Blind to the bones bcadf-4 Page 50

  Four officers moved quickly in on Dearden from different directions, shouting instructions at him. Within a few seconds, he was handcuffed and had been searched for weapons. One of the officers gave a thumbs-up sign.

  ‘It’s all over/ said the inspector with undisguised relief.

  But it didn’t feel over to Fry. There was a smell in the air that was too strong to be the lingering reek of a discharged shotgun. It was a smell that carried a meaning and presence as powerfully as the scent of Rive Gauche from Emma Renshaw’s car. She turned away from the house and swung her binoculars upwards.

  ‘Smoke/ she said.

  ‘What? Not another damn moorland fire!’ said the inspector. ‘If you ask me, those kids from Manchester should be shot and roasted over the flames/

  ‘No/ said Fry. This smoke isn’t coming from the moors. It’s coming from Withens/

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  Ben Cooper had asked to use the loo, when he heard Marion Oxley begin to shout. He’d really wanted to take a look upstairs, where he found a door had been knocked through the wall from number 1 into number 2, providing access to the bedrooms in both houses without having to go outside and back in again. He thought this was probably one of the unauthorized structural alterations that J. P. Venables had complained about.

  He had also been looking for a chance to use his mobile phone without the Oxleys overhearing. Under cover of the noise of the toilet flushing and water running into the hand basin, he called Diane Fry.

  ‘Ben,’ she said, ‘I was just to going to call you. I’m on my way down to Waterloo Terrace. You might want to get there as soon as you can.’

  ‘Er, Diane, that’s where I am already.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I’m at number 1, Lucas Oxley’s house.’

  ‘Ben ‘

  ‘Listen, that skeleton in the churchyard - it looks as though it might turn out to be Barry Cully, Fran Oxley’s bloke.’

  ‘Ben, haven’t you noticed the fire?’

  The what?’

  ‘Fire. Smoke, flames. You must be right in the middle of it. Get everybody out, for God’s sake.’

  Cooper turned off the running tap and pulled back the lace curtain to peer out of the tiny bathroom window. It looked out on to the back yard, with its mountains of scaffolding poles and wooden pallets, and towards the front doors of the derelict houses of Trafalgar Terrace.

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  ‘Oh shit/ he said. That’s more than just smouldering tyres.’ Now he could hear what Marion Oxley was shouting in the kitchen downstairs. It came to him clearly above the increasing noise of crackling flames and the barking of the normally silent Alsatian dog.

  ‘Where’s Jake?’ she was shouting. ‘Has anybody seen Jake?’

  By the time Diane Fry reached Withens, the derelict houses of Trafalgar Terrace were well ablaze. Coming over the hill from Shepley Head Lodge, she could see the smoke billowing out of the upstairs windows, thick and black. There was an acrid stench in the air, as if the houses themselves had been full of old tyres that were now burning. The upper floor must already be smoke logged. The windows had been shattered by the heat, and the smoke was pouring out of them in waves. The smoke was so thick that only the occasional tongue of flame could be seen in the midst of them.

  Fry found PC Tracy Udall and a colleague parking their Vauxhall across the road to stop any traffic going further than the car park.

  ‘Where the hell’s the fire service?’ said Fry.

  ‘According to Control, some of the local crews are still up on Withens Moor damping down. The nearest appliance is coming from New Mills.’

  ‘Is there anyone inside?’

  ‘We don’t know. We’ve looked in the ground-floor rooms at this end of the row, as far as we could. But the fire seems to have started at the other end, and the smoke is too bad to get near. The fire crew might find anybody who’s in there, if they get here soon. But if there was anyone upstairs, then I reckon they’ve had it by now. No one could breathe in that smoke.’

  ‘And what about the people in the other terrace?’

  ‘Mrs Wallwin is over there, from number 7. She’s perfectly OK.’

  ‘And her neighbours? The Oxleys?’

  ‘She doesn’t know. She’s a bit stressed and confused.’

  ‘They all have to come out. There are hundreds of railway sleepers and wooden pallets stacked in the yard at the back. A couple of vehicles, too. If all that stuff catches fire, their homes will go up like a bomb.’

