Dancing with the Virgins bcadf-2 Read online

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  in court. More evidence was needed yet, before they could decide how many murder charges she would face. ‘Why did you associate yourself with the animal rights group?’ Tailby asked her later. ‘I wanted to find out where Ros had gone, why she hadn’t got in touch. I couldn’t remember clearly enough, and I thought the details had become distorted, as they do in a nightmare. Most of all, I couldn’t believe that she was dead. I thought she had dropped me because I was no use to her any more. And with Jenny Weston dead, those other women were the only connection to Ros I had left. I’m afraid I pestered them until they let me join in their activities.’ ‘How did they react to you?’ ‘They felt sorry for me, I think. That made me angry. But I needed them - I needed the information I thought they had about Ros. On the other hand, some of them had heard that I was attacked near Ringham Edge Farm. They wondered whether I had been attacked by the dogfighters. None of them ever dared to ask me outright, but I think it was that which earned me acceptance.’ ‘But they didn’t know what had happened to Ros?’ ‘No. And if they knew what Ros had planned to do, they wouldn’t have told anybody about it. They have their own loyalty, you see.’ ‘Perhaps they just thought she had moved on again somewhere else, to undertake some other mission. She seems to have seen herself as some kind of animal rights commando,’ said Cooper. ‘But they heard about the latest body, and they knew

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  perfectly well who it was. It seems I was the only one in ignorance. I had gone along to the cattle market still hoping. I was so blind - but only because I didn’t want to give up hoping.’ ‘Hoping that Ros would turn up?’ ‘I thought she might have appeared at the cattle market - it was her sort of thing, direct action. The plan was to slash the tyres on the vehicles of the people that had been targeted. That’s why we were all given knives. They almost didn’t let me have one, you know. It was a kind of sign of acceptance. Ros would have been pleased to see me there.’ ‘Even though you were actually committing a crime yourself this time, Maggie.’ She nodded. ‘You see which instinct won? Besides, it was already too late for anything else by then. Too late for the old Maggie Crew. You can’t go backwards. You can’t get parts of your life back, once they’re dead.’ Keith Teasdale and five others had been arrested, despite the distractions at the cattle market. They were all believed to have been involved in the dogfighting ring at Ringham Edge Farm. Under questioning, Teasdale told the story of the night Ros Daniels had staged her single-handed fire-bomb attack and the chaos that had followed as men and dogs spilled out on to the hill in a mad chase lit by flames from the burning pickup. Teasdale had admitted that he and Warren Leach had made a search of the area near the Hammond Tower at first light next morning and had found the body of

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  the young woman on a ledge under the most northerly of the Cat Stones. They had moved it deeper into the cavity to conceal it, he said. At the same time, Yvonne Leach had stumbled across Maggie Crew, injured and incoherent from the hours she had spent on the moor. Ben Cooper wondered if Yvonne had guessed what had happened that night.

  After that, Warren Leach had lived for the best part of two months with the fear and expectation that an injured woman’s memories would return. He had tried to live a life under those circumstances, seeing every visitor as an enemy, recognizing the potential for betrayal even in his own wife. Perhaps especially in his own wife. Cooper knew that no one could live with that kind of uncertainty. No wonder Leach could see no point in carrying on.

  Maggie Crew had been a serious threat to Leach, that was obvious. Yet there had been someone who had seen Jenny Weston as the main target. Had that been Leach? Or had that been Maggie herself?

  ‘Teasdale will be charged with manslaughter and a few other things,’ said DCI Tailby. ‘They all admit the assault on Calvin Lawrence and Simon Bevington at the quarry. They made a good job of drawing our attention there. And, of course, there’s the dogfighting pit.’

  ‘There must be more,’ said Chief Superintendent Jepson.

  ‘We’re quite sure there are others involved. But these people have their own sense of loyalty, too. They won’t implicate anyone else.’

  ‘I don’t mean more people. I mean Jenny Weston.

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  Please tell me we can connect somebody to Jenny Weston, after all this…’

  But Tailby shook his head.

