Dancing With the Virgins (11 page)

8

The Partridge Cross cycle hire centre was in a converted
railway station. Past it ran what had once been the Cromford & High Peak rail line, now the High Peak
Trail, a smoothly tarmacked stretch of track perfect for
walkers and cyclists
.

There was still a morning mist lingering in places,
and the old railway cuttings seemed to have drawn it
down on to the trail. It gave a damp nip to the air that
hit Ben Cooper and Todd Weenink as soon as they got
out of the car. But there were already vehicles in the
car park. Some had cycle racks on their tailgates and mountain bikes hoisted high in the air. A family with
three small children were strapping on their safety hel
mets ready to hit the trail. There were no traces of Jenny
Weston left here now
.

The day's weather forecast from the Met Office was
posted on a board outside the hire centre, next to a
notice warning hirers that bikes had to be returned by
6 p.m. in the summer, or by dusk in the winter. At
the other end of the building a counter concession was
selling ice cream, sweets and canned drinks. In a com
pound, they saw at least one Dawes Kokomo among
the tandems and trailer cycles. Before they went into
the hire centre, they stopped and looked at the bikes.

‘
You wouldn't get me on one of these,' said Weenink,
immediately sitting astride a tandem and looking like
a cowboy trying to mount a donkey. 'Unless it was with
the right bird on the back, of course. Preferably the local
bike, up for a quick pedal in the woods.
’

Across the car park was the Ranger centre, a two-
storey converted barn. They had passed it on the way
in, and Cooper had noticed Owen Fox's silver Land Rover parked in the yard
.

They found Don Marsden, the cycle hire manager,
leaning against a wooden counter, wiping his hands on
a cloth. He had been tinkering with one of the hire
bikes, checking the tightness of the forks on the wheels,
testing the brakes and adjusting the saddle. Now he was waiting for his first customer of the morning, a blank page of the log book in front of him
.

Marsden wore a red sweater like a Ranger, but with
a different logo on the breast pocket. He didn't look
like a cyclist himself — he had a heavy paunch pushing
out the front of his sweater and a goatee beard covering
part of his double chin. Behind the counter, the office
he worked in was crowded. It contained everything
from a microwave oven and a personal computer with drifting parabolic shapes filling its screen, to displays of maps and route guides. It was just gone nine thirty
and the centre had been open only a few minutes.
Marsden gave them a cheerful greeting, and his cheer
fulness didn't falter even when he discovered they were
police officers.

‘
I was told you'd be back,' he said, offering his hand.
'We've got your earlier statement,' said Cooper.
'We're just trying to establish the victim's exact move
ments yesterday.'

‘
Fair enough.' Don leaned on the counter with an expectant smile.

‘
Is this the woman you remember seeing?' Cooper produced a copy of the photograph provided by Eric Weston, a picture of Jenny at her cousin's wedding two years before. Jenny was dressed in a dove grey
suit. Unlike the others in the wedding group, she was
not wearing a hat, and her dark hair curled round her
face, the strands of it echoing the curve of her smile.
She looked as though she had been enjoying herself for
once.

‘
Oh, yes. I don't need to see the photo either,' said
Don. 'I remember her. Weston, that's right. She's here
in the book. She took out a mountain bike at twelve
forty-five. It was what she always had. She was a regu
lar, you see.'

‘
A regular? How often did she come?'

‘
About once every two weeks in the summer. I think
she probably went to some of the other hire centres on
the weekends in between. Winter, it depended on the
weather. But we're open every day of the year here, except Christmas Day.'

‘
So you knew who she was.'

‘
I recognized her, of course. And you get to know the
names of the regulars, after a bit. You have to enter it
in the book, see, and on the computer. They have to
show me some ID and put a deposit down on the bike
.

Twenty quid, it is. She gave me cash. Do you know...?
’

‘
Somebody else will sort that out, I expect,' said Cooper.

‘
Right. Only it's not something that's happened to me
before, the customer dying before they can reclaim their
deposit. It's not in the regulations.
’

Weenink had been flicking through leaflets advertis
ing the local attractions of Lathkill Dale and Carsington
Water. Now he seemed to take notice for the first time
of what Marsden was saying.

‘
Did she chat to you, then?' he asked. 'I mean, did
she just come in, pay the money and take the bike, or
did she pass the time of day a bit?'

‘
She didn't say much really,' admitted Don. 'She was
pleasant, you know. But I wouldn't have said she was
the chatty type. Not with me, anyway. Women on their
own are a bit distant these days. They learn not to be
too friendly.
’

He sounded regretful. Cooper wondered what his prospects were as an interviewee when the reporters and TV crews arrived, as they surely would. It was
lucky they had got to Don Marsden before the cameras.
He had a feeling the story might get embellished along
the way later on.

‘
So what else do you know about her?' suggested Weenink
.

