Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

There were scores of them, and Cooper was astonished at the range of newspapers represented. All of the nationals were there, both tabloid and broadsheet. There were Scottish papers, and local weeklies from Yorkshire and the Midlands, in fact from all over Britain. Some of the stories, he realized, were printouts of pages from the websites of foreign newspapers, mostly American. Cooper turned to one from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel , featuring a girl injured in a car accident on Highway 54 and left unconscious in hospital. The police in a place called Oneida were trying to identify the victim, and were appealing for help from the public. The phone number had been circled in blue ink. He guessed the Oneida cops would have had a call from Sarah Renshaw. He hoped they had dealt with her sympathetically.

Cooper checked the dates of the cuttings. The earlier ones began almost immediately after Emma’s disappearance, but were mainly local stories, and they were weeks apart. But as the album filled up, the dates got closer together, their sources more far-flung and international, until the most recent pages were packed with stories culled from the internet day after day.

It gave Cooper a dizzying glimpse of the world as seen by Sarah Renshaw. In this world, it was as if Emma had started off as just a single missing person in North Derbyshire two years ago, but had steadily multiplied herself over the months. In her various incarnations, she had spread out and scattered all over the globe, invading the world like an army of clones, or a virus proliferating at an unmanageable rate.

These multiple Emmas had ended up in all kinds of places, some of them lost and anonymous, some hungry or injured, alone or finally reunited. And Sarah Renshaw had spent hours at the computer tracking them down. Perhaps she had become increasingly desperate in her efforts as she realized the numbers involved, and discovered the speed of the virus that she was trying to keep up with. There were more young people going missing every day than anyone could imagine.

Cooper closed the album with a sigh. They were far from being clones, but the young women featured in these cuttings did have a few things in common, and one big difference from Emma Renshaw. Each of them was someone’s daughter, of course. Many of them would have parents worrying about them at home.

But most of all, every one of them was still alive.

‘It’s sad,’ said Cooper.

Fry nodded. ‘The most worrying thing is the guilt factor.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sarah Renshaw keeps talking about this “belief” business. I think if Emma turns up dead, she’s going to interpret that to mean she didn’t believe hard enough. She’ll think Emma is dead because she failed her.’

‘That isn’t rational at all.’

‘There’s nothing rational about guilt. There’s nothing rational about the Renshaws at the moment.’

‘That bad, eh? I’ve heard a lot about them, but never actually met them.’

‘It would be interesting to see what you think of them, Ben.’

‘Yes.’

Cooper wondered if Fry had actually told the Renshaws that anyone who had been missing for years was unlikely to turn up again some day. He didn’t feel like supporting her in that opinion just now. He knew only too well that it could really happen.

Fry straightened her shoulders and her manner changed.

‘And how are you getting on with the Oxleys, Ben?’ she said. ‘Are you one of the family yet?’

‘Oh, yeah. An in-law that nobody speaks to.’

‘Well, you’ll have to keep trying,’ said Fry. ‘Use a different approach or something.’

‘A different approach. Right.’

DCI Kessen didn’t have to wait as long for the room to settle down this morning. His silent, patient style was unsettling some of the officers. They didn’t quite know what to make of him. What was he thinking behind that thin smile? Even DI Hitchens seemed unsure of how to behave.

Ben Cooper saw that Tracy Udall was here this morning with some of the Rural Crime Team, including Sergeant Jimmy Boyce. He waved to Udall, then hesitated, realizing he should be careful who he sat with, in case it was taken as signifying something. Then he sat on a chair at the back of the room, perching on it as if suggesting that he had to make a quick getaway on urgent business.

‘All right, thank you,’ said Hitchens as he opened the briefing. ‘Those of you who’ve been working on leads connected to the bronze bust we found in Neil Granger’s car will know that we’ve had some results. The bust turns out to have been stolen right here in Edendale, from a house called Southwoods Grange, which was burgled two weeks ago. The property is owned by the National Trust, so all the items were recorded and photographed for security. There’s no doubt it’s the same one.’

‘How much is it worth?’ asked someone.

‘Difficult to say, but I’m told it’s insured for five thousand pounds.’

‘Nice. And have we detected this theft, sir?’

‘Er, no. But the bust was part of a haul of small items worth considerably more, I’m told. By the time a unit responded to an alarm at Southwoods Grange, the perpetrators had got well clear. There were no solid lines of enquiry to follow, and no sign of any of the stolen property turning up anywhere. Until now.’

‘Sir, do you think it might have been the Gavin Murfin Gang practising for the Chatsworth House job?’

From his seat at the front of the room, Kessen turned his head slowly to look at the DC who had spoken. Very few people laughed, except Murfin, who chortled loudly and winked at his colleague. DI Hitchens smiled, but managed to keep his face turned away from his boss and his voice steady.

‘Well, facetiousness aside, we do have some similar MOs on a series of other incidents in the past few months, including some in Longdendale, near where Neil Granger lived.’

Hitchens looked around the room and found Ben Cooper. ‘As some of you know, the Rural Crime Team have been working on these burglaries in Longdendale for a while. Their intelligence has proved very useful. Also, we have some ongoing checks on a number of Granger’s associates, which will take some time. But a few of them are already looking very promising. Very promising indeed. There are a couple of Neil Granger’s friends who have a string of theft convictions between them.’

‘Where are these associates, sir?’ said Cooper. ‘In Tintwistle? Or back in Withens?’

‘No, not in Withens. I’m thinking particularly of two former colleagues of Granger’s at Lancashire Chemicals in Glossop, who were recently sacked because they were suspected of pilfering. They’ve both spent time inside on unrelated matters, and Granger has been associating with them. They drink together occasionally at a pub in Mottram. There was some good work done there, establishing that fact so quickly.’

Hitchens turned to look at Kessen, who nodded and gave everyone his smile. It actually felt as though he had offered effusive congratulations.

‘That’s not to say there isn’t a lot more work to be done on Granger’s associates,’ said the DI. ‘Including those in Withens, Cooper. Granger has some relatives there who might be a bit dubious, I gather.’

‘They’re mostly kids,’ said Cooper. ‘Nuisance and vandalism, yes; maybe nicking from cars. But I don’t think there’s any suggestion they’re into antiques.’

‘Well, we’ll see. We need more information yet before we close down that possibility, so keep on it. The RCT are going to help with that aspect of the enquiry, so we’re lucky to have some help. Neil Granger seems to have known quite a lot of people.’

‘The family in Withens, the Oxleys, aren’t terribly co-operative,’ said Cooper.