  ‘Yes, I lay in wait for Jenny that day,’ Maggie had said. ‘I waited at the tower, because she always came that way. I had met her before, two days earlier, and we had argued. I was angry with her - I didn’t believe her when she said she had no idea where Ros had gone. She was my main hope, because I suspected then that there was more to their relationship. But of course I did it all wrong. I antagonized her.’

  ‘We don’t believe there was any relationship between them, other than a loose connection through the animal rights group. No sexual relationship. Jenny Weston and your daughter were not lovers.’

  ‘That’s what Jenny told me, too. As far as she was concerned, Ros was just a silly, hot-headed girl who had passed through her life and was soon forgotten.’

  ‘But you didn’t believe her.’

  And Maggie hesitated. ‘Actually, I suppose I did.’

  ‘So why did you attack her? Why did you use the knife?’ ‘Did I do that? But yesterday, it felt as though I’d never held a knife in my life before. No, I don’t believe I saw Jenny Weston. Either she never came to the tower, or I was too late. I didn’t see her. Not that day.’

  ‘You expect us to believe that?’

  ‘You’ll have to,’ she said. ‘I think it’s true.’

  Chief Superintendent Jepson scowled angrily at his officers, his blue eyes glittering.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is true,’ said DCI Tailby.

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  T ‘Are we sure?’ ‘The shoe print over the bloodstain is much too big to be Maggie Crew’s. Or Simon Bevington’s either, for that matter.’ ‘Damn.’ ‘Also, some strength was needed to drag the victim into the stone circle,’ said DI Hitchens. ‘We doubt that either of them would be capable of it, or would even attempt it. Besides, there’s the missing camera.’ Jepson frowned. ‘The camera?’ ‘Well, Jenny Weston had reported the dogfights to the RSPCA,’ said Hitchens. ‘We believe she’d taken some photographs, too. She carried an autofocus camera with her when she was on the moor. Most likely, it was in her pouch.’ ‘Which was missing when the body was found.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Suggesting that whoever killed her knew what was likely to be on the film. So it has to have been one of the dogfighters.’ ‘Teasdale has told us that she took photographs of him and Warren Leach burying a pitbull terrier that had to be put down because of its injuries. They had taken it well away from the farm - close to the stone circle, in fact, in the trees there. But Jenny saw them. Teasdale says they stood no chance of catching her, because she was on a bike. But she knew they’d seen her.’ ‘And Leach was in a good position to spot Jenny when she came back to the moor again.’ ‘That’s pretty much what we think. And we found

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  a whole range of knives and other implements in his workshop. Not the knife, though.’ Jepson considered the evidence. ‘So Warren Leach’s associates plan on him taking the blame for Jenny Weston’s murder. How convenient for them.’ ‘And clever. They’ve all got their story straight.’ ‘Well, let’s face it,’ said Hitchens. ‘It’s convenient all round.’ They all looked at Ben Cooper. But Cooper sat very still, his lips pressed together, saying nothing. Now was the time for saying nothing, if ever it had been the time. They were expecting a comment from him that would never come. Soon, there would be another police funeral for him to attend, when Todd Weenink was buried with all the honours befitting an officer who had died in the course of duty. But for now there was nothing to be said. Nothing that Cooper could possibly hope to put into words. Next day, there was a new notice pinned to the board in the corridor. Officers were gathered round to read it. ‘Mr Tailby’s being posted to Ripley,’ one
said. ‘And the new DCI’s been named.’ ‘Oh? Is it DI Hitchens?’ Ben Cooper elbowed his way closer to the noticeboard. He was aware of an odd mood among the officers around him. A dark, cynical mood. ‘No, mate,’ said someone. ‘We’re getting a new Detective Superintendent from South Yorkshire, and a DCI is transferring from B Division. More foreigners on our patch.’

