Dead And Buried (Cooper and Fry) (8 page)

‘Did you go up to Oxlow Moor, Gavin?’ he asked.

‘Well, not at first. I was called out to the cottage where the Pearsons were staying. They were reported missing by the farmer’s wife, who’d gone to see if they needed anything after the snow stopped. That was quite late the next day, you understand.’

‘The day after they disappeared?’

‘Right.’ Murfin shivered at the memory. ‘It was damn cold up there. Snow on the ground, a wind that cut right through you like a knife. You should have heard me moaning about being dragged out of a nice warm office on a false alarm. We were having a bit of fun here, those of
us who were in over Christmas. There were mince pies and everything.’

‘But it wasn’t a false alarm, was it, Gavin? Did the incident escalate quickly?’

‘I wouldn’t say it was quick. People are reported missing all the time – everyone knows that. And they were adults, after all. It wasn’t as if they were kids who’d run away from home. But given the weather conditions … well, there was a bit of concern about their welfare, like.’

Cooper could understand why Murfin sounded defensive. Decisions could seem mistaken with the benefit of hindsight. But no one wanted to call it wrong in the early stages and end up looking like a fool.

Murfin gazed round the circle of faces. ‘Well, the owners of the property had keys, so there was no problem getting inside the cottage. But we could already see the Pearsons hadn’t slept there the night before. In fact, no one had been there since before the snow started. There was a drift up against the door, and no footprints in the snow outside, except the owner’s. The cottage was cold, too.’

‘The Pearsons’ car was still there, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. A Range Rover, as I recall. Smart motor. It was covered over in snow, so it hadn’t been driven for a good twenty-four hours.’

‘That must have set alarm bells ringing.’

‘Right. People die of exposure in those conditions. But we had no idea at first where they might have been, what they’d been doing – what they were wearing, even. They might have gone to stay with friends, been picked up by a taxi. We just didn’t know. No one was keen to start making big decisions that would tie up a massive amount of resources over Christmas.’

‘What was the deciding factor in the end?’

‘We got hold of a mobile number. Either from the
property owner or the agency who handled their holiday lettings. It must have been on their booking details, I think. That was David Pearson’s phone. We kept trying it and trying it, but there was no answer. It was dead.’

‘That must have been the phone we found in the peat.’

‘I guess so. Well, we started to get properly worried then. The incident went up the chain of command. And suddenly I was just an extra body in a crowd. And I’ve got to tell you, no one liked being called out at Christmas time. But they all did their bit.’

Murfin looked up suddenly. Cooper sensed a presence at his shoulder and turned, just as a new voice broke in. A voice he recognised instantly. Diane Fry.

‘And meanwhile,’ she said, ‘they were all hoping they could knock off work and get home, or to the pub, as soon as possible. Because no one wanted to start making big decisions, did they? God forbid. Especially not you, I suppose.’

One thing Cooper had never got accustomed to was the way Fry could appear unexpectedly. She was able to move almost silently when she wanted to. Most disturbing was the fact that you didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, listening.

Murfin’s face changed as he looked at her. ‘Wouldn’t
you
want to get home? Oh, but you don’t have a family, I forgot. Nothing for you to go home for.’

Fry’s lips tightened, but Cooper stepped in before she could respond.

‘This sort of thing doesn’t help. Diane, you’re welcome to sit in, but we need to listen. Go on, Gavin.’

Murfin waited to see if Fry took a chair. But instead she paced restlessly between the desks, her thin shoulders hunched like a prowling cat.

‘Well, it was a while before we managed to trace their movements. The Pearsons hadn’t told anyone where they
were going, and of course the people at the pub where they’d been for dinner earlier that evening had no idea the couple were missing. It was a double whammy, if you like. That’s what caused the delay. Well, mostly.’

‘It could have been what caused their deaths, too,’ said Fry.

She had remained standing in the middle of the room. Of course, she no longer had a desk in this department, but Cooper felt sure she did it deliberately, to make everyone else feel uncomfortable.

‘If
they died,’ replied Murfin stubbornly.

