05.One Last Breath Read online

  Hitchens sighed. ‘Well, the husband was looked at, obviously. Especially when some of the victim’s friends said there had been arguments between the couple.’

  ‘Arguments? What about?’

  ‘We don’t know. But all married couples have arguments at some time, don’t they?

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Anyway, it wasn’t considered significant enough to follow up. If there had been any evidence against the husband, it might have been different.’

  ‘It might have been,’ said Cooper.

  Hitchens looked at him closely. ‘I know, I know. It sounds as though we had our sights set on a likely suspect from the beginning. We were sure we’d get a conviction against him, and we didn’t find it necessary to look elsewhere. But the forensic evidence eliminated the husband. That’s why he dropped out of the frame.’

  ‘Sir, it seems to me there was precious little forensic evidence.’

  Hitchens sighed. ‘I know. But that was then, and this is now.’

  ‘There’s one other thing, sir.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The Quinns’ children, Simon and Andrea – where were they at the time?’

  ‘At school, of course. They were aged fifteen and twelve.’

  ‘They must have been due to arrive home about then.’

  The DI had started to tap his fingers with impatience, but frowned at the question. ‘It’s a long time ago, but I’ve a feeling the girl went to her aunt’s house. The boy turned up later on, though. I remember that. Somebody intercepted him and took him to a neighbour’s.’

  ‘Much later? How soon after the murder happened?’

  ‘Well, it must have been pretty soon. He only had to come from the college at Hope.’

  ‘But, sir –’

  ‘The case against Quinn was sound, Ben. He pleaded guilty in court.’

  ‘Yes, I know he did.’

  ‘Well, then. The fact that he confessed should put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Funnily enough,’ said Cooper, ‘that’s the one fact that worries me most of all.’

  ‘Two murders in a week,’ said Gavin Murfin. ‘It’s too much excitement for me, at my age.’

  Diane Fry sat on the edge of her desk facing them. She’d just come back from a strategy meeting upstairs and was looking pleased with herself.

  ‘Just think yourself lucky, Gavin,’ she said. ‘You could have ended up working in Northern Ireland, where they have eighteen hundred unsolved murders on the books.’

  ‘If I was so stupid,’ said Murfin, ‘I’d have joined the army instead. At least I could have got shot at in a nice climate.’

  Fry swung her legs impatiently. ‘Anyway, listen to this, guys. The pathologist confirms that William Thorpe died of strangulation. The blood came from someone else – a trail of it between the body and the doorway of the field barn, as well as the splatters we saw outside, in the nettles. So it definitely looks as though Quinn is injured.’

  ‘Maybe that’ll slow the bastard down, at least,’ said Murfin.

  ‘Alerts are going out, in case he seeks medical treatment of any kind.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Ben?’ called Murfin across the office. ‘Quinn was injured.’

  Ben Cooper was opening a few birthday cards that had been left on his desk. One was from his colleagues in CID, another from Liz Petty in scenes of crime, signed ‘Hugs, Liz’. Somebody had tied a couple of silver helium balloons to his in-tray. They bumped gently against each other in the draught from Fry’s desk fan.

  ‘If that’s who it was that killed Thorpe,’ he said.

  ‘We have a sample of Quinn’s DNA now, Ben,’ said Fry.

  ‘No, we have someone’s DNA. We can’t say it’s Quinn’s until we find him and do a comparison.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’

  Cooper looked up from his cards. ‘So how far did the trail of blood go?’

  ‘They couldn’t follow it beyond the gate. But if it is Quinn’s blood, it looks as though he’s made another mistake.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Being caught by two security cameras. Not to mention the trainspotter at Hope station.’

  ‘Yes, if Quinn went up there intending to kill Thorpe, he planned it very badly,’ said Cooper. ‘Getting angry and losing control of the situation, now that’s a different matter. I can believe that.’

  ‘This victim obviously fought back, anyway,’ said Fry. ‘That could be our breakthrough.’

