Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

There was no question that policing had changed. It had been transformed in the few years since Palfreyman retired, and it was changing still. There weren’t any beat bobbies any more. In fact, there weren’t any beats, except under a different name. In Derbyshire, they were called Safer Neighbourhood police teams — a combination of police officers, special constables, PCSOs and local authority wardens, even some Neighbourhood Watch volunteers.

Meanwhile, just across the border, Nottinghamshire had become the first force in the UK to have armed officers on routine patrol. In parts of Nottingham, officers were issued with Walther P99 pistols, just like the one James Bond used, and had Heckler and Koch semi-automatic carbines in their patrol cars for back-up.

And that was before September eleventh and July seventh, and all the other landmark dates of terrorism. Cooper found the development worrying, an ominous sign for the future of policing in this country. But he couldn’t ally himself with the Palfreymans of the world, either.

‘Yes, I do have the training to spot a liar,’ said Fry as they walked back down Palfreyman’s drive to the car.

‘I’m sure you do, Diane,’ said Cooper.

‘I know all the indications to watch for.’

‘You don’t need to tell me. You know David Palfreyman was just trying to wind you up back there, don’t you?’

‘Bastard.’

Cooper looked across the road. ‘Hold on a minute, Diane. I won’t be long.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s a Range Rover parked at the Brindleys’ house. Is it theirs?’

‘Yes, I think it’s Mr Brindley’s. Why?’

‘It’s a TD model.’

‘So? You’re not that interested in cars, Ben.’

‘Do you know what TD stands for, Diane? It means Turbo Diesel. I want to ask Mr Brindley if he’s ever been offered cheap illegal fuel.’

When Cooper came back, Fry was sitting in the car, still fuming.

‘They’re called the Ten Signs,’ she said. ‘Lack of eye contact, a change in the pitch of the voice, clearing the throat. And then there’s the body language — tapping the foot, fidgeting with the hands, blinking too much.’

Cooper got behind the wheel. ‘Turning the head or body away, changing the subject, attempting to deflect questions using humour or sarcasm.’

Fry looked at him. ‘Have you done the same course?’

‘Er, I sort of picked it up on the job,’ he said, trying not to sound too much like Palfreyman.

‘What did Mr Brindley say?’

‘He’d never even heard of illegal diesel.’

Fry watched the landscape going by as Cooper drove over the plateau towards Edendale. On the highest points, the drizzle and mist became almost indistinguishable from low cloud, and Cooper had to put the headlights on. Spray from passing lorries made visibility even worse.

‘Ten Signs,’ said Fry. ‘Put all those techniques together, and only a really good actor can get away with an undetected lie. And PC David Palfreyman is not that good an actor.’

Back at the office, they found DCI Kessen in the CID room with Hitchens. He had put in an appearance from his other major enquiry and was catching up on progress.

Kessen studied Fry as she entered the room.

‘Ah, DS Fry, glad you could join us.’

Fry seemed to go stiff and awkward, as if she’d been caught out doing something she shouldn’t. But that wasn’t the case, was it? She’d been following a reasonable line of enquiry that might have produced some useful information. Cooper wanted to speak up in her defence, but no one would have appreciated that, least of all Fry.

‘Your DI has brought me up to speed on the Rakedale enquiry. You did a good job recovering the crucifix from the grave site.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Hitchens held up the evidence bag containing the cross. ‘Examination reveals scratch marks on the back, near where the arms and the upright meet. They’re probably initials, Diane. We think they look like an “N” and possibly an “H”.’

‘The owner’s initials?’

‘Could be. They do match a set of initials from the list of employees at Pity Wood, but unfortunately that doesn’t help us to make an identification. Not yet, anyway.’

‘But it might do,’ said Fry.

‘Let’s hope so.’

Kessen nodded. ‘Yes, that’s very helpful. As I said, a good piece of work. However, DS Fry, we’ve agreed your energies would be best employed from this point on exploring the missing persons angle. It’s being neglected at the moment.’

‘Missing persons? But, sir, I think I could be more productive pursuing some other lines — ’

‘No, DS Fry, I think I’d prefer you to concentrate on the missing persons check.’

Fry hesitated too long before she responded, and Kessen registered it.

‘Of course, sir.’

Cooper looked across at her, but she refused to meet his eye. Was it just coincidence that he’d been thinking only yesterday about the DCI’s apparent even-handedness? Was that why he’d noticed this little incident? Or was it that Kessen’s attitude had changed since the arrival of a new superintendent over his head?

Cooper didn’t know how to interpret what he’d witnessed, but he was sure that Diane would be filing the incident away in that very efficient mental filing cabinet she carried around inside her head. He pictured it as the equivalent of one of those old-fashioned green cabinets, heavy and fire-proof, with drawers that slid out on strong, steel hinges.

For a moment, he wondered what was written in his own file — the one pushed to the back of the bottom drawer, slightly dog-eared and crushed out of shape by the more important information in front of it. Nothing he’d want to read about himself, probably.

‘SOCOs collected a lot of samples from the kitchen at the farm,’ said Hitchens, assembling the team when the DCI had left. ‘Some old blood traces that the lab is working on, and lots of other stuff, the kind that you might expect in a kitchen. But analysis also found substantial traces of a chemical compound, KNO 3. Potassium nitrate.’

‘Potassium nitrate?’ asked Fry. ‘What is that used for?’

‘The lab thought we might want to know that. Killing tree stumps, for a start. You can get it in most garden centres, or hardware shops. It’s an ingredient of some fertilizers. Also toothpastes that are formulated for sensitive teeth. And gunpowder.’

‘Versatile stuff, then.’

‘Wait — you haven’t heard the best one. Potassium nitrate was considered for many years to be an anaphrodisiac.’

‘A what?’

‘They thought it suppressed sexual desire. It was added to food in all-male institutions. Did you ever see One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ?’

‘The film with Jack Nicholson?’

‘Right. Well, in the film, Nicholson’s character mentions that’s he’s afraid of being “slipped” potassium nitrate in the mental institution where he’s committed. It was a common practice at the time, a way of controlling the behaviour of patients.’

‘Cool. But I’m not sure it helps us.’

‘Is potassium nitrate a natural product, or artificially manufactured?’ asked Cooper.

‘It’s a naturally occurring mineral,’ explained Hitchens. ‘Traditionally, the major sources were the deposits crystallizing on cave walls, or the drainings from dung heaps. Ammonia from the decomposition of urea — you know.’

‘We get the picture,’ said Fry.

‘But it can also be manufactured. The old method was to mix manure, wood ash, earth and organic materials such as straw.’

Cooper nodded. ‘A compost heap, in fact.’

‘Exactly. But they were known as nitre beds, which sounds nicer, I suppose. A heap was kept moist with urine in the, er … traditional manner, and turned to accelerate decomposition. After a year, it was leached with water, and the resulting liquid was rich with nitrates, which could then be converted to potassium nitrate, crystallized and used in gunpowder.’