Fry raised her eyebrow. ‘You’re on the “deliberate disappearance” side of the argument then, are you?’

‘Yes, they legged it, without a doubt,’ said Murfin. ‘It’s obvious. They were about to get pulled by the fraud squad in Surrey, so they did a bunk with the cash. I reckon David Pearson planned the best time to make a break for it, when they were away from home anyway. And they set up that delay for themselves so they had time to put some distance in before anyone noticed they were gone. They played us all for idiots, as if they knew exactly what we do.’

‘And … what? David Pearson deliberately left his wallet and phone behind?’

‘Of course he did. It makes no difference.’ Murfin leaned forward, directing his comments at Fry. ‘It’s what I would do myself, if I was going to change my identity. I wouldn’t carry proof of who I really was. The Pearsons wouldn’t care if their stuff was found, not once they’d got clear. In fact, you know what? I reckon they’ve been laughing at us all this time for not finding those things sooner.’

When the impromptu meeting broke up in preparation for the full briefing, Cooper took Fry to one side.

‘Gavin could be right, you know,’ he said.

‘When
did that ever happen?’

‘He has experience,’ said Cooper. ‘More experience than you or me. Doesn’t that count for anything, Diane?’

‘The actions taken in the initial stages of the inquiry were flawed,’ said Fry impatiently. ‘And the first mistake was sending DC Gavin Murfin.’

Exasperated, Cooper watched her go, walking down the corridor to greet her DCI from the Major Crime Unit. He shook his head in despair. He seemed to have spent a huge part of his life watching Diane Fry walk away.

‘But hey,’ he called. ‘Diane – what about the victim you found at the Light House?’

Fry paused just for a moment, barely breaking her stride.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Don’t you worry about that, DS Cooper. The investigation is in good hands this time.’

Cooper nodded, reluctantly forced to accept her answer, and even the tone it had been delivered in.

But it was true what he’d said. There were very few murder cases that dragged on for months, let alone years. Usually the story was an obvious one. A body turned up, and a suspect presented himself on a plate. Charges were brought and the crime went down in the files as detected.

So there was a powerful temptation to use the logic in reverse. If a case like the Pearson inquiry had gone on for years, with no sign of a body, the chances were high that it wasn’t a murder. Experience alone suggested that conclusion, and statistics backed it up.

So Gavin Murfin was far from alone in the opinion he’d formed. He might just be the only one prepared to voice it so openly right now.

DCI Alistair Mackenzie had arrived to take charge as senior investigating officer. He was a big man, over six feet tall
and wide across the shoulders. A bit top-heavy perhaps, carrying too much weight above the belt to be fast on his feet. He had a shrewd stare, and a habit of tilting his head on one side when he looked at you.

Fry had begun to get used to him. She liked to know who she was dealing with, particularly if they could be influential in her career. She’d weighed him up when they’d worked together briefly after he was drafted into E Division for the Bridge End Farm inquiry. She didn’t think he’d be difficult to handle, even though he’d once accused her of being a farm girl. That impression she could dispel pretty quickly.

‘Everything all right, Diane?’ asked Mackenzie.

‘Yes, sir. Fine.’

‘It’s a bit strange to be back among your old colleagues so soon, I suppose?’

‘It’s not a problem.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

Fry knew he liked to hear that. She’d heard him say it before. The DCI wanted to think his officers could cope with anything. Finding yourself back among your former colleagues, the ones you’d tried so hard to escape from, was definitely nothing to worry about. It was no problem. No problem at all.

In a back street in the north of Edendale, a white Mitsubishi L200 pickup was parked at the kerb outside a semi-detached council house. People on the street passed it without comment – barely noticing it, in fact, seeing just another workmen’s vehicle. Repairs were being carried out on some of the homes on the Devonshire Estate. Vans, pickups and builder’s skips had been a common sight in the street for months.

The
paintwork of the Mitsubishi was spattered with tarry black specks, as if it had been parked under a sycamore tree. But that wasn’t unusual either. The clouds of smoke drifting over the moors had been depositing sooty debris far and wide, ever since the first moorland fire had started in the Peak District six weeks ago.

