Dancing With the Virgins (50 page)

*

The previous night, Cooper's sleep had been disturbed by a
scene that played over and over through his mind like a clip
from a horror video shot in poor light. There were figures
moving slowly in a circle, leaning towards each other, slip
ping in and out of the mist that hung over Ringham Moor.
The figures were dancing. They danced like the Nine Virgins themselves.

First, he recognized Jenny Weston. She was naked from
the waist down, kicking high with her legs, her skin ghostly white and bloodless, a red streak running down the front of
her blue cycling vest. Behind her came Cal and Stride, stum
bling blindly as they felt their way among the birches, their faces frightened and confused. Stride's trousers were round his ankles, and a bloodstained broom handle wagged like a
tail as he shuffled after Cal.

Then there was Warren Leach. Cooper wished he could turn away from the sight of Leach's head, a red mass that
made him almost unrecognizable. He was followed by
Yvonne, her wide hips giving her a distinctive waddle, one
hand rubbing at her mouth, her other hand trailing the two
boys, Will and Dougie. Owen Fox was close behind them,
stumbling after the boys with his red jacket flapping open.
And then came Ros Daniels, all in black, her dreadlocks fly
ing, a nose ring glittering, the skin of her arms and legs split
and bursting, laid open to the air as she brought up the rear
of the dance.

But no – Daniels wasn't at the rear at all. There was
another figure, very dim, still shrouded in the mist so that
Cooper couldn't make it out. There was a ninth victim. One
more who had made a mistake.

And then Cooper had gradually become aware of the faint
music they all danced to. And he knew that, somewhere in
the thickening mist, was the Fiddler.

35

Despite the appeals in the paper and on TV, the youth,
Gary Dawson, had been pushed into coming forward
by his mum. Only a second dead body had made a
difference to the potential excitement of being a witness.
As a result, Gary's evidence had been almost too late.

‘
Did you know we were looking into the death of Mr
Warren Leach?' Ben Cooper asked him.

‘I heard. Did himself in, didn't he?'

‘You worked for him.'

‘Used to. I walked out. I told him I wouldn't stand
for it any more. He got to be such a foul-arsed bugger. But I told him. "I don't need to put up with this hassle
and abuse all the time," I said. "I can soon get a job somewhere else."‘

Gary was wearing a red woollen cap, even indoors.
He had protruding ears that he had made look even bigger by pulling his cap down over them.

‘And have you? Found another job?'

‘Well, not yet. There's not much about.’

Cooper produced the photographs of the three
women. 'Did you ever see any of these three near the
farm?’

Gary pointed immediately at the picture of Maggie Crew. 'That's the one Yvonne Leach found, isn't it?
Warren went on and on about that for days. I saw her
picture in the paper.'

‘
Were you there when Mrs Leach found this woman?
’

‘
No.'

‘
Did you see her around the farm at all?'

‘
Not around the farm, no.'

‘All right, Gary. What about the other two?’

He tipped his head on one side. 'I'm not sure,' he said. 'But that one, I think I saw her.'

‘Yes?'

‘
She looked different from that picture, but I reckon
it could have been her on the moor. Bird on a bike, is
that right?'

‘
Gary,' said Cooper carefully, 'what day was this?
’

‘
The day I walked out on Warren Leach. I wasn't
hanging around to hear him ranting at me any more,
so I walked out. Usually he gave me a lift home when
I finished work, but I didn't wait for that. I walked back over the moor. I live at Pilhough, just the other side.'

‘What day, Gary? Please be exact.'

‘
It was a Sunday,' said Gary. 'But not last Sunday.
’

‘
The one before?'

‘Yes, it must have been.'

‘
And on your way back over Ringham Moor, you
saw this woman?'

‘On a bike — it was her, all right. She gave me the evil eye, she did. She didn't want someone like me
hanging around. There was no one else up there that
day — no one else at all, except her and the other woman.'

‘
The other woman?'

‘
The one that was waiting for her.' Gary noticed the
sudden silence and read the expression on Cooper's
face for the first time. 'Well, she was going up there to
meet someone, wasn't she?'

‘Why do you say that, Gary?'

‘
She had that look about her. Like she was expecting
to see someone, only it wasn't me. Do you know what I mean? In any case, I saw the other one a bit earlier.
Up near the tower, she was.'

‘The other one? Gary? Which other one?'

‘
That one, the one that Yvonne Leach found. I never saw her near the farm, but she was up near the tower that day. And you could see she was waiting. She was
smoking cigarettes like there was no tomorrow.’

*

A herd of heifers was being sold in the cattle market.
The mart men dodged and danced round them as they
went through the ring. The heifers were being sent for
breeding, to a suckler herd, where they would meet the bull for the first time. And the bull would be some giant
Limousin or Charolais, weighing two tons and bulging
with double layers of muscle so heavy and deep into his body that he could barely move, except to hoist
himself into position for the thrust. It would come as a
shock to them, these black and white virgins. Their white eyes showed they were already getting a suspicion of things that lay ahead.

From where they were parked, Diane Fry could see
through the doors to the side of the auction ring, where
farmers and buyers milled around, absorbed in their
own conversations.

‘
Keith Teasdale is inside,' said DI Hitchens. 'His vehicle has been located in the car park.'

‘When do we make a move?'

‘
We want to do it as discreetly as possible.
’

‘
Wait for the auction to finish, then?'

