Dancing With the Virgins (39 page)

*

The house was set deep into the hillside, below the level
of the road. Its front door was at the foot of a steep, narrow flight of stone steps lined with wooden tubs and pots of wilted sweet peas, enclosed by a well of
sheer walls and blocked-up windows. The remains of dead plants trailed down to the door, leaving patches
of dark mould and slime on the steps, treacherous
patches that would send an unwary postman hurtling
to the bottom. Yet on the window ledge of the room above the road there was a single pelargonium in
bloom, its red flowers gleaming against the grey curtain
.

When Owen Fox answered the door, he appeared to
be standing at the bottom of a deep hole. He looked as
though he had been dozing; he was sleepy-eyed and half-dressed, and his beard and hair were tangled.
When he saw Diane Fry standing on the steps above
him, he pulled his dressing gown around his chest.

‘
Do you want some help?' he said. 'I suppose you need my local knowledge again?
’

Owen began to ease the door closed behind him, try
ing to shut himself out on the step with the police, as
if distancing himself from his own life. He looked faintly
ridiculous in his T-shirt, dressing gown and slippers.

‘
Is it about Cal and Stride?' he said. 'Give me a minute, then I'll be with you. No problem.
’

Then Owen looked up and saw DI Hitchens standing
on the roadside, and he read something in his
expression. He stared at Hitchens like a man contem
plating the final ascent of Mount Everest and knowing
he would never make it, because the effort was too
great. Owen Fox had become a small man at the bottom
of a dark pit. He stood out of the light, away from the
world, desolate and alone. The sun that reached his pot
plants fell short of crossing his doorstep.

‘
Don't bother shutting the door,' said Hitchens. 'We've got a search warrant.
’

28

‘
That was the river, this is the sea.
’

Ben Cooper turned up the volume on his stereo and
opened the cover of his Waterboys CD. He was amazed
to find it dated from 1985. In fact, most of the music he
possessed was the stuff he had liked twelve or fifteen
years ago as a teenager. Somehow, his tastes hadn't
changed during the time since he had joined the police service — or maybe he just hadn't had time to discover
any new kinds of music
.

Cooper looked at his books. The copy of
Captain
Corelli's Mandolin
he had been trying to read was written
in 1994. It was about the most recent thing on his
shelves, and somebody had given him that. Apart from
the job, it seemed his time had been spent drinking
beer with other police officers, taking part in individual
sports or walking in the countryside. At least he had
some friends outside the service. He made a mental
note to get in touch with Oscar and Rakki. It had been
months since they had gone anywhere together
.

One of the CDs in the rack was of a concert by the
Derbyshire Constabulary Choir, recorded six years ago.
There was a photo of the choir on the cover, and on theback row with the tenors was Ben Cooper himself, then
a uniformed PC. Cooper compared the picture with his
reflection in the mirror in the wardrobe door. His hair
was a bit shorter at the back now, his face a bit fuller.
But he looked much the same, didn't he? So why did
he feel so different inside? Was it the police service that
had done that to him?
Suddenly, he felt weary. He replaced the CD and lay
down on his bed, letting the sound of Mike Scott's voice
roll over him.
'Once you were tethered, now you are free.
That was the river, this is the sea.
’

Cooper had begun to drowse when there was a knock
on the door and his sister-in-law Kate's voice called: 'Ben? Phone.
’

He turned down the music and went out on to the
landing, where there was a telephone extension.
'Yes?' he said.

‘
It's Diane Fry.'

‘
Oh.'

‘
Don't sound so disappointed. I'll try not to hog the
phone line too long if you're expecting one of your girlfriends to ring.'

‘
Did you want something, Diane? As you pointed out
before, it's my rest day.'

‘
Sorry, were you doing something important? I don't
know why, but I pictured you sitting in your bedroom
on your own like a sulky teenager, with some awful music turned up too loud.
’

Cooper felt certain she could tell that he was going red,
even at the other end of the line. 'If you've rung up just
to take the piss, I'm going to put the phone down.'

‘
Oh well, I thought you might be interested in the news, that's all.'

‘
What news?'

‘
We've just pulled in your friend. Owen Fox.
’

Cooper stared at the wallpaper. Its green swirls
seemed to run together in a blur. He became aware of
movements behind the door of his mother's room, faint
sounds like the stirring of an animal emerging from its
nest.

‘
You've got to be joking,' he said
.

*

Shortly into the meeting, DI Hitchens began to find
himself on the defensive. He looked sideways at Tailby,
as if wondering why the DCI had let him take the lead.

‘
Cooper, the fact is that HOLMES was already show
ing up a link,' said Hitchens.

‘
But that's just one of those things.'

‘
With only one correlation, it wouldn't be worth men
tioning. But his name also came up in the earlier case.
Look at this. There were plenty of vehicles seen in the area at the time Maggie Crew was attacked. But three
witnesses reported seeing a silver Land Rover. Two of
them were specific that it belonged to the Peak Park
Ranger Service. We checked with the PPRS and identi
fied the vehicle. It was the one that Owen Fox drives.'

‘
It means nothing.'

