Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

‘I’m Derbyshire, not South Yorkshire,’ Cooper explained again. But the woman said nothing.

‘Ah, but,’ said Dearden, wagging a finger at him, ‘Withens is in Derbyshire, isn’t it? Withens is on your patch.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So you can talk to us about the Oxleys.’

‘If you’d like to, Mr Dearden, I’d be happy to listen.’

‘This was the old gamekeeper’s lodge, which the estate sold off,’ explained Dearden as he led Cooper through the house.

‘It was certainly built to last.’

‘Built to stand the climate, you see.’

There were thick internal stone walls and solid floors that absorbed the sound of their footsteps. There was a stuffed fox’s head mounted on an oak shield in the hallway, but it seemed to have been left purely as a reminder of what the house had once been. The rooms had been filled with furniture covered in bright covers and white tablecloths, cabinets of blue-and-white pottery, and stands of smaller items — a collection of snuff boxes here, a display of gleaming brass there.

‘Now, the Oxleys are a problem to everyone,’ said Dearden. ‘What I can’t understand is why the authorities don’t introduce one of those local child-curfew schemes. The power to do it is there. They can ban children from being in a public place after nine o’clock in the evening, and the police can take them off the streets. But they won’t do it. It would be too politically incorrect, I suppose.’

‘And perhaps impossible to put into practice.’

‘Ah. Because there are no police officers around to enforce it. That’s right,’ said Dearden with exaggerated glee.

‘Besides, those curfew orders only apply to children under ten, sir.’

‘The ones beyond the criminal law. Well, there are some of those around here, too, believe me.’

‘What sort of problems have you had?’

‘Thefts, damage. For about eighteen months that’s been going on. Then they set fire to our old garage. Burned it out completely.’

‘Can I see?’

Dearden took him through a side door, past some outbuildings and into a yard, where he showed him a garage made of timber and corrugated iron. Though the structure still stood, its interior was blackened and charred, and the door had been destroyed by the fire.

‘The trouble is, we can’t see from the house when they come into the yard here. They’ve broken into the garage before, and into the other buildings. Nothing seems to stop them. We’ve got fed up of phoning the police. We’ve phoned so often that it’s on our “Friends and Family” list—’

‘Yes, you said.’

‘Then we started using the internet.’

‘You did?’

‘Online Police.’

Cooper had never before come across anyone who used the Online Police website. It had been set up to allow people to report non-urgent minor crime, with the aim of freeing up telephone systems, particularly the 999 service. The site did make the point that it shouldn’t be used for crimes that were happening right then, or where the offender was still nearby, or where there was a witness, or evidence left at the scene.

He wondered if that warning was necessary. Did anybody think people would actually do that? Would a member of the public see a crime being committed, sit down at the computer, log on to www.online.police.uk and spend ten minutes filling in forms with details of their name and address, date, time and place of the crime? Maybe they would, these days.

‘They did all these break-ins, and then they burned my garage down.’

‘Who did?’

‘The bloody Oxleys, of course. You did say you were listening?’

‘Yes, sir. But how—’

‘The bloody Oxleys from bloody Waterloo Terrace. Those kids burned my garage down. They came from Withens, on your patch, and they crossed into Yorkshire, my patch, and they burned my garage down. It’s only a mile from here to Withens, but you’d think we had to call the FBI to do something about it, all because there’s a boundary stone in between.’

‘When your garage was set on fire, did nobody come from your local police?’

‘Some woman came and looked for fingerprints and stuff,’ said Dearden grudgingly. ‘But she wasn’t a proper policewoman. She said she was a civilian.’

‘A scenes of crime officer.’

‘Yes. Well, she didn’t seem to hold out much hope, anyway.’

‘You’re a bit vulnerable out here, aren’t you?’ said Cooper.

‘Ah. You’ve noticed. Vulnerable is the word — and there’s nobody interested in protecting us.’

Mrs Dearden had brought some tea. She hadn’t spoken to Cooper yet. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. Her lips were tightly pressed together.

‘Do you have any evidence to blame these incidents on the Oxley children?’

‘Oh, you think I’m just making it up, don’t you? Well, check their records. You’ll find that two of them were convicted for a burglary at this property eighteen months ago. It didn’t stop them. But that was the only one they were ever caught for. And that’s because they tried to sell an electric drill they stole, and it was traced.’

‘Which two were they, Mr Dearden?’

‘Ryan and Sean. A right couple of teenage tearaways.’

‘But since then?’

‘We’ve never managed to catch them.’

‘Mmm.’

Dearden started to go red when he detected Cooper’s tone of scepticism.

‘Have you been into Withens? Have you seen Waterloo Terrace?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, you’ll have an idea what they’re like,’ said Dearden. ‘I mean, look at the mess they leave. There’s mud and rubbish all over the place. They’re always dropping bits of broken pallet right the way along the road into Withens. One day I nearly hit a pile of roof tiles that had fallen off their lorry. They’ve even churned up the edge of the road by their houses, because they had a JCB parked there for a while. I never saw them actually do anything with it, either. It was just in the way for a week or two, then it was gone again. But it left the damage to the road, and all the water collects there now when it rains. You can bet the council won’t make the Oxleys pay for the repairs, though. It’ll come out of our Council Tax.’

‘Is that why you started driving out of Withens via the old quarry track?’ said Cooper. ‘Because of the state of the road?’

Dearden hesitated. ‘It’s quicker sometimes.’

‘You have a four-wheel-drive Mitsubishi pick-up?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But even so, I would have thought it was pretty tough on your tyres and suspension.’

‘Perhaps that’s cheaper than ripping up my chassis on a pile of roof slates.’

‘Perhaps. But you’re taking a big risk of getting stuck.’

Dearden shrugged.

‘Do you know Neil Granger, Mr Dearden?’ said Cooper.

‘Yes, I do. He’s one of the Oxleys. Related, anyway. One day, somebody ought to look into just how closely some of those Oxleys are related. They’re a bit too reluctant to share their gene pool, if you ask me.’

‘Did you ever see Neil Granger on the old quarry track when you drove over that way, Mr Dearden?’

‘I don’t believe so. Well, no, I’m sure I didn’t.’

‘Anybody hanging around the air shaft?’

‘I saw a couple of the Oxley lads trying to climb it once,’ said Dearden.

‘Oh? When was this?’

‘A few weeks ago. God knows what they were up to. It’s not as if they could steal anything. Even if they got down into the tunnel, they wouldn’t be able to get out again.’

‘No. Did you say anything to them?’

‘Not likely. I’d only have got a mouthful of abuse.’

‘Which of the Oxleys did you see?’

‘That I’m not sure about. They’re much of a muchness, unless you actually see them standing next to each other. And every one of them should be in jail, in my opinion. Not that you want my opinion. The police have made that clear enough. The laws of the outside world will never come near the Oxleys.’