Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘I can think straight away of two who won’t have alibis, except for each other,’ said Hitchens.

‘You mean the travellers in the quarry, Paul.’

‘It’s time we did something about them. Bring them both in. Their initial statements are useless. We should make them go through everything again and let HOLMES sniff out some inconsistencies.’

‘What’s the relationship between those two?’ asked Tailby. ‘Is there a sexual liaison?’

‘Possibly, sir. There’s certainly something not quite right there,’ said Fry.

‘No,’ said Cooper.

‘Ah? Why do you sound so sure, Cooper?’

‘It isn’t in their philosophy. They have different beliefs to us.’

‘Well, that sounds interesting, Cooper. Could you explain what these beliefs are? Might they just have some bearing on the enquiry, by any chance?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘It doesn’t do to be too credulous, Cooper. For a start, are we supposed to believe they live just on the benefits claimed by Calvin Lawrence?’

‘They hardly have an extravagant lifestyle.’

Hitchens interrupted. ‘I can show you fifteen or sixteen reports of stuff being nicked from cars parked on the roadsides around Ringham Moor. Radios, cameras — you name it. Somebody’s cleaning up from the tourists round there.’

‘You think it’s Cal and Stride? But what would they do with that sort of stuff?’

‘Well — sell it, right? That’s the usual idea, as far as I understand it.’

‘Sell it to who?’ said Cooper, starting to get agitated. ‘These aren’t your average local yobbos who can flog it in the pub. If these two had stuff they wanted to sell, they’d have to take it on the bus with them to Bakewell or Edendale. Or hitch with it by the roadside. Can you see that? And neither of them is local anyway, so who is there they would know? We’d have picked them up straight off if they’d been trying that. And Stride never leaves the van anyway, except to go on the moor.’

‘Do we have sufficient grounds to turn over the van?’ asked Fry.

Tailby looked around. ‘Not unless someone can give me any evidence that puts them under suspicion of a crime. Something that would justify a warrant.’

‘Unfortunately, we can’t even move them on, unless the quarry owners get their injunction,’ said Hitchens.

‘We’d need a tow truck to get the van out, anyway.’

‘More than that. The van hasn’t moved for months. We’d have to winch it on to a flatbed.’

‘Mmm.’ Tailby looked round at the officers. ‘Nobody’s offering me anything.’

‘Drugs,’ said Hitchens.

‘Grounds for suspicion?’

‘Strange behaviour — they’re uncoordinated, incoherent. I say we take a dog down and we sniff ’em out.’

‘I’ve been in the van,’ said Cooper.

‘What?’ Hitchens stared at him. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing? Any defence lawyer will have a field day.’

‘I was invited.’

‘Oh, did they throw a party? Sorry I missed it. I mustn’t have got my invitation.’

‘I was with Mr Fox.’

Some officers looked around, unfamiliar with the name. Attention settled on the Ranger, whose face went a shade of pink that clashed horribly with his jacket.

‘Mr Fox?’ said Tailby.

‘I’ve known Cal and Stride since they arrived,’ said Owen. ‘They talk to me.’

‘What’s your view on this drugs issue? Are they users?’

‘No, I’m sure they’re not.’

‘Cooper?’

‘I agree. There was no evidence that I saw. And there aren’t many places to hide the stuff. They stick to beer and tobacco, I think. Addictive, but legal.’

Tailby looked unimpressed. ‘Check up on the progress of Peakstone’s injunction, Paul. It would be ironic if they got moved on before we’ve finished with them.’

Cooper raised his hand tentatively. He could feel that Todd Weenink was staring at him. More than that, he was using his famous glower. He managed to avoid Weenink’s eye.

‘Yes, Cooper?’

‘There’s Warren Leach as well,’ he said. ‘He does have a link to Maggie Crew. We shouldn’t forget that.’

‘We could put that surveillance on him for a while, I suppose,’ said Tailby. ‘We can spare the resources.’

‘How do we put surveillance on that farm?’ asked Fry. ‘There’s nowhere we can position somebody where he won’t see them.’

Tailby considered it. ‘It doesn’t matter. In fact, it might be better if they do show out. It’ll put some pressure on him. Fry, Cooper — you know the ground.’

‘But surveillance? Are you sure? There’s nothing to see up there, except cows.’

‘In that case,’ said Tailby, ‘watch every cow that moves.’

‘Meanwhile, we’ve got Wayne Sugden coming in again,’ said Hitchens. ‘In fact, he should be downstairs now.’

‘Why?’

‘That burglary at the Westons’ cottage. It isn’t so simple. When we looked at the files, it turned out that the officers dealing with the incident report called out a key-holder, because the Westons themselves were away in Cyprus. And the key-holder wasn’t their neighbour. It was Jenny Weston.’

Wayne Sugden was working himself to a peak of outraged innocence. He had been easily prompted to it by the first questions about the burglary. It had turned on a tap, the flow gradually becoming hotter until the steam began to rise.

‘That tart, why did she say all those things? She said I nicked jewellery and all sorts of stuff. She said I pissed on her carpet and chucked some kind of sauce at her walls. Why would I want to do that?’

DI Hitchens explained patiently: ‘It was done by whoever burgled her parents’ house, Wayne. The court said that was you.’

‘It’s rubbish. I wasn’t even there.’

‘Come on, Wayne. There was enough evidence to convict you.’

‘I don’t care. It was all crap.’

Hitchens sighed. ‘We can’t help you if you’re so stubborn.’

‘That bitch got me sent down. The things she said, they were wrong. She turned the magistrates against me, otherwise I could have got off with probation or something. Pissing on the carpet — I mean. That’s not me.’

‘How well do you remember Jenny Weston? Did you see her in court?’

Sugden’s face went pale.

‘She got done, didn’t she? I saw it on the telly.’

‘Yes, she got done.’

‘You’re never going to try and fit me up for that! You’re bloody not!’ Sugden peered nervously at Hitchens. ‘No, you’re not. I can see you’re not. Even you lot, you know better than that.’

Hitchens looked at Ben Cooper, inviting him to change tack. ‘Wayne, how did you feel when young Gavin was killed on that school trip?’

Now Sugden really did look confused. ‘What?’

‘You remember the accident to your nephew?’

‘’Course I do.’

‘They had to turn his life-support machine off. How did you feel about that?’

‘I was upset. Obviously. We were all upset. Gavin was a good lad. But — ’

‘Who did you blame for his death?’

Sugden closed his mouth. His eyes flickered. He looked at the tapes.

‘Wayne? It would be normal to blame somebody for what happened. To hold somebody responsible. Maybe even to want revenge on them,’ said Cooper.

‘Look, don’t mess about with me,’ said Sugden. ‘I know it was Weston who was in charge when Gavin got hurt.’

‘Do you still say you didn’t burgle the Westons’ cottage?’ asked Cooper.

‘And do you still say you don’t know anything about their daughter?’ added Hitchens.

‘Yeah,’ said Sugden. ‘I do say that. Still.’

Sugden’s insistence worried Cooper. If the man lurking around Jenny Weston’s house wasn’t Martin Stafford or some boyfriend, it had to be Sugden. The description was vague, but it did fit him. And he had a motive for wanting to do Jenny harm. But Cooper trusted his own ability to judge when somebody was lying and when they were telling the truth, even if he could never prove it.