Scared to Live (43 page)

could develop for no reason. Conversation was transmitted through a filter that got half of it wrong, like some unfinished translation program. But at least it was communication, of a kind. Cooper remembered his mother's attitude after she'd begun to get really ill and almost never left the house. Lying in her bed at Bridge End Farm, she had once said to him in a lucid moment that she wasn't sure the world existed any more. When he asked her why, she explained that she had no evidence it was really out there still. Other people talked about it sometimes, but she never actually saw it for herself. It had been pointless for him to argue with her. Of course, her family and friends often sent her postcards from the places they visited. Cheerful, colourful pictures of sandy beaches and historic buildings. France, Italy, Florida, Skorpios. Bulgaria, even. But Isabel Cooper didn't believe in those places, any more than she believed in the people she saw on TV. For her, the outside world had become a series of images on a screen, and a set of postcards in a box. Just another illusion. Maybe she had come to believe, like Bishop Berkeley, that nothing existed unless she perceived it for herself. Cooper didn't know much about philosophy, only what he'd learned in a sort of slogan form during General Studies lessons at Edendale High School - esse est percipi, the principle of existence through perception. So he wasn't sure what else Berkeley's theory said. Was the opposite true? If you perceived something, did that mean it existed? Or could perception be an illusion, too?

35

Saturday, 29 October

When the Lowthers arrived at West Street next day, Fry showed them into the DFs office, where they sat in an uncomfortable silence. Hitchens swivelled his chair once, then stopped when he heard the squeal and looked embarrassed. Fry found a seat to one side, out of the Lowthers' immediate view. But it was her that Moira Lowther was looking at when she spoke. 'You weren't listening, were you? I told you John wasn't a danger to anyone but himself. He was psychotic, not a psychopath. I told you, but you didn't listen.' Fry didn't know how to answer her. According to Cooper, Dr Sinclair had said the same thing. And it seemed they had both been right. 'Our officers did their best to save your son's life,' said Hitchens with a placatory gesture. 'It was a very difficult situation.' 'You were pursuing him.' 'No, Mrs Lowther.' 'She was.' The jerk of the head was insulting, but Fry stayed calm.

'DS Fry wasn't even at the scene when the incident happened,' said Hitchens. 'What about the officers who were there? Why can't we speak to them?' 'There'll be a full enquiry into the circumstances, I assure you.' Fry and Hitchens exchanged glances. The enquiry wouldn't be comfortable, and these things often left a sour taste personal grievances, doubts about where loyalties lay, and whether officers could depend on the support of their chiefs. But it all had to be done properly and above board. 'We'll keep you to that promise,' said Mrs Lowther. 'Of course.' Fry could still feel herself being glared at. 'We questioned John as part of the investigation into your daughter's death,' she said. 'We were trying to cover every possibility, that's all.' 'It's ridiculous. John would never do anything like that. They were so close. As close as a brother and sister could be.' Mrs Lowther choked on the last word. 'And now we've lost both of them.' Cringing at the onset of tears and the threat of full-blown hysterics lurking below the surface, Fry looked at Hitchens for support. In a storm, you clutched at any straw. 'Mr and Mrs Lowther, I can't tell you how sorry we are,' he said. 'Believe me, if there's anything at all we can do ' Henry Lowther had been sitting rigid and furious, his tension showing only in the trembling of his hands and the throbbing of a small vein in his temple. 'Anything you can do?' he said, his voice an ominous whisper. 'Don't you think you've done enough to us already?'

Cooper couldn't help looking for the Lowthers' Rover in the visitors' car park that morning. Sure enough, they'd already arrived. He could see their car in front of the main entrance as he pulled up to the gates of the compound.

It was impossible to imagine how Henry and Moira Lowther would be feeling now. Cooper wondered if he ought to offer to talk to them, and whether it would do any good. As he locked up the Toyota and walked towards the building, he tried to analyse his own feeling, too. That was difficult enough, God knew. One part of him wanted to talk to the Lowthers in the hope that it might make some sense of their son's death. But another part of him was afraid afraid of what too much emotion could do. That was the shallower side of his character, he supposed; the scared and defensive side. In the CID room, he found Gavin Murfin already at his desk. That was unusual in itself. Gavin never arrived at work before him, especially on a Saturday. 'You know that the what's-their-names are here?' said Murfin when he saw Cooper. 'The Lowthers.' 'Yes, I do.' 'They're in with Diane and the DI.' 'There haven't been any messages then?' 'Not yet. If I were you, Ben, I'd find a reason to get out of the office as soon as possible. The DI can deal with it.' 'Maybe.' But Cooper took off his jacket and sat at his desk to see what he had to catch up with. There was nothing from Scenes of Crime, so no new information on the gun. But there was a copy of the full postmortem report on Simon Nichols, alias Simcho Nikolov, complete with a set of photographs. He hadn't really looked at Nichols too closely before, but guessed that he hadn't been much prettier in life than he was in death. Not for the past few years, anyway. The marks left by the man's lifestyle were etched deep into his face, just as surely as they'd ruined the interior of the caravan. Too much alcohol and not enough food. Too many cigarettes and not enough attention to hygiene. Yet, when he studied Nichols' face, Cooper could see that

there was still a vestige of the man he'd once been. The bone structure was still there, broad and well-proportioned. A Bulgarian face, of course. He was Nikolov, not Nichols. Cooper remembered the red phone box on the roadside in Bonsall Dale. It seemed likely that Nikolov had phoned Rose Shepherd from there. And then there had been that final phone call, made from an assassin's mobile to lead her into his sights. So, in a way, John Lowther wasn't the only one who'd heard voices. Miss Shepherd had been hearing them, too - voices that had led her to her death. Suddenly aware of someone standing at his desk, Cooper gave a start and looked up guiltily, not knowing who to expect. But it was Gavin Murfin. 'I brought you a cup of coffee,' he said. 'Since you're obviously not going to take my advice.' 'Thanks, Gavin.' 'No worries. You look as though you could use it.' At the sound of voices and footsteps, they both turned towards the door. But the voices went further away, down the corridor somewhere. After a minute or two, footsteps returned and the DI's door closed again. 'I think they've gone,' said Murfin. Cooper nodded. 'But Diane is still in there.' 'Looks like it. I suppose we'll find out what's going on eventually.' Then Murfin sighed deeply. 'Or maybe not.'

The squeak of the chair in the DFs office was really starting to get on Fry's nerves now. Yet the noise seemed to give Hitchens some perverse pleasure, especially as he'd physically prevented a maintenance man from oiling the thing when she'd suggested it. 'So do you have any evidence that Luanne Mullen is in imminent danger, Diane?' he asked when she put her proposal to him after the departure of the Lowthers. 'Well, no.'

'Has she ever been mistreated by her father? Has he ever threatened to harm her?' 'Not that we know of.' 'What about Brian Mullen himself? A few days ago, you were convinced he was responsible for the fire that killed his family. Have you managed to substantiate a case against him?' 'No.' 'So we've no cause to arrest him, have we?' 'No.' 'And we don't actually have the slightest bit of proof that he's done anything wrong.' 'No. But we should also consider Georgi Kotsev's theory that Luanne Mullen's natural father is trying to get her back' 'Yes, we'd have to take that seriously, if there was evidence,' said Hitchens. 'Is there evidence, Diane?' 'I can't produce any right now.' 'You see the problem. No evidence. It's all supposition.' 'That might be true, sir. But the fact that Brian Mullen has gone AWOL with the surviving child looks very suspicious to me.' 'Sadly, he's not legally obliged to keep us informed of his whereabouts. If he's taken the child for a trip somewhere, then there's nothing we can do about it. Nothing at all.' 'But the Lowthers are being equally secretive. I'm sure they know where Brian is.' 'Have you asked them?' 'Of course.' 'And what do they say?' 'They say their son-in-law is distressed and needs some time away from being hassled by us.' Hitchens smiled. 'I suppose that could be true, too, couldn't it?' Fry wasn't amused. 'I assure you, sir, I don't hassle members of the public'

'Of course not, Diane. You're a model of respect and discretion.' She felt her jaw tighten, and tried to relax her muscles in case she looked too tense or aggressive. 'But it's hardly surprising the family feel that way, is it?' said Hitchens. 'Let's not forget that they've lost both their children and two of their grandchildren in the course of a week. And now you want to hunt down their son-in-law and their remaining grandchild.' 'It's not like that at all.' 'But that's the way it's going to seem to the Lowthers. Let me tell you, I never want to experience as uncomfortable a half hour as I spent with those two people this morning.' 'I'm certain Brian Mullen is going to turn up at the Matlock Bath illuminations tonight,' said Fry. 'As certain as I can be.' 'Your grounds for that belief seem to be very tenuous, to say the least. Why would he risk taking the child to Matlock Bath?' 'It was something he'd promised the family. Even with only Luanne left, I think he'll follow through on the promise. Especially with only Luanne left.' 'I see.' 'There's more. I'm concerned that this visit could be the prelude to a significant act on his part. I think Mr Mullen is planning to do something rash and desperate.' 'What do you mean?' 'My feeling is that, unless we find him tonight, it could be too late.' The DI swivelled his chair again, making Fry grind her teeth with frustration. 'It's not like you to base your reactions entirely on gut instinct, Diane. Have you got a personal problem with this case?' 'No, sir.' Hitchens watched her, waiting to hear more, perhaps hoping

she could give him some solid justification. But Fry had already exhausted what she had to say, and stayed silent. The DI looked disappointed. 'Well, I'm sorry, but I can't authorize an operation to apprehend Mr Mullen at this event in Matlock Bath tonight. I've heard nothing to justify the use of resources for such a wild-goose chase. Let alone the effect on the family, which you don't seem to be taking into consideration. You could land us with an even bigger public relations disaster than we already have.' Fry stood up to leave. 'Thank you, sir.' Hitchens held up a hand to keep her back. 'You haven't asked me about Tony Donnelly.' 'Is there any point?' 'I re-interviewed him this morning.' 'How many "no comments" did you get?' 'A few,' admitted Hitchens. 'We're going to have to put some effort in on Donnelly, interviewing his family, friends, neighbours. His background will have to be looked at, his whereabouts checked, alibis pursued . . .' This time, nothing would keep Fry from leaving the DI's office. 'Are you sure there's nothing else you want to talk about, Diane?' he said. 'Yes, thank you. Quite sure.'

Cooper saw that he'd been right. There were so many visitors trying to get into Matlock Bath that by five o'clock all the car parks in the village were full. Police officers in yellow jackets were directing long queues of motorists to a park-and-ride facility at the rugby club a mile down the road. The pavements were packed with people queuing at the fish-and-chip shops or eating out of paper packages as they leaned over the railings to gaze at the river, throwing their last few chips to the ducks. Many of the crowd were family groups, young children sitting in pushchairs or strapped to the parents in carriers.

It had already been gloomy enough by half past four to use sidelights as they drove down from Edendale. On the way here, the mood had been sombre. Dead leaves had filled the lay-bys like a yellow tide. 'I have to remind you that we're here unofficially,' said Fry. 'Strictly speaking, you're off duty.' Cooper nodded. 'We understand that, Diane.' 'No overtime, then?' said Murfin. 'No overtime, Gavin. Sorry.' Murfin shrugged. 'It gets me out of the house. And it means you can't tell me not to eat fish and chips while I'm working, right?' 'Right.' Fry looked at Kotsev. 'Georgi? There's no obligation on you to be here at all.' 'What else would I be doing? Sitting in my hotel watching English television? I wish to be part of the team.' 'Thanks, Georgi.' 'And I'm not to beat up any suspects, OK?' Fry glanced at him, seemed to recognize that he was joking, and let it pass. 'I've told the inspector in charge of the uniformed operation that we're here, but I didn't give him any more details than he needs to know. He's far too busy to bother about us, anyway. He's expecting a crowd of six thousand people and a lot of traffic problems. All he's got to handle it are a dozen bobbies and a few CSOs.' 'So what are we looking for exactly?' said Murfin. 'Brian Mullen. And, I hope, Luanne.' Cooper coughed uneasily. 'Diane, if your theory about Brian Mullen is right, what will happen to the child? Will she be sent back to Bulgaria? Surely she wouldn't have to go back to her real father after all?' But Fry's face was hard, giving nothing away. 'That won't be our decision to make. All we have to do is find them.' 'So our responsibility stops there, does it?'

'Ben, I hope you're not going all social worker on me again.' 'But don't you sometimes wonder what happens to people afterwards - I mean, when we've done our job and the courts have done theirs? Don't you worry that all you've done is make a whole lot of people's lives even worse? Do you always sleep properly at night, Diane?' 'Yes, like a log.' 'I'm not sure I believe you.' Fry looked at Cooper more closely. 'Are you all right, Ben? Look, don't worry too much about John Lowther's death. You did your best to help him. It was the system that let him down, not you.' 'There'll be an enquiry. It might decide that I did the wrong thing. There's only my word for what happened.' 'You have a witness,' said Fry. 'Georgi was there.' 'No, he didn't see what happened,' said Cooper. 'I told him to stay back on the stairs.' Fry looked at Kotsev, who gazed back at her impassively. 'On the contrary,' he said. 'I saw everything.' 'You can't have done,' said Cooper. 'Georgi, there's no need ' 'I will tell the story, if I'm called upon. Ben acted well. He was a hero.' Cooper flushed, uncomfortable with both the sentiment and what seemed to be Kotsev's misguided loyalty. 'Let's get on with it, shall we?' he said. He couldn't help being sceptical about what Fry hoped to achieve in Matlock Bath tonight. A suspect loose among the crowds, strolling through Derwent Gardens with all these families? It didn't bear thinking about. The risk to the public represented an operational nightmare. DI Hitchens had made the right decision, in Cooper's view. No responsible senior officer would authorize an attempt to carry out an arrest in these circumstances. The most they could do safely was to keep Mullen under surveillance - and