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  Cooper read through the praise of Tailby and some indecipherable details of his new headquarters role, then skimmed through the new appointments before reaching the final pay-off line: ‘Detective Inspector K. Armstrong has been appointed Detective Chief Inspector, B Division, to succeed DCI Maddison.’ ‘Armstrong’s done well for herself,’ said someone. ‘Right.’ ‘Her paedophile operation got a good press. Lots of arrests.’ ‘Well, what can you say?’ They looked over their shoulders, watchful for unfriendly ears, afraid of uttering a politically incorrect word. ‘It’s good news for some,’ said Cooper. ‘Yes, if you’re one of the sisters.’ ‘Who do you mean?’ It was DC Gardner, trying to force herself into the group. ‘Acting DS Fry is it? Her and Armstrong? There’s more to it than that, from what I’ve heard. Sisters is right.’ ‘You listen to the sound of your own voice too much, then,’ said Cooper. Then he turned and saw Diane Fry herself, standing at the corner of the corridor. He wasn’t sure how much she had heard. She was pale and drawn. The wound on her cheekbone was red and angry, the stitches stretching the flesh tight below her eye. Before anyone else noticed her, she had slipped away, disappearing back into the shadows as if she hadn’t been there at all.

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  Half an hour later, Diane Fry emerged from DI Armstrong’s office knowing that she had burned her boats. It was a curiously satisfying feeling. Armstrong had not been pleased at her decision not to take the job with her team. But Fry knew it hadn’t been right for her. Not now.

  Sisters. It was that one word that had finally repulsed her. She had no sisters here. Not Kim Armstrong, nor any of her associates. Not Maggie Crew, nor any of the other women she was obliged to be polite to during the course of her job. They were not sisters, not even friends - merely acquaintances, or colleagues. It was the claim of sisterhood that she could not stomach, that made the bile rise in her throat. Fry opened her bag and slipped the creased photograph out of her credit-card holder. She had only one sister, and this was her. This young woman would now be a stranger, as unrecognizable to Fry as the homeless druggies of Sheffield were. Their relationship was a dead thing, a fragment of the past, yet still remembered and treasured. Carefully, Fry put the photo back. The things that people craved were so strange. The longing for what would do you no good at all was utterly incomprehensible.

  Sisters? Like daughters, sisters were something special, not to be taken lightly. No, ma’am. You were not Diane Fry’s sister, and you never would be.

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  At one time, there had been far more prehistoric remains on Ringham Moor than there were now. But local people hadn’t always seen the value of their ancient monuments. Stones from the henges and burial chambers had disappeared over the years, to be built into the dry-stone walls that separated the moor from the fringes of the farmland. It was ironic, now, to see the vast heaps of unwanted stone that lay in the abandoned quarries.

  Reaching the top of the slope, Ben Cooper turned and reached out a hand. Diane Fry hesitated, then took it, accepting his help over the last bit of the hill.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘A bit stiff, but exercise is what I need,’ she said. ‘If you’re sure.’

  They had both needed the fresh air. Cooper had been shut up in the office for much too long, struggling to make sense of a mountain of paperwork, the grinding anticlimax that always followed the conclusion of an enquiry. He knew Fry had been imprisoned in her dismal flat, with only the walls to look at and her own thoughts for entertainment. Cooper had intended to

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  arrange a day out walking with his friends, Oscar and Rakki. But instead he had found himself asking Diane Fry. No doubt it was another mistake. He hadn’t done much that was right recently.

  ‘Maggie Crew will get the appropriate psychiatric treatment,’ he said. ‘Appropriate to her condition.’ ‘That’s good; said Fry. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘She had lost the ability to relate to the world. It’s just that there was nobody close enough to her to notice.’ They were two hundred yards from the Nine Virgins.

  Cooper could feel the first real chill of winter creeping across the moor, insinuating itself into his clothes and settling on his spirits. So many things had changed since the beginning of the month. Autumn had passed in a glance, the wind stripping the trees, baring their thin branches to the sky. The rain that had fallen in the last few days had turned the leaves underfoot into a black sludge, slippery and treacherous, full of worms and pale, wriggling insects.

