Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

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A death in the rural family-from-hell bring Fry and Cooper to a remote and unfriendly community in the fourth psychological Peak District thriller.
It’s nearly May Day and deep in the Dark Peak lies the village of Withens. Not a tranquil place but one troubled by theft, vandalism, strange disappearances and now murder. A young man is killed — battered to death and left high on the desolate moors for the crows to find.
Ben Cooper, part of the investigating team, meets an impenetrable wall of silence from the man’s relatives who form Withens’ oldest family. The Oxleys are descendants of the first workers who tunnelled beneath the Peak. They stick to their own area, pass on secret knowledge through the generations, and guard their traditions from outsiders.
Detective Diane Fry is in Withens on other business — looking into the disappearance of Emma Renshaw. The student vanished into thin air two years ago, but her parents are convinced she is still alive and act accordingly... which doesn’t help Fry in her efforts to re-open the case following an ominous discovery in remote countryside.
But there are other secrets in Withens and more violence to come... The past is stretching its shadow over the present, not just for the inhabitants of Withens but for Cooper and Fry as well.

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Worst were the eyes, though. In the place where they should have been there were black, clotted pools that almost seemed to match the unnatural colour of the victim’s face.

With every moment that passed, PC Knott was getting more and more worried that there were things he ought to be doing. It had been a long, tedious night shift. And now, right at the end of it, Knott and his partner actually had an interesting call to attend. They were FOA at a suspicious death — the first officers to arrive. And that brought sudden responsibilities, the knowledge that the actions they took, or didn’t take, right now could affect the whole investigation, if it turned out to be a case of murder.

Their first priorities had been to assess and protect the scene. And he knew the first rule was not to interfere with anything at the scene, once they were sure that the victim was actually dead. But he hated standing around doing nothing. It went against his instincts. Knott wanted to poke around, to identify the victim, to try to figure out what had happened.

As more time passed, the urge to do something was becoming stronger. Knott told himself it would impress the senior officers when they arrived. But he looked at his partner, who was trying to find something secure to fasten the end of the blue-and-white tape to, and he was glad he wasn’t on his own. A bad mistake would be too easy to make. Above all things, any evidence at the scene had to be preserved from contamination. Knott looked at the sky, praying that the rain would hold off, because they had no means of protecting the body if the weather broke.

There was the noise of a car engine, whining as it approached.

‘Who’s that coming?’ said Knott.

‘Let’s hope it’s the medical examiner.’

They both looked down the hill, watching the spot where the track crested the rise and emerged from the banks of heather. Nothing appeared. Yet the sound of the engine became louder and louder, until it almost seemed to be on top of them.

‘Bloody hell!’ said Knott, spinning round. A black Mitsubishi pick-up was only a few yards away from them. But it was travelling down the hill, not up.

‘Where did that come from?’

‘I don’t know, but he’s going to drive right through the tape, if we don’t stop him,’ said Knott.

‘He’d better not, or we’re dead meat.’

‘Stop him, then.’

They both began waving and running towards the vehicle. The driver had already slowed to a crawl as he bumped over the stony track, and he finally came to a halt a few feet from the air shaft. He lowered the driver’s window.

‘What’s the problem?’ he said.

‘I’m afraid you can’t come through here, sir. This is a crime scene.’

‘A what?’

‘A crime scene, sir. There’s been a fatality.’

‘Oh.’

‘So if you don’t mind, sir—’

‘Has somebody been hurt, then?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Who is it?’

‘We don’t know. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to reverse back up the track. You need to turn round and go back the way you came.’

The driver leaned out of his window to look down the track. ‘I could just about squeeze past. The ground’s quite dry here, so I think the four-wheel drive could cope.’

‘No, sir. Go back, please.’

‘It’s a damned nuisance.’

‘Could I ask your name, sir?’

‘It’s Dearden.’

‘And whereabouts do you live?’

‘Over the other side of the hill. Shepley Head Lodge.’