  ‘Yes, Thorpe was the wrong person for Quinn to choose.’

  Fry looked at him. ‘Still a bit doubtful, Ben?’

  ‘Thorpe wouldn’t have been any problem for Quinn, if he’d planned and executed his attack properly. The fact that Thorpe was able to fight back suggests bad planning. I’m surprised that Quinn even gave him the opportunity to resist.’

  ‘You make it sound like a spur-of-the-moment thing. But that isn’t possible. It’s not as if he came across Thorpe in the street. Quinn went to find him, just as he did Rebecca Lowe.’

  ‘Not quite the same. Unless Quinn had somehow got hold of a key, Rebecca must have let him in. There were no signs of a breakin, remember?’

  Fry sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But so what? What if Rebecca Lowe did let him in? Quinn might have tricked her into opening the door. Or she might have been taken by surprise to see him standing there on her doorstep. We can’t reconstruct the scenario clearly enough to know what happened immediately prior to the attack.’

  Cooper pictured the abandoned field barn. He wondered if there was a spot where Quinn might have stood and watched it before approaching. But the site had been too open for that. He would have had to strike in complete darkness, which made things as difficult for him as for his victim.

  ‘Well, we’ll be making sure of one thing from now on,’ said Fry. ‘No other potential victims will be taken by surprise to find Mansell Quinn on their doorstep.’

  She had that look on her face – the one that told Cooper she had something else to tell him, some parting shot. But before she got it in, he needed to mention another subject that was on his mind.

  ‘Diane, did you read the Neil Moss story?’ he said.

  ‘I had a look at it,’ said Fry. ‘But it doesn’t seem to have any relevance.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘No. It was a terrible tragedy, but it happened forty-five years ago, Ben. And there’s no connection between Moss and Quinn, is there?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘They’re not related, and Quinn can’t possibly have known him. It was too long ago.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean there isn’t any connection between the two,’ said Cooper. ‘But it does mean the connection is a bit more … psychological.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’

  Fry looked at him with that exasperated expression he’d grown used to. ‘Would you care to explain that, Ben?’

  ‘Look, you have a man serving a life sentence in prison for a crime he says he didn’t commit. As far as he’s concerned, he’s there because his friends betrayed him. And then his family stops visiting him. He’s completely isolated, right? Locked up in a cell for the rest of his life. Walled up.’

  ‘OK, I think I see where you’re heading.’

  ‘And he reads the story of Neil Moss, who really is walled up. Moss died in complete isolation because no one could reach him.’ Cooper spread his hands, inviting Fry to share his thinking process. ‘In prison, people develop obsessions. They start finding things that seem to have immense significance, things they think relate specifically to their own lives. God knows, it happens to enough people outside prison. It’s so easy to let that grip on perspective slip.’

  ‘Well …’ said Fry doubtfully.

  ‘Look, when you were a teenager, wasn’t there some song in the pop charts whose words seemed to sum up your emotional state at that moment? So much so that you were convinced the song was actually about you.’

  ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth,’ said Fry.
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  Cooper paused. ‘Really? Belinda Carlisle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fry began to looked irritated again, and Cooper decided not to pursue it.

  ‘Well, I think it’s possible that Quinn saw the Neil Moss story as some sort of metaphor for his own life,’ he said. ‘A symbol, if you like. And all the more meaningful because Moss is still imprisoned there in that shaft in Peak Cavern. He never got the chance to return to the outside world. He died in isolation and darkness.’

  He saw Fry shudder. But he wasn’t sure whether she was reacting to the thought of Neil Moss dying in his limestone tomb, or to the childhood memories he’d inadvertently stirred up. ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’?

  ‘So,’ said Fry, poking half-heartedly among the papers on her desk, ‘Mansell Quinn loses touch with his family and friends. He’s starved of normal communication. Then he finds this book in the prison library and he responds to a dead man’s voice speaking to him across the space of forty-five years – is that it?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, it’s a bit more cosmic than anything I’d have come up with.’