Don shook his head. 'Just where she came from.
I've got her address, look. The Quadrant, Totley, Shef
field. I've been through it once or twice, I think. She normally showed me her driving licence for ID. We have to go through the procedure every time. Can't
make exceptions. But as for knowing anything about
her — not really. Except I don't think she was married.
’

‘
Oh? What makes you say that?'

‘
Dunno really. Just the way she was. Friendly, yeah.
But it was more like she seemed to be able to please
herself what she did. I had the impression there prob
ably wasn't a husband and kids at home waiting for her to get back. Do you know what I mean?
’

Weenink simply stared at the cycle hire man. This was
his principal interrogation technique, the intimidatory
stare. He had perfected the art of silent disbelief.

‘
You're quite observant really, Don,' said Cooper.

‘
I think so. You see all sorts here, you know. You get
to recognize the types.'

‘
It was a quarter to one when she came in, you
said.'

‘
That's right. It's in the book.'

‘
You saw her arrive, did you?'

‘
Yeah. I was standing in the doorway there, as it happens. It was quiet, like now. Maybe not so quiet as this,
but quiet anyway. I saw her car pull up. A Fiat, right?
So I came back in, and I had a bike ready for her. I knew what she'd want.'

‘
Where did she park?' asked Weenink, though he knew exactly where the Fiat had been found.

‘
Just over there, the first bay on the left.'

‘
Were there any other cars here?'

‘
One or two. Three or four, maybe. I didn't really count them.'

‘
Anybody else that you knew? Any other regulars?
’

‘
No. But the ones who hired bikes are in the book
here. The other policemen took their names and addresses. Of course, there are some folk who bring
their own bikes. They don't come in here at all unless
they want a map or something, or they want to ask
directions. Some walk or go jogging. Them I don't notice
so much.
’

Cooper turned the book round to look at it. The next
bike hire recorded after Jenny Weston's entry was nearly half an hour later, when a tandem had been
signed out to a couple called Sharman, from Matlock.
Other hirers weren't his concern, for now. Checking them out was somebody else's job.

‘
Did Jenny Weston ever tell you where she was head
ing?' he asked.

‘
No,' said Don. 'But she usually set off eastwards, down the trail towards Ashbourne.'

‘
Is that what she did yesterday?'

‘
That's right. It's sensible for somebody on their own
to tell me where they're going. In case they have an
accident or something, you know. There are times when
people get lost and are really late back with the bikes. You start to wonder whether something's happened to
them. But there's not much you can do, if you've no idea where they've set off to.'

‘
Jenny's bike was overdue for being returned, wasn't
it?'

‘
Yeah, it was. She had a three-hour ticket. It should
have been back here by a quarter to four, by rights. You
have to pay extra if you go over — two pounds more. Or you can lose your twenty quid altogether. We're supposed to close at dusk anyway.'

‘
Did you worry about the fact she wasn't back?'

‘
I thought it was unusual, that's all. There's plenty of folk late back. But it was odd for her. She'd never been
late before, so I did wonder. But when it came time to
close, I would have been reporting in. Head office would have made a decision whether to call you lot.
But, of course, young Mark Roper found her before that,
didn't he?
’

Cooper pricked up his ears. 'How did you hear
that?'

‘
Owen Fox told me. He came through from the
Ranger centre when he heard. It's practically next door,
see.'

‘
Do you work closely with the Rangers?'

‘
We help each other out a bit. I've known Owen Fox
for years. Good bloke, Owen.
’

Weenink had wandered past the wooden barrier and
was examining the bikes stacked in the back of the building.

‘
Hey, look at this.' He had found a machine that
looked like a wheelchair with a unicycle welded on to
the front. It had no pedals, but there were two handles in front of the rider, attached to a gear wheel. Weenink
squeezed himself into the seat and waggled the steering
from side to side.

‘
They're hand-cranked,' said Don, watching him cau
tiously. 'For disabled people, you know.'

‘
Brilliant.
’

Cooper felt Weenink was starting to become an
embarrassment. It always happened when he got bored.
'Well, thanks for your time, Don.'

'No problem. As you can see, I've got no customers.
’

‘
You might find it gets busier later on.'

‘
Doubt it. Not at this time of the year, on a Monday.
And half-term isn't until next week.'

‘
No, you don't understand. Once people see the news
about the murder, it'll be crowded down here.
’

Don looked shocked. 'You're kidding, aren't you? Why should people want to come here?
’

Cooper shrugged. 'I can't explain it. But they will.'

‘
Oh, they'll be running coach trips,' said Weenink,
grinning from the doorway. 'Tours for Ghouls Limited.'

‘
Not to mention the newspapers and the TV cameras.'

‘
Blimey.' Don looked nervously out of the doorway
at the bike compound. 'I didn't expect that,' he said. 'I
didn't expect people would be like that. Perhaps I'd better ring the boss and ask if I can close up for the day.'

‘
Close? Why would you want to do that? You could
be a TV star, mate,' said Weenink
.

Don smiled uncertainly. As they walked away, he
was watching the car park entrance. He still wasn't sure
whether they were joking
.