Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘That’s down to the parents, I suppose.’

Weston smiled faintly. ‘Try telling that to Gavin Ferrigan’s family. They were most abusive. Aggressive even. We had some very unpleasant scenes, I can tell you. I was forced to take legal advice to protect my position. I couldn’t have my integrity being called into doubt in that way; it was undermining my authority as deputy head.’

‘You say the boy was badly hurt?’

‘He suffered serious head injuries. I did my best. I pulled him out of the water, tried to keep him warm until the air ambulance arrived. But he’d hit his head on some rocks in the stream. Five days later, they decided to turn off his life-support machine.’

‘But it blew over in the end, as far as you were concerned?’

‘Eventually. There was a lot of talk — ridiculous, unfounded allegations. It was very embarrassing for a while. It made me feel ashamed, although I knew I had done nothing wrong. Everyone made me feel it was my fault. Everyone.’

‘And Gavin Ferrigan’s mother is Wayne Sugden’s sister.’

‘Apparently. The father, Ferrigan, was already in prison then for drug dealing. But the rest of the family turned up in force for the inquest. It was most unpleasant.’ Weston shuddered at the memory. ‘I kept being forced to justify myself. But I had nothing to apologize for, did I? I did everything right. I did my best for him.’

A few minutes later, Eric Weston followed Fry into the hallway to show her out. He hesitated at the foot of the stairs near the heavy oak door, looking back over his shoulder where his wife could be heard piling crockery in the kitchen.

‘The accident to Gavin Ferrigan. .’ he said. ‘You have to understand it was a very difficult experience for me.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it was.’

‘It’s just that. . some people never forget. Some people like to make you go on feeling ashamed for ever.’

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped, and Mr Weston suddenly seemed to notice the silence.

‘Well, goodbye, then,’ he said. ‘Sorry we couldn’t help any more. Anything we can do, of course.’

He ushered Fry outside and stood on the step with the door half-closed behind him.

‘The Ferrigan thing — do you really think it’s relevant to. . you know?’

‘We can’t say at the moment.’

‘It would be very bad if it was,’ said Weston. ‘Very bad.’

He had stepped back inside the house before Fry had reached the gate. Fry heard Mrs Weston’s voice raised querulously, and a subdued murmur in return, followed by the slamming of something against a hard surface.

She went back to her car and looked at her map. She wanted the quickest way out and back on to the hills.

Unlike Ben Cooper, Fry felt no desire to defend the underdogs — not when they were people like Eric Weston. But she was angry and embarrassed to find that Weston’s words had awakened a deep echo in her own mind. She was appalled that a couple of sentences he had uttered had matched so exactly her own feelings, from a period in her life that was not so very long ago.

‘It made me feel ashamed, although I knew I had done nothing wrong,’ he had said. ‘Everyone made me feel it was my fault. Everyone.’

‘White vans and more white vans,’ said Chief Superintendent Jepson, waving a handful of report forms. ‘Do you know how many white vans there are? How many within two days’ drive of here? Millions?’

‘Quite a few thousand, certainly,’ said DCI Tailby.

‘Do you propose to check out every one? Are you going to send my officers out on a van-spotting tour of the country? Perhaps you could give them those little I-Spy books and tell them not to come back until they’ve ticked off one with a rusty wheel arch?’

‘We could ask local forces to do that for us, of course.’

‘Oh, of course. My colleagues in ACPO will love me. They’ll call me the White Van Man for the rest of my career.’

‘That would be rather unkind.’

DCI Tailby had been reviewing the information for the Divisional Commander. There was plenty of it — an entire flood of it, rapidly filling up the megabytes on the computer. None of it pinned down any known persons actually in the vicinity of the Nine Virgins at the same time as Jenny Weston, with the exception of the Ranger, Mark Roper. The nearest locations of individuals identified were those of the farmworker, Victor McCauley, the two young men living in the quarry, and the Leach family, who had been going about their business at Ringham Edge.

DI Hitchens had brought a map of Ringham Moor, with the locations marked by the incident room staff. The trouble was, there were too many paths winding their way across the moor. There could be other individuals that hadn’t been seen. The white van wasn’t much, but it was a start.

‘And what about Europe?’ said Jepson. ‘Two days’ drive? Do you realize this van of yours could be in any city in half the countries of the European Union by now? Are you planning some day-trips? Are you intending to besmirch my good name with Europol? I suppose they’ll start calling me Monsieur la Camionnette Blanche.’

‘We don’t think it’s a French make,’ said Hitchens. ‘More likely a Ford Transit.’

Chief Superintendent Jepson sighed melodramatically. ‘If I start getting postcards from CID officers from all over the French Riviera, I’ll want to know why.’

‘I don’t think any of that will be necessary, sir,’ said Tailby.

‘If we don’t make any progress soon, it will be, Stewart. Does this Martin Stafford sound like somebody who’d drive a white Transit van, Hitchens?’

‘No, sir. But who knows?’

‘Who indeed? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we the people who are supposed to find out things like that?’

‘We’re busy tracing Stafford right now.’

‘I’m also interested in the witness who said this van she saw was local. How does she know it was local?’

‘She thinks she’s seen it before, sir. She remembers that it was dirty, and has a rusted wheel arch. She notices things like that, she says. When pressed, she said she associates it with animals.’

‘We’re following it up, anyway,’ said Hitchens. ‘Checking out farmers, and so on. As it happens, it’s market day today in Edendale. Lots of vehicles in town. All we need is a bit of luck.’

‘We do deserve it,’ said Tailby.

Jepson nodded. ‘And the witness saw this van in the entrance to Ringham Edge Farm. Visiting Warren Leach, then?’

‘Could have been,’ said Hitchens. ‘But, as Mr Leach himself says, the driver could have been using the roadway for some other purpose. Bear in mind there’s access to the moor there. It’s the same access that we’ve been using ourselves for the last two days.’

‘Obliterating any tyre tracks in the process, naturally,’ said Jepson.

‘Well, maybe.’

‘Yes, we always like to wipe out a fair bit of forensic evidence right at the start, don’t we? We’re well known for it. One of our more outstanding talents, you might say.’

‘I think you’re exaggerating there, sir,’ said Tailby.

‘Am I?’ said Jepson. ‘I don’t think so. Has it ever occurred to you there might be a case for keeping police officers away from a crime scene completely when a body is found? We might actually get better results that way.’

‘It’s a thought, sir,’ said Hitchens. ‘We could suggest it as a special project group for the Operational Planning Department.’

‘I’ll think about it. It was also Leach’s wife who found the earlier victim, Crew, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘We mustn’t overlook any correlations that the computer throws up, Stewart.’