‘
Yes. We take it easy, keep an eye on them and let
the crowd disperse. It's too full of people in there at the
moment.’

The radio crackled, and Fry answered it. 'I think we
might have a problem, sir,' she said.

‘What's up?'

‘
DC Weenink reports a group of women gathering in the car park. Fifteen or twenty of them, he says.
’

‘
What the hell do they want?'

‘It looks like some kind of protest.’

*

As he entered the hospital ward, Ben Cooper nodded
to the nurse at the desk, who smiled at him. She looked
a nice girl, but tired and preoccupied, too busy to
engage in social intercourse. But for the colour of her
uniform, she could have been in the police service.

There were twelve beds in the ward. Some of the
patients were old men, stirring restlessly or sitting up
in their striped pyjamas, staring at the unexpected visitor. It was outside normal visiting hours and there was
little to occupy them until the next meal arrived.

At first Cooper thought it might have been a mixed
ward, one of those relics of the NHS. But then he
remembered
who he had come to see. Stride lay on his
side, a slight figure too slender and too mannered in
his pose to be at home among the old men. He was
running his pale hand through his long hair, pushing
a strand away from his face.

As Cooper came nearer, he saw that Stride's eyes
were distant and unfocused, like a man listening to a
personal stereo or an audio tape of some absorbing
thriller that had taken him away from the real world. But there were no headphones. Stride needed no arti
ficial aids to distance himself from reality. That distanc
ing must be a great talent.

‘Visiting time, Simon,' he said.

The young man didn't stir. 'They call me Stride.’

There was a bottle of mineral water on the bedside
cabinet and a glass. Stride seemed to be fascinated by
the slow floating of the bubbles towards the surface.

Stride had told the police nothing so far - nothing
useful either about the night he had been attacked, or
about anyone he might have seen on Ringham Moor.
But Cooper knew Stride spent more time on the moor
than anyone else. He was there at night, too - to talk to the Virgins, according to Cal. Like Mark Roper, he
probably saw more than was good for him.

But Stride's vagueness was more than just an absence
of memory which might be brought back by the right
triggers, like Maggie Crew. What sort of unimaginable
triggers would release Stride's knowledge?

‘
I
wanted to tell you something,' said Cooper. 'There
was a youth on the moor that day - the day that Jenny
Weston was killed. His name was Gary and he'd been
working for Warren Leach at Ringham Edge, but they had a row and he walked off. He saw Jenny reach the
top of the path, and he says she went towards the
Hammond Tower. It was very helpful that Gary came
forward. Eventually.'

‘Yes?'

‘
You
didn't come forward, though, Simon. You didn't
tell us anything. All that stuff about the Fiddler. What
was the point?'

‘Leave me alone.'

‘
This youth, he saw Jenny Weston. Who else do you
think he might have seen?'

‘I could call for the nurse. You're not good for my condition.'

‘I thought about you first. Were you there, Simon? And was your friend there too?’

Stride stayed on his side and stared straight ahead.
'He means a lot to you, doesn't he?' said Cooper.
'Nobody ever accepted me for what I am. But Cal did.'

‘I understand,' said Cooper. 'But, Simon - did you see Jenny Weston?'

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘It was something you said once. You said: "I saw her face." Simon, I think you saw her after she was dead.'

‘Oh.’

Stride shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his face pale.

‘Do you need more painkillers?'

‘No, don't worry.'

‘It looks uncomfortable.'

‘Yeah. Will you tell me something?'

‘What?'

‘Is this what anal sex is like?’

Cooper blinked. Stride laughed at his expression, and
his fingers went to his mouth. Men in the other beds
turned to look at them. They were already curious about
Stride.

‘No, you wouldn't know, would you? Anyway, it'd
have to be a bloke with a cock as big as a broom handle.
Not many of those about.'

‘I'll ask around a bit,' said Cooper.

‘
Don't do that,' said Stride. 'For your own safety.
’

‘
Cool.’

Stride looked around for the mineral water. Cooper
poured it for him and passed him the glass, to save the
young man having to stretch too far.

‘Did you actually see her?' he said.

Stride looked dreamy again. But if the painkillers
were wearing off, he couldn't blame the medication for
his spiritual absence.

‘Did you?' said Cooper. 'Did you see her? Jenny Weston?’

But Stride didn't answer.

‘
Or was it the other woman you saw?' said Cooper.
'The one with the scars on her face?’

Finally, Stride stirred. 'No, the first one. Jenny.
’

‘
You won't be going very far, will you?' said Cooper.
'We'll want a statement from you.' .

‘I've already given one. I never saw them properly -it was too dark.'

‘
Not about that, Simon. About the murder of Jenny
Weston.’

Stride could be sharp enough when he wanted to be.
Yet his eyes were closing, and he looked about to drift
off to whatever place it was he went to.

‘I don't know who killed her,' said Stride. 'There's no point in asking me.'

‘
Maybe not. But it was you that found the body
first, at least,' said Cooper. 'Nobody else would have
arranged her like that, in the stone circle. I have to tell you that Jenny was no virgin, Simon. And it wasn't the
Fiddler who made her dance. It was you.’

Stride closed his eyes tightly. His face was a ghastly
white now, as pale as the underside of one of those obscene fungi that never saw the light.

‘
But I don't believe you killed her either,' said Cooper.
'Not you or Cal. Not in a million years. It was you
that made Jenny dance, Simon. But you and I both
know that it's someone else who has been playing the
tune.’