  ‘There are some demolition contractors down there in the field with a JCB and a bulldozer,’ said Udall. They say they’ve been sent in by the landlords. They were due to start work on knocking

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  down those empty houses, but someone has got to them first.’

  ‘So I see.’

  The contractors have created an access through the fence at the bottom of the field. The trouble is, we can’t get to Waterloo Terrace.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’ve dropped a couple of trees across the entrance, using chainsaws.’

  They jogged through the farmyard and down the field to where the contractors’ machinery stood uselessly by.

  Now Fry could see the pigeons circling Trafalgar Terrace. Their pale grey shapes were passing in and out of the smoke like tiny ghosts. At the far end of the terrace, the roof slates were glowing red from the heat of the burning rafters beneath them. But the pigeons kept trying to land on the ridge of the roofs, despite the heat and the flames, which were now licking through the slates. After making repeated attempts to land on the roof, one of the birds was finally caught by a burst of flame that erupted from a gap in the tiles. Its pinion feathers flared and blackened immediately, and its feet curled and shrivelled as the tendons burned. The pigeon tumbled on to the roof, where it writhed and flopped desperately as it roasted in the intense heat from the slates. But finally it gave up the struggle, slid down the roof and disappeared into the smoke. Oblivious to its fate, the other birds continued to attempt to land.

  ‘We did see people moving around earlier on,’ said Udall. ‘One of them was carrying something. No - two of them were. Long, heavy objects. But we couldn’t quite see ‘

  ‘Were they armed? We know they have air rifles, at least.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Not air rifles anyway. Maybe just chainsaws.’

  Fry tried Cooper’s number again, but there was no answer.

  “Tracy, ask the contractors if I can borrow a hard hat and one of those yellow jackets.’

  ‘Why?’

  I’ve got to go in. I’ll use the access they’ve made through the fence here, and see if I can work my way through the yard before the flames get to those pallets.’

  ‘Diane, you can’t.’

  Fry pushed her phone back into her pocket. ‘Ben Cooper’s in there somewhere,’ she said.

  Udall nodded. Till come with you, then.’

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  I

  The moment he heard what Marion Oxley was shouting, Ben1

  Cooper ran back down the stairs and through the house to the

  kitchen. Marion was gazing in horror at the smoke, which wasI

  starting to drift across the yard, obscuring the top of the highest

  piles of pallets and seeping through the mesh of the chain-link fence.$

  ‘I don’t know where Jake is/ she said.

  ‘When did you see him last?’ said Cooper.

  ‘About half an hour ago, when you came in with Lucas. He should be here, but he went off somewhere.’

  ‘He’ll come home when he sees the fire, won’t he?’

  Marion stared at him. ‘You don’t understand. Jake likes starting fires. When he gets upset, that’s what he does. Normally, one of the other boys keeps an eye on him, but nobody is with him.’ She pointed out of the window. ‘That’s where he’ll be.’

  Cooper found Lucas Oxley already in the brick passage, trying to calm the barking dog.

 
‘It’s all right, you’re safe/ he said.

  ‘We’ve got to find Jake. The wind is blowing in this direction, so we might only have one chance before the fire spreads.’

  As soon as he was outside, Cooper could feel the heat from the blaze. Every breath he took drew in the acrid stink of the black smoke. There seemed to be a lot more smoke than ought to be possible for the amount of visible flame. But he remembered how damp it had been inside 8 Trafalgar Terrace, and the rain that had fallen since. If all the houses in the row were the same, the flames might not get hold so quickly.

  The yard was a maze, and Cooper despaired of finding a quick way through the stacks of tyres and scaffolding. Somewhere near here was the spot he had met some of the Border Rats in the dark the other night. In a few minutes, it would be as dark as it had been that night, because the smoke was sinking into the yard, as if borne down by its own weight.

  Then Lucas tapped him on the shoulder and jerked a hand. ‘This way. There’s a gate at the back of the garage.’

  Till follow you.’

  They skirted the corner of some pallets and reached the doors of the garage. They stood open, revealing the bonnet of the pickup. Alongside stood the flat-bed lorry.

  ‘Somebody should move these out of the way/ said Cooper. They’re potential bombs.’

  ‘Scott could do it, but I don’t know where the bugger is.’

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  Lucas began coughing as the smoke reached