Стивен Бут - Fall Down Dead

‘And he needed money badly.’

‘That might explain why he went on the Kinder Scout walk.’

‘Do you think he asked Faith for money yesterday and she refused him too? Would that have made him so angry that he would have reacted violently?’

‘I couldn’t hazard a guess until I’ve talked to him,’ said Cooper. ‘But in my experience, if someone is under enough pressure, it may only take a very trivial thing to make them cross that line. We’re going to have to talk to them all further and see if we can get a coherent account.’

Villiers sighed. ‘I wouldn’t hold out much hope,’ she said.

Greg Barrett lived with his parents in a modern semi on the Wood Gardens estate off Swallow House Lane, a development of stone cladding and bay windows, tiny patches of garden squeezed next to each drive. The Barretts’ house was half stone cladding and half white render, with a front garden open to the road and paved to make space for two vehicles to park. Greg’s van stood there, a white Renault Kangoo with his name and phone number on the side.

It felt as far away from the wild plateau of Kinder as it could possibly be, though it was barely a mile or two in reality, just on the other side of the A624 bypass.

‘People here call it the bypass,’ said Barrett, ‘but it doesn’t bypass anything. As you can see, it comes straight through the village and divides it in half.’

Barrett was still in jeans and work boots, a multimeter and a pair of wire strippers hanging from his tool belt. He was in his early thirties, lean and angular, with deep-set eyes darkened by a troubled frown.

‘When did you last speak to Faith?’ asked Cooper.

‘It would have been Friday, I think. We talked on the phone a bit. She was going to meet with her group the next day, of course.’

‘You didn’t go on the Kinder Scout walk,’ said Cooper. ‘Why was that?’

‘I don’t fit in,’ he said. ‘Not with that lot. I never understood what Faith saw in them. She couldn’t have got me to go on one of their stupid walks. And now look what’s happened.’

‘How long had you been in a relationship?’ asked Cooper.

‘A year. Two years. I’m not sure.’

Cooper felt sure Faith Matthew would have known exactly. There would probably be a note in her diary marking the anniversary of the date they met. A year or two sounded much too vague.

‘Were you going through any problems?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was wondering whether your relationship had any difficulties. Was Faith happy?’

‘Of course she was happy. We were fine. No problems at all. It’s not as if she was likely to go off and do anything stupid. She was sensible. Level-headed. It was one of the things I liked about her.’

‘Did she talk about Darius Roth much?’

Barrett scowled. ‘Yes, quite a lot actually. She was a bit taken with him.’

‘Taken with him? She admired him?’

‘She said he was passionate. About what he believed in, I mean. Not, you know...’

‘That can be attractive,’ said Cooper tentatively.

But Barrett shook his head. ‘I’m sure there wasn’t anything like that.’

‘Sure?’

‘Positive. Like I said, we were fine.’

‘OK. Have you spoken to Faith’s family?’

‘To her mother. Her parents don’t like me.’

‘That’s often the case,’ said Cooper.

‘But Faith has a brother too. He’s quite different.’

‘Jonathan.’

‘Yes. He might know more about Roth and that group.’

Villiers turned to Cooper as they left the Barretts’ home.

‘I suppose this means a trip into Manchester?’ she said.

‘I’m afraid so.’

The old semi-detached stood in a leafy street just off Withington Road in Whalley Range, South Manchester, near a Catholic grammar school and the International Centre for Krishna Consciousness.

All the houses here were faced in pale brick with decorative arches. The row of buzzers and flat names by the door were enough to indicate it was in multi-occupancy, even without the swarm of wheelie bins on the drive.

An aged four-wheel-drive Subaru Impreza was parked out front. It was about fifteen years old, judging by its registration number, but well maintained apart from some rust on its rear wheel arches. The colour was something quite queasy-making between blue and green, perhaps teal or viridian.

From the names on the buzzers, Cooper saw that Jonathan Matthew lived on the top floor of the house. When a tall, stooped young man with long hair answered, Cooper showed his ID.

‘Oh, is it about Faith’s accident?’

‘Yes, sir. We’ll need to get someone to take a full statement from you later. But we just have a few initial questions to help us focus our inquiries.’

‘All right. Come on in.’

Jonathan showed them into a small sitting room in what would once have been described as an attic flat but was probably listed as a loft apartment. It had been recently modernised, but its dramatically sloping ceilings and dormer windows gave away its origins.

‘I should be at work today,’ he said, ‘but I’ve taken the day off.’

‘Understandable. Your mother is at Faith’s house in Hayfield, by the way.’

‘Is she?’ said Jonathan vaguely.

‘I thought you might like to know, in case you needed to be there.’

‘I’ve spoken to Dad this morning. I don’t want to...’

‘What?’

‘To go over it all again. That’s what it would be like. Over and over again. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened. I can’t save Faith. There’s no point in trying to blame anyone, is there?’

He looked appealingly at Cooper and Villiers on the last phrase.

‘I’m sure no one is trying to allocate blame,’ said Cooper.

‘Really? Well, you don’t know my mother very well.’

Cooper glanced into the next room and saw instrument cases stacked against a wall.

‘What do you do for a living, Jonathan?’ he asked.

‘I work as a graphic designer, but I’m really a musician,’ he said. ‘I’m in a band, and we’re doing well. Really coming together. I reckon we could be going places before long. We have a gig next week, in fact.’

‘Where at?’

‘The Spinning Top in Stockport.’

‘I know it.’

‘You should come along. We cover some classic rock, as well as doing our own stuff. Some of the other guys are older and played in bands decades ago. But that’s what people want now. Tribute bands, or old rockers still touring. You have to start off like that and get your name known.’

‘Anyone I might know in your band, then?’ asked Cooper.

‘The guy who put it all together is Robert Farnley. He goes way back to the music scene in Manchester in the 1970s and he’s met everybody who was anybody.’

‘That’s before my time.’

‘It’s all coming back, you know, that kind of stuff. The kids appreciate good music. We’ve all learned a lot from Rob.’

‘I’m glad to hear it’s going well.’

‘Oh, we’re doing a demo, and some proper promotion,’ he said proudly. ‘We’ll get there.’

As Cooper watched him, Jonathan was fiddling with something metallic, turning it over and over in his hand. Cooper noticed that he had long fingers, like a lot of musicians.

‘Mr Matthew, did you ask your sister for money?’ he said.

Jonathan looked up. ‘How did you know that?’

‘It was something your mother said.’

‘Oh yeah, she would. Well, I did mention to Faith that I needed some cash. She had a big nest egg put aside, you know.’

‘But she said no?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How did that make you feel?’

He flushed. ‘What are you getting at? I was disappointed, that’s all.’