  ‘I know, Diane.’

  ‘But there’s one thing that might not have occurred to you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘As I understand the story of Neil Moss, he ended up trapped in that shaft as a result of his own voluntary actions. He was there because of something he did, a miscalculation or a combination of unlucky circumstances. But he walked into it with his eyes open. It was a risk that he was prepared to take for his own reasons.’

  ‘Yes, I think that would be right,’ said Cooper thoughtfully.

  ‘Anyway, enough of the philosophy. You can hand in your thesis later. I thought you might like to know what else the SOCOs found in the field barn where Will Thorpe was killed, apart from the blood …’

  ‘Oh, what?’

  ‘The floor was packed dirt. Dry dirt – or it would have been. Ironically, it seems Quinn brought the rain in with him and created a couple of wet patches.’

  Cooper felt his heart sink. It was an illogical reaction, but he knew Fry was about to prove him wrong again.

  ‘Footprints,’ he said.

  Fry nodded. ‘They’re a bit trampled, but the SOCOs lifted a couple of good impressions from the sole of a right boot.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They match the impressions from Rebecca Lowe’s garden.’

  She handed him the report. A photograph of the dirt floor slid out, grainy and scattered with small stones, like the surface of the moon. He could make out the footprint clearly. The SOCOs must have been delighted. Even at a glance, Cooper could see they would have no trouble making a comparison.

  ‘What do you say now, Ben?’ said Fry.

  Cooper blew out a long breath at the helium balloons. They bounced against each other, as if applauding quietly. ‘OK, what’s the next move?’

  ‘We’re hoping that he’s weakened by his injuries and the loss of blood. Quinn can’t have got far, so we’re going to hit all the places where he might be lying up.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Peak Cavern, for one.’

  When he came back to the place, the dead sheep had gone. Mansell Quinn quartered backwards and forwards across the area, but he was sure he had the right spot. His sense of direction was excellent. Above him he could see the limestone outcrop and the ledge where the sheep had been trapped. From below, he could hear the river, and he knew the path the women had walked on was near it, though he couldn’t see it. And here was the patch of leaf litter beneath the tree where the animal had fallen.

  Clutching the wound on his side, Quinn crouched close to the ground. At least two pairs of boots had trampled the area since he’d left it, and there were signs of something heavy having been dragged down the slope.

  He made his way downhill, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over rocks and tree roots. Suddenly he emerged into the open and found himself standing on a smooth surface made of compacted earth. The path here was wide enough for a small vehicle, perhaps an ATV of the kind that farmers used for getting around the furthest corners of their land.

  Quinn grimaced. Because of the interruption, the sheep he’d killed had been found too soon. Anyone who took a close look at the carcass would be able to see that it hadn’t died by accident. Soon, the search parties would arrive in his dale.

  Well, so be it. Quinn patted the crossbow in its bag across his shoulder. This meant the time was past for taking risks, for spreading fear among those who ought to be afraid. The time had arrived to finish the job.

  34

  ‘You’re convinced he’s back in Castleton?’

  ‘Who?’

  Alistair Page laughed. ‘Mansell Quinn. That’s who you’re looking for, isn’t it? It’s hardly a secret by now. It’s been all over the papers and TV.’

  Ben Cooper nodded. ‘Yes, OK, you’re right.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t really need to ask. I know somebody who works at the craft shop down the road there. They said he was in the shop, and he got caught on the security cameras.’

  Cooper sighed. ‘There’s no point in trying to keep anything secret in a place like this, is there?’

  ‘Absolutely no point.’

  Page’s mannerism of speech seemed more pronounced today. Perhaps it was a sign of excitement. He had certainly seemed agitated at the sight of the police officers entering the cavern, and the fact that it had been temporarily closed to the public.

  ‘And at the height of the season,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They won’t like it.’

  ‘It’s routine,’ said Cooper. ‘We have to check all the possibilities.’

