort of car did Simon drive? Perhaps the information was recorded in the incident room. He could get someone to do a check.

Thinking about Simon brought Cooper back to the events of 9 October 1990. The transcript of the police interview with Mansell Quinn had been very frustrating. All those silences from Quinn when he was asked to back up his claim that someone else had been there. On paper, his silence had implied an inability to substantiate a false version of events. But Cooper would give anything for a video tape of the interview, so that he could watch Quinn’s face during those silences. He wondered if he would have been looking at a suspect caught out in a lie — or a man suddenly realizing the implications of what he’d seen and heard that day.

Obviously, he needed to know more about Simon Quinn. But who else could he ask, apart from the family?

As if on cue, his mobile rang. It was Diane Fry.

‘Ben,’ she said. ‘This Alistair Page — what address did he live at in 1990?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But he was somewhere in the Pindale Road area, wasn’t he? Do you have a house name?’

‘Sorry.’

‘He’s not on the list of statements from that time, you see.’

‘He’d have been too young at the time,’ said Cooper. ‘Fifteen, he said.’

‘I see. So how did you meet him?’

‘Well, he came to find me one day when I was on duty at West Street.’

‘When was this?’

‘Only a couple of weeks ago. I think one of my friends must have mentioned my name to him. I suppose they thought I might be interested in liaising with the cave rescue organization.’

‘I suppose so. It’s not as if you’re Mr Anonymous around here, is it?’

‘Well, no.’

‘What’s he like? Reliable? Do you think he’s worth talking to about the Quinns?’

‘The impression I get is that he was a bit traumatized by the whole business. He’s desperately keen to know what’s going on, but he shied away when I asked him directly about Simon.’

‘They might have known each other quite well, then?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘I might talk to him, in that case. An independent view would be useful.’

‘Diane, is this — ’

Fry was silent for a moment. ‘It’s relevant to the official enquiry,’ she said.

‘I see.’ But Cooper wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘You’ve been looking at Simon Lowe, then?’

Fry hesitated. ‘He seems a bit of an enigma, that’s all.’

‘I agree.’

‘He was supposed to be at school that afternoon, but as far as I can see he turned up at Pindale Road much later than he should have done if he’d come straight home. Nobody seems to have asked him where he’d been.’

‘And why would they, in the circumstances?’

‘Exactly.’

Cooper gazed out of his car window at the back door of Parson’s Croft, trying to picture another house at another time.

‘How about this?’ he said. ‘I know it’s speculation, but …’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, if Mansell Quinn had been having an affair with Carol Proctor, it would have been devastating for the family to find out, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘What if they did find out?’ said Cooper. ‘Or rather, one of them did.’

‘Rebecca? You think she knew?’

‘No, not Rebecca. I mean Simon.’

‘Simon?’

‘What if he bunked off school that day and went home, not expecting anybody to be in. But he found Carol Proctor there.’

‘You mean if he’d walked in and found her lying dead on the floor? But why didn’t he phone?’

‘No,’ said Cooper. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

Fry was silent for a moment. ‘Do you have Alistair Page’s number?’

‘Diane, let me talk to him myself.’

‘All right. But let me know how it goes. As soon as you can, Ben.’

Fry rang off. Cooper wasted no time. He had the number he needed in his mobile phone already.

‘Alistair,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to bother you about this, but I don’t know who else to ask.’

‘What is it, Ben?’ said Page. ‘Still worrying about radon? Or scared of getting trapped in a flooded cave?’

‘Neither. I want to talk to you about Simon Lowe. The boy you knew as Simon Quinn.’

Page seemed to go away from the phone for a moment, or to put his hand over the mouthpiece. But it could just have been a fade in the signal on Cooper’s mobile.

‘Simon?’ Page said when he came back on the line. ‘You want to know about Simon? Well, what can I tell you? We hung around together a bit as teenagers.’

‘He seems rather quiet and intense. And secretive.’

‘Secretive?’

‘He’s been trying to keep quiet about the fact that Mansell Quinn is his father,’ said Cooper.

‘I think we’d all do that, in the circumstances. It’s not something I’d want everyone to know about — that my father was a murderer.’

‘It would give you a lot of street cred in some circles, Alistair. If you lived on the Devonshire Estate in Edendale, it would get you elected king.’

‘Not Simon. That’s not the sort of street cred he’d be interested in,’ said Page. ‘Actually, as a teenager he was unpredictable, and he had a bit of a temper. You could never be sure what he would do if you aggravated him. I suppose he got that from his father.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Alcohol was a problem for him too, I remember. A few drinks, and he could flare up in a moment. And we drank quite a bit as teenagers. We had no problem getting booze when we were fifteen or sixteen.’

‘Bunking off school at lunchtime?’

‘Yes, now and then.’

Cooper tried to picture Alistair Page in his little cottage. He didn’t know whether Page was in a relationship, or even if he had children somewhere. He’d never mentioned anything about himself, except that he’d lived near the Quinns when he was a youngster.