  ‘Bloody screwed-up women,’ said Fry. And Cooper saw her smile, but he turned away quickly so that she wouldn’t see him noticing.

  Mist lay in the valley below Ringham, long tendrils fading the colours of the hillsides and the trees. As the sun rose on the valley, it reflected from the surface of the mist, creating a pale bowl of light, from which the tower of the church in Cargreave emerged like the battlements of a drowned castle.

  Yesterday, Cooper had heard that Owen Fox had resigned from the Ranger Service. He had decided to make way for a younger man, it was said. Cargreave

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  Parish Council was advertising a vacant seat, but there was no competition to fill it - a candidate favoured by Councillor Salt and her ruling group would be coopted to make up the numbers. The house in Main Street, with its wonderful view from the kitchen window, had a ‘For Sale’ sign outside. ‘What is that tower?’ asked Fry, gazing across the dying bracken to Ringham Edge. ‘They call it the Hammond Tower. It’s named after some member of an aristocratic family, the people who owned Hammond Hall. The Duke built it so that everyone could see it for miles around. A symbol of his own power and importance, I suppose.’ ‘It’s where Maggie’s daughter was supposed to meet up with her on the day she was killed.’ And it’s where Maggie came back to. She hadn’t given up hope that Ros would reappear, even long after she was dead.’ Cooper looked at Diane Fry. She was too thin, and the wound on her cheek had turned red and did nothing for her looks. She was arrogant and infuriating, too. But sometimes she seemed to know what was right. ‘Maggie Crew left her cigarette ends there,’ he said. ‘But Mark Roper cleared them away.’ ‘Another obsessive.’ ‘All the time you spent with Maggie Crew, Diane. Did you not realize she smoked Marlboro?’ ‘No.’ They began to walk towards the stone circle. Their feet crunched through the leaves as if they were walking through three inches of fresh snow. Cooper walked

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  I slowly, to let Fry keep up. But at the edge of the clearing around the Virgins, he stopped. ‘Diane ‘ ‘Yes?’ ‘The transfer. It’s all fallen through, has it?’ ‘Looks like it. But another job will come up.’ ‘Sure. Welcome back, anyway.’ ‘What?’ ‘I always thought you were one of the team, that’s all.’

  Fry shook her head in total disbelief. ‘Ben, you are such a prat.’ That’s what Helen Milner had said to him too, though in different words. There was an awful lot of work for him to do if he was to stand a chance of rescuing any of his relationships. Cooper pulled a lump of fungus from the trunk of a birch. It was one of the white, obscenely shaped ones, but now it was starting to darken and decay, releasing tiny, soft spores into the air. ‘Who was it you were looking for, Diane? In Sheffield?’ Fry jerked as if he had kicked her injured leg. ‘How the hell do you know about that? Is my private life public knowledge now? Why do you have to pry into things that don’t concern you?’ ‘It’s my nature, I guess. I’m sorry.’ Fry sighed. ‘If you must know, it was my sister,’ she said. ‘Your sister? The heroin addict? But I thought you hadn’t seen her for years.’
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  ‘Sheffield was where her friends said she’d gone when she disappeared.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Why the hell do you think I came here? Did you think I wanted to live in sheep-shagger country? This was the closest posting I could get to Sheffield.’

  Cooper nodded, not wanting to argue just now. ‘And have you found her?’

  Fry grimaced. ‘I don’t think Angie is there. I’m looking in the wrong places. Angie would never let herself get to the same state as those people I saw. She is my sister, after all.’

  The clouds had closed down on the horizon and settled on the high tops to the north, where visibility would be pretty well zero, so close that you would be lucky to get a glimpse of your own boots in the heather. Cooper held the fungus gingerly towards Fry. She barely glanced at it, as if used to his peculiarities now. But she wrinkled her nose and turned her face away. Then he threw the fungus into the heather and wiped his fingers on a tissue. He was right - her sense of smell was perfectly good enough to detect cigarette smoke.