Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

‘Aye?’

‘We’re trying to find out how he died.’

‘We have to bury him. It’s your job to find out how he died. If you’ve a mind to.’

‘Of course we’ve a mind to. But we need help.’

‘Aye. You come asking for help now, but you’re never around when other folks need help.’

‘Do you remember Emma Renshaw, Mr Oxley?’ said Cooper desperately.

‘Of course I do.’

‘Neil knew her very well, didn’t he?’

‘Everybody knew her. Now, if I ask you to leave my property, you have to — I know that. Unless you’re here to arrest somebody. Are you going to do that?’

‘Not today, Mr Oxley.’

Cooper turned away, and looked up towards where the road should be. He couldn’t make it out because of the thick screen of trees in the way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Udall raise her shoulders, as if adjusting her belt. It was a discreet shrug, and a question: Are we wasting our time here?

‘You really can’t see much from down here, can you?’ said Cooper.

‘They built the houses like this so nobody had to look at them,’ said Oxley sourly.

Was that almost a bit of conversation?

‘So what were they originally?’

‘Railwaymen’s cottages. You’d think they’d have built them in stone, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But the railway company said they had a policy to build their workers’ houses all the same. Well, if you ask me, they had a big contract with a brick company, and got their bricks dirt cheap, like everything else.’

Cooper felt they were making contact, even striking up a conversation. He took a step forward towards the fence, so that he didn’t have to raise his voice quite so much. The Alsatian stood up. Cooper stopped.

‘What about members of your family, Mr Oxley?’ said Udall, recognizing the moment to divide attention. ‘Might some of them have been around at that time and seen something?’

‘Scott was probably at the pub Friday night. You could ask him. But he isn’t home.’

‘No, we’ve tried.’

‘The young ones would be home at that time,’ said Oxley.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure. They’re good lads.’

‘What about Frances?’ said Cooper. ‘Or is it Fran? At number 5 — she doesn’t seem to be home either.’

‘Fran has a job.’

Oxley said it as if he expected them to be surprised. Cooper found that he actually was, and mentally chided himself for forming pre-conceptions. Lucas might have a job as well, for all he knew. And Scott, too.

‘Is Fran working today, Mr Oxley?’

‘She works in a café, over in Holmfirth. She won’t be back until later. She has to use the bus.’

‘Right.’

‘Did you see some kids up on the road?’ said Oxley.

Cooper nodded. ‘There were a bunch near the bus stop.’

‘Was Jake among them? Little lad, younger than the others. He has a bad leg.’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with any of them,’ said Oxley. ‘They’re all good lads.’

‘I’m sure they are, sir.’

‘And I’ll tan the hides off them, if they’re not. Now, you’ve been asked to leave, and you’re trespassing.’

Cooper took a last look at the yard as he turned to leave. He took particular note of the vehicles he could see parked in among the pallets and old tyres. There was a light blue Transit van and a small flat-bed lorry, but they were at the wrong angle for him to make out the registration numbers.

Tracy Udall made a helpless gesture at him as they walked back up the track past Waterloo Terrace.

‘Where does Lucas Oxley work, Tracy?’ said Cooper. ‘What’s his job?’

‘I think you’re asking the question wrong,’ said Udall. ‘I don’t think he has a job exactly.’

‘He isn’t registered for unemployment benefit. I checked.’

‘No. I suppose you might say he’s self-employed. And he works wherever work is to be had.’

‘Mmm. That sounds like a definition of “criminal” to me.’

‘Did you notice all the stuff round the back of the houses in Waterloo Terrace? Stacks of pallets? Roof tiles? Tyres? Fence posts? He’s trading, that’s what he’s doing. I imagine he’ll pick up anything that he can get cheap — maybe just for the cost of a bit of effort by his lads to collect the stuff and bring it back to Withens. Then, if anyone around here wants some fence posts or roof tiles, they know where to come. I’m betting he sells some of the stuff out of the back of a van at car boot sales and cattle markets, too.’

‘Legally?’

‘It’s mostly legal, I should think.’

‘Tell me about the bit that isn’t.’

‘Well, let me put it this way — I wouldn’t take the tiles off my roof and leave them by the roadside overnight. And I wouldn’t park a lorry with empty pallets on it anywhere accessible.’

‘But who’s going to know one pallet from another?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Some of the sons work, though, don’t they?’

‘You mean, do they have jobs?’

‘Yes. Jobs where they go off to work and earn an honest living, like you and me.’

‘They do bits of casual labouring, I think. There’s still some farm work to be had at certain times of the year, and beating for the shoots. But, mostly, they’ll be hiring themselves out as labour with the van or the flat-bed lorry.’

‘They don’t sound like they’re your antique thieves, anyway.’

‘No, I never really thought they were.’

‘Are we no nearer getting a lead on the thefts?’

‘The people we’ve interviewed so far are small-scale. We don’t think they’re responsible for the majority of thefts. It’s going to take a lot more work.’

As they headed back towards Udall’s car, Cooper saw the bus coming down the hill. A woman got off at the stop in the car park and began to walk across the road towards Waterloo Terrace.

‘I’ll catch you up, Tracy,’ said Cooper. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

The woman was wearing jeans and a dark coat and carrying a shoulder bag. Cooper watched her approach the terrace. She went straight up the path of number 5 and used a key to enter the house.

‘Fran Oxley,’ Cooper said to himself. ‘So you’re home, then. And you can’t pretend that you’re not.’

By the time he got to the house, Fran Oxley had already gone inside and shut the door. Cooper waited a couple of minutes to let her see his card and read it, then he walked up the path and knocked.

She must have been standing right behind the door, because she opened it with his card still in her hand. She looked at him blankly, then at the card, and he could see her putting two and two together without any trouble. The Oxleys had no trouble recognizing a police officer when they saw one. He might as well be carrying a neon sign around on his head.

‘Is this you?’ she said, tapping the card.

‘Yes. Are you Frances Oxley?’

‘I don’t have anything to say.’

‘If I could just ask you a few questions.’

‘I don’t have to answer any questions.’

‘I was talking to your father earlier on—’

‘You’ve been talking to Dad?’ she said incredulously.

‘Yes, Mr Lucas Oxley.’

‘Then you’ll have found out everything you’re going to hear from this family.’

Cooper tried to look past her into the house. He had been concentrating on his body language as much as his words. He was hoping Fran would be the one member of the Oxley family to recognize that he wasn’t a threat. He was hoping that she might even invite him into the house. But she hadn’t quite gone for it yet.

‘It’s about Neil Granger,’ said Cooper. ‘Your cousin Neil.’

Fran Oxley hesitated, looked at his card as if to give it back to him, but hung on to it instead. She looked up the terrace along the row of doors.