Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

‘What do you mean, Diane?’

She looked around the room, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. ‘This information about the operating meth lab? Did you, by any chance, get that from my sister?’

It was one of those moments when Cooper knew it was pointless trying to lie. Fry had him fixed with such a concentrated stare that she would notice even the slightest flicker of an attempt to conceal the truth.

‘Yes, Diane, I did. She — ’

Fry interrupted him. ‘I don’t want to hear the sordid details. I just want you to know that when I got home today, she was gone.’

The door opened, and Murfin came out of his interview with the new superintendent looking dazed and in need of a stiff drink or two.

Fry straightened up, trying to make everything appear normal.

‘How did it go, Gavin?’ she asked.

Murfin looked at her. ‘How did it go? All I can say is — the goat survived, but the bishop will never be the same again.’

An hour later, Fry stood up at the conclusion of a meeting with Superintendent Branagh and the other senior officers. At least they’d established with a fair percentage of certainty how Nadezda Halak had died. Results now available from the Forensic Science Service laboratory were consistent with damage to her soft tissues from an explosion of phosphine gas. The tiny fractures to the bones of Nadezda’s hand were probably the result of a futile attempt to protect herself from the debris hurled out by the explosion.

The function of Orla Doyle at Pity Wood Farm wasn’t confirmed yet. There was a general assumption that could be made from her history in Dublin. Garda records showed Orla to have been a street girl from the age of sixteen. Fry didn’t like assumptions, but she had no contrary evidence to present.

There was also no evidence to show how Orla Doyle had died, at least without possession of her skull. If only the skull recovered from Tom Farnham’s garage had been hers, there might have been some progress.

Fry strongly suspected that Martin Rourke had killed her, possibly when she’d tried to leave her employment. That wasn’t allowed, and injury or death were occupational hazards. She would dearly like to gather enough facts to make a case for a murder charge against Rourke, but she didn’t know where to turn for leads.

‘Well, the tip-off that DC Cooper obtained from his informant looks credible,’ said Detective Superintendent Branagh as the meeting broke up. ‘That was good work on his part. I’m delighted some of the division’s officers are developing useful intelligence sources.’

Fry nodded, seething inwardly, but at the same time making a mental note for herself that she’d better mention something to that effect in Cooper’s PDR. Otherwise, Branagh would be on her back asking why she’d overlooked it.

‘By the way, what about the future of Pity Wood Farm?’ said Fry. ‘I understand the amounts of toxic waste produced by the methamphetamine manufacturing process are huge. It can take months to decontaminate a site.’

‘They won’t be decontaminating that place,’ said Superintendent Branagh.

‘No? But surely, ma’am — ?’

‘There’s no point even trying,’ she said. ‘The experts have examined the levels of contamination. And, yes, they’re extraordinarily high — not just in the outbuildings, but in the house itself. Not to mention the land around it, where they disposed of the by-products. Decontamination is an impossible job. Pity Wood Farm would always be toxic and uninhabitable. So they’ll be taking the only available option — demolition.’

‘Jack Elder is in magistrates’ court this afternoon,’ said Fry. ‘He’ll be bailed, of course. Let home for Christmas.’

‘I wonder if he’ll be safe,’ said Cooper. ‘He must be aware of the possibility that the same individuals who killed Tom Farnham will come after him.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about his welfare. But I’m hoping he’ll lead us to his associates. Elder is a worried man, and he’ll want to get away from the area. He’ll need money for that, and some help in disappearing. I think he’ll make contact, and quickly.’

‘But wasn’t Tom Farnham his associate?’

‘There’s someone else,’ said Fry. ‘I’m certain of it. There’s a brains behind the operation. Someone with the right influence, the ability to cover up and call in favours.’

‘OK. So how do we act on this certainty, Diane?’

‘I already have. I’ve got authority to put surveillance on Jack Elder.’

‘We’re going to follow him?’

‘As soon as he leaves court and is discharged from custody.’

‘Brilliant.’

Towards the end of the afternoon, Elder went home from Edendale Magistrates’ Court in a taxi, which returned him direct to his home in Rakedale. Fry and Cooper stayed well behind the rear lights of the cab as it approached the village and turned into Field Lane.

‘Does he have a car as well as the lorry?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes, a green Nissan.’

‘Pity. The DAF would have been easier to follow.’

Up ahead, there was a strange blue glow in the dusk, as if a UFO had landed behind the trees. When they got closer, the glow turned out to be Jack Elder’s Christmas lights. They were strung along the eaves of his bungalow and looped over his windows in festive abundance. It looked the sort of house where the Christmas tree would play you a carol if you got too near it.

They were fifty yards up the road past the house when they saw Elder’s green Nissan backing out of his drive, almost before the taxi had driven away.

‘What do we do?’ said Cooper.

‘Has he seen us?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He won’t recognize my car, so long as he doesn’t get a view of our faces …’

Cooper swung into a gateway and turned round to wait. When the lights of Elder’s car went past, he could be seen fiddling with the touch screen of a satnav device attached to the dashboard of his Nissan.

‘OK, Ben. Let’s find out where he’s going.’

Elder drove past Matlock to reach the A6, where the evening traffic from Derby was building up, shoppers and workers making their way home in the December darkness. He turned on to the A610, skirting Ripley and passing right by Derbyshire Constabulary headquarters before crossing into Nottinghamshire. Four miles further on, his car joined the M1 motorway at Junction 26, heading south.

‘He could be going anywhere,’ said Cooper. ‘We don’t want to end up in London for the night.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Fry. ‘I don’t think he’ll be going that far.’

She didn’t have to wait long to be proved right. Elder’s Nissan didn’t even make it as far as the next junction. After a couple of miles, he started indicating left and turned into the brilliantly-lit surroundings of the service area at Trowell.

‘Pass on our location, Ben,’ said Fry. ‘You know the drill.’

Cooper contacted the Nottinghamshire control room to alert them to the presence of Derbyshire officers conducting an operation on their territory. Meanwhile, Fry called Gavin Murfin and asked him to rendezvous at the service station. He was only a couple of miles away, keeping in touch with their location.

‘Why do we need Gavin?’ asked Cooper.

‘We might have two vehicles to follow when we leave here.’

‘I see.’

They watched Elder park up in front of the amenities building where there were some free spaces. At least the area was well lit for security, otherwise the gathering darkness would have defeated them. Cooper found a spot as near to the exit as he could get while still having the Nissan in sight. Then they sat and waited for something to happen.

‘He doesn’t know Gavin,’ said Fry. ‘So he should be able to get nearer to the Nissan when he arrives.’