So when two men appeared from one of the houses, no one took any notice of them. After they’d driven away, not a single passer-by in the street could have said what the men looked like. No one could have had a guess at the make or registration number of the pickup. A few wouldn’t even have been sure that it was white.

But that was always the way with memories. There was almost nothing you could rely on as being completely accurate.

When
Cooper entered the conference room, he found that his immediate boss, Detective Inspector Paul Hitchens, had been drafted in for the briefing to represent E Division. Hitchens had the unenviable task of summing up the efforts made in the original Pearson inquiry, and the sparseness of the ultimate results.

As he listened with the other officers in the room, Cooper became aware for the first time of the complications of the inquiry. He’d been a DC on the division then, but too lowly in the hierarchy to grasp the overall picture. He recalled taking witness statements that had provided nothing of any value to the investigation, talking for hours to people who had no useful information to give. He’d been sent back to ask more and more questions, until he felt he was scraping the barrel and not producing a thing for his efforts.

So much was known about David and Trisha Pearson after all those months of careful investigation. Yet so little of it had proved to be of any use in finding them.

David Pearson, aged thirty-six, a senior adviser with Diamond Hybrid Securities, based in London. His wife Patricia Pearson, known as Trisha, aged thirty-three and working in public relations. A couple with no children, but a nice home in the Deepdene Wood area of Dorking, Surrey. They had spent a summer holiday in the Seychelles that
year, but had chosen to take their Christmas break in the Peak District.

On the night they disappeared, the Pearsons had been to the George in Castleton for dinner. Mushrooms in peppercorn sauce, Bantry Bay mussels, honey-glazed ham shank. At least they’d eaten well on their last night, not to mention the two bottles of wine they’d drunk.

At the end of the meal they had set off to walk back to their holiday cottage on Brecks Farm, near the village of Peak Forest, a distance of about three miles from the George. And that was the last anyone saw or heard of them. Not a phone call, not a single confirmed sighting, not a shred of paper trail to follow.

Hitchens tried to summarise the main facts of the case as best he could. The DI had been putting on weight recently, and there were traces of grey in his hair. His manner suggested this was one inquiry that had contributed to his premature ageing.

‘The Pearsons stayed late over their meal at the George, finishing the extra bottle of wine,’ he said. ‘They stayed much too late. By the time they left the restaurant, the snow had started. They were foolish to attempt to walk back to the cottage across the moor in those conditions. It wasn’t surprising that they never made it. The mystery was what happened to their bodies. They were never found.’

‘So what were the theories?’ asked someone.

‘There were several. But they boil down to two basic scenarios.’

Hitchens turned to use the whiteboard, perhaps hoping that it would draw the attention of all those eyes away from him for a few minutes. He wasn’t a natural public speaker, which was a drawback in anyone with aspirations to become a senior officer. The TV crews would be arriving before long,
and the DI wasn’t the sort of man to make a good show in front of the cameras.

‘Scenario number one,’ he said, scrawling the phrase as he spoke. ‘The Pearsons lost their way in the snowstorm and died somewhere on the moors before they reached their destination. In that case, we would normally have expected to find their bodies, which we didn’t. So, what then? Well, they might have strayed so far off their route that they hit the flooded open-cast workings at Wolfstones Quarry, which were partly frozen over. Or they could have taken shelter in a cave, or the entrance to one of the old lead mines, and gone in too deep. They wouldn’t be the first to go in and never come out. Some say that a party of cavers will turn up their bones one day.’

‘Did we send divers into the quarry?’

‘No, it wasn’t feasible. The edges of the water were searched, but there was no indication at what point they might have gone in. It isn’t a small body of water, you know. Without a reference point to start from, it was futile. You could tie up a team of divers for months without anything to show for it.’

DCI Mackenzie looked up at the pause. He was reading from a file, as if following the explanation by Hitchens and comparing it to the written record.

‘There was another theory too, though,’ he put in.

Hitchens sighed. ‘Yes, this was the one that seemed to find most favour at the time. It was the easiest option, of course. Not that I’m saying it influenced the outcome of the inquiry exactly, but, you know … it might have been a factor.’