‘
It couldn't be ignored when his name also cropped
up in the paedophile enquiry.
’

Ben Cooper had checked the action forms for the last
few days. The allocator hadn't followed up the Owen Fox link from HOLMES. So he must have taken the
same view — that it was just like a police officer's name
cropping up more than once in an enquiry. It was inevit
able; it meant nothing. Owen Fox was right there, on
the spot, and he was bound to appear in the system.

‘
We had to bring him in,' repeated Hitchens. 'We have to let people see us doing something.'

‘
What about Roper?' asked Tailby.

‘
We'll have him here in a few minutes.'

‘
And have we let the Ranger Service know what's happening?' said Tailby.

‘
Of course. Fox is suspended from duty, as from this
morning. They're arranging a solicitor for him.
’

‘
That job is his life,' said Cooper.

‘
If the allegations are true, he's abused his position,'
pointed out Diane Fry.

‘
Owen Fox and Mark Roper were in the area at the
time Jenny Weston was killed,' said Tailby. 'They were
there.'

‘
Fox knows the area better than anybody,' said Hitchens.

‘
Yes, everyone would expect to see him around. They
might even be glad to see him. They would trust a Ranger, wouldn't they?' said Fry.

‘
And Jenny Weston was killed by someone who got
close to her. We said from the start it was someone she
knew or trusted.' Hitchens looked as though he felt he had made his point sufficiently. 'Fox has a suspended
sentence for an assault on a woman ten years ago. If it
hadn't been for his address turning up in the intelligence gathered by DI Armstrong's enquiry, his background would never have been checked out. It's
unbelievable. The sort of thing that trips us up every
time.'

‘
He's very highly regarded,' said Cooper. 'Very
highly.'

‘
He's never been married,' said Hitchens. 'He's a loner.'

‘
He seems to get on well enough with his colleagues.
’

‘
With other men, you mean.'

‘
For Christ's sake!'

‘
That's enough, Cooper,' said Tailby. 'Let's calm down.
’

Cooper flushed. 'But Owen Fox .
.

Tailby sighed. 'Yes, Cooper?'

‘
Well .. .' Cooper struggled for the words with the
eyes of the DCI on him. 'It's just that I always thought
... he's on our side, sir.
’

But Cooper was remembering the drawing that
Helen Milner had shown him, the one by little Carly.
Fathr Chistmass. But a Father Christmas who had grey
trousers
.

Tailby looked at him with a mixture of contempt and
bewilderment. 'On our side?' he said. 'Cooper, there's
no such thing.
’

*

Ben Cooper was seething as they walked back down the corridor.

‘
It's crap, Diane,' he said. 'It stinks. It's scapegoat time.'

‘
Oh God, here we go. Stand by for a lecture on right
eousness.
’

Cooper felt his face glowing red. His hands trembled
in the way they always did when he felt that surge of
anger and outrage. He knew his feelings had no place
at all in the rigid procedures laid down by computer packages like HOLMES.

‘
It isn't right.'

‘
It doesn't suit
you,
obviously,' said Fry. 'Did you
know about Fox's conviction for assault? No, of course
you didn't. Well, face the facts, Ben. You chose the wrong friend again.'

‘
Not Owen Fox.'

‘
Have you got a better idea?
’

Cooper stared at Fry, started to speak, but closed his
mouth. He felt his face flushing even more.

‘
Ben,' she said, 'you look as guilty as hell. What are
you up to?'

‘
I think all of you are wrong,' he said. 'This time you've picked the wrong scapegoat.
’

*

Owen Fox's house was cluttered and warm. There was
a stunning view out of the back window, casting light
into the back rooms. But the rooms at the front of the
house, below street-level, must have been permanently
dark
.

There were a couple of cats somewhere — black, elus
ive shapes that slunk out of the way when the police
appeared. They darted in and out of a cat flap on
the back door and peered malevolently through the windows from outside. Maybe they just wanted feed
ing, but it was a job they would have to delegate to the
neighbours
.

Between thick walls, the rooms were crammed with
old furniture. A lot of the pieces might have been items
Owen had inherited from his parents, or even his grand
parents. They looked to be full of history, an integral
part of their surroundings. A solid-fuel Raeburn stove
stood in the kitchen, the plaster above it covered in a
layer of red dust.

‘
It's weird,' said Hitchens. 'The computer looks really
out of place.'

‘
Computer?'

‘
In there.
’

The computer stood among heaps of books, with a
used coffee mug on the mouse mat and Friday's
Buxton Advertiser
draped over the printer. One of the detectives
working with DI Armstrong's team had arrived and booted it up. He already had a Microsoft Windows image on screen
.

On a small shelf behind the desk there was a framed
photograph of Owen. He was standing against the side of a Land Rover in his Ranger uniform. The photo was
a few years old, but Owen's hair and beard were already
grey.

‘
Apparently the kids call him Father Christmas,' said
the detective cheerfully.

‘
So I'm told.'

‘
Plug the printer in for me, mate. I'm going to print
some log files out.
’

Cooper looked for the leads, found a whole tangle of
them at the back of the table, and tried to trace the power and data leads for the printer.

‘
What's this one?'

‘
That's the phone connection.'

'I can't see a modem here.'

‘
It's an internal.'

‘
He's got access to the Internet?'

‘
Oh, yes,' said the detective. 'I can't wait to see what
Santa's got on his hard drive.
’