Knott looked at his partner, who shrugged. ‘Surely you could take the road through Withens, Mr Dearden?’ he said.

‘Maybe.’

‘It would be much easier than negotiating this track, I would have thought. You’ll get a lot less damage to your suspension and your tyres, anyway.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Where are you heading for, sir?’

‘Glossop.’

‘Glossop? Well, this isn’t even a shortcut. You’d have to go back up the A628 to where the Withens road comes out anyway.’

‘All right, all right. I’m going.’

He revved the Mitsubishi, looked over his shoulder and began reversing up the hill towards where the track widened out at the old quarry.

Knott looked at the body of the young man. ‘If Mr Dearden lives nearby, maybe we should have asked him if he recognized the body,’ he said. ‘He might have been able to give us a quick ID.’

‘This lad won’t be from round here,’ said the other officer confidently.

‘You sure?’

‘They never are. Besides...’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t like the look of Mr Dearden too much. What was he doing driving over this way, when he could have gone up the Withens road? It would have been a lot easier and quicker for him. It doesn’t make sense.’

Knott shrugged. ‘Beats me. But take a note of his registration number before we lose sight of him anyway,’ he said, as he watched the Mitsubishi do a three-point turn. ‘We’ll pass his name on to CID. When they arrive.’

‘Who do you suppose we’ll get?’

‘Some bugger who’ll tell us we’ve done everything wrong,’ said PC Knott.

Detective Chief Inspector Oliver Kessen was a recent arrival in E Division. Some of the CID officers in the sections didn’t know him very well yet, but they were allowing him time to settle into the job.

His predecessor, DCI Stewart Tailby, had moved to his new job in the Corporate Development department at county headquarters in Ripley. Yet it was surprising how often he was to be seen hanging around West Street like a ghost, trying to engage his old colleagues in conversation. It was as if he was reluctant to let go of his old job, to leave his old patch behind. Maybe he was frightened that everyone would forget him, once he had truly gone. But gradually he was losing touch with what was going on in E Division. More and more new officers were arriving at the station who had no idea who he was.

By the time Kessen arrived at the scene by the air shaft, the forensic medical examiner had already attended, and the machinery for an enquiry into a suspicious death was starting to get into action. PC Knott was being kept occupied controlling access and recording the names of everyone who arrived in the scene log.

‘The victim is male, appears to be in his early twenties, and has suffered serious head injuries,’ said DI Paul Hitchens, as DCI Kessen struggled up the last few yards of the slope.

The track below was already filling up with police vehicles. Their white and orange looked ludicrously out of place in the dark, bare expanses of peat moor.

Kessen simply nodded, and took up a position from where he could see the body without entering the taped-off area. He was wearing a heavy overcoat that made him look twice his normal size and hid his real shape. He had a habit of keeping his lips pushed together, and he rarely smiled. When he did, he revealed crooked teeth that would have benefited from an orthodontist.

‘The doctor thinks that death occurred over twenty-four hours ago, from the condition of the body. The attendance of the pathologist has been requested, I understand?’

Kessen nodded again. He found a packet of mints in the pocket of his coat and put one in his mouth. He didn’t offer Hitchens one.

‘The SOCOs are here. At least they can start getting their photographs and videos before the pathologist arrives. If we get Mrs Van Doon, things should move quickly. The body was discovered by a couple of firefighters from Glossop. Luckily, they had the sense not to mess around too much with the scene.’

The DCI didn’t reply. His mouth moved as he sucked his mint. His eyes were fixed on the area marked off by tape, where the scenes of crime officers were clustering.

‘The Crime Scene Manager has established an approach path, and the major incident vehicle is on the way,’ said Hitchens. ‘And the really good news is that we’ve found an unattended car, parked in a lay-by just below here on the A628. It’s an old Volkswagen Beetle. If it turns out to belong to the victim, we could be in luck. This could be a forty-eight-hour job.’

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