  ‘Do you really think he might come to Peak Cavern?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’

  Some of the task force officers were returning from a trip down the Devil’s Staircase to the River Styx and into Five Arches. The knees and elbows of their overalls were covered in the brown silt that coated the floor and the walls down there. One of the last officers up was covered from head to foot, and the front of his overalls glistened with mud. Even his hands and face were liberally splashed with it.

  ‘It can be really difficult to keep your footing down there,’ said Page. ‘I wonder if anybody told them it would be easier to walk in the stream bed.’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Cooper.

  The task force officers smelled, too. As they passed, Cooper got a whiff of the ancient sludge that had been sucked out of the nooks and crannies of the cavern system over many thousands of years and left in the passages to add to the fun for cavers.

  ‘They ought to have come with proper equipment,’ said Page. ‘I hope they’re not planning on trying to go any further than Five Arches.’

  ‘Would he be likely to get that far in?’

  ‘There are food dumps in Treasury Chamber and Picnic Dig for cavers who get trapped by flooding,’ said Page. ‘But there’s no way he could reach those unless he has diving equipment. There are sumps in the way.’

  ‘No matter. He could survive for days without food, provided he can get access to water.’

  ‘There’s plenty of that. In fact, there might be too much.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘These thunderstorms we keep getting. They’re depositing a lot of water into the system. If we get another one like Thursday night, the cavern could flood.’

  ‘In July? I thought the floods happened in winter.’

  ‘Mostly. But it wouldn’t be the first time the system has flooded in summer. People don’t realize that July is one of the wettest months of the year in this area.’

  ‘Flooding. That’s all we need.’

  A cave system like Peak–Speedwell must be the nearest anyone would ever see to Hell. Cooper felt full of admiration for the cavers and cave divers who had been mapping the system – let alone those who had first set out to explore it, with their primitive
lamps and equipment. Some of them had free-dived through sumps and flooded chambers, not knowing how far they’d have to swim before they found the next pocket of air, blinded by zero visibility in the cold, silty water. There had been no diving suits and oxygen tanks in those days; the divers had found their way underwater on a single lungful of air. If they failed to reach the surface in time, they died.

  ‘He hasn’t killed anybody else, has he?’ said Page. ‘Do you think he’s planning to kill again?’

  ‘Sorry, Alistair, I can’t tell you things like that.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  Cooper supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at Page’s interest. Probably everybody in Castleton was agog by now. Some people would be looking suspiciously at every tourist who passed. Others would remember Mansell Quinn and the Carol Proctor killing. Memories were long in these parts.

  ‘I’m sure nobody’s in danger from Quinn unless they had some connection with him in the past,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Oh,’ said Page. He didn’t look entirely reassured.

  ‘Of course, we’re advising people not to approach him. They should just call us.’

  ‘Approach him? As if I would.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But do you mean he’s got a hit list of some kind? It wasn’t just his ex-wife he came looking for?’

  ‘A hit list? It’s one theory anyway. As a precaution, we’ve been warning anyone who might be on such a list.’

  ‘Like Ray Proctor and Will Thorpe?’

  Cooper looked at him, openly surprised now. ‘You really are familiar with the details of the case, Alistair. Did you know Proctor and Thorpe, too?’

  ‘Oh, I looked the names up. I was interested.’

  Cooper watched him polish the glass of his lamp on a corner of his jacket. He was going to ask Page why he was so interested in the case, other than morbid curiosity, when his mobile phone rang – a summons back to the office.

  ‘Yes, just about finished here,’ he said.

  Page was watching him keenly. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Cooper. ‘But I’ll speak to you later.’

  ‘Do you think it’s safe here?’ said Page anxiously.

  Cooper was already moving away. He stopped to look back at Alistair Page, and saw how anxious he was. It was strange that a man could venture willingly into those claustrophobic caves in pitch darkness, and yet still be the sort of person who worried unnecessarily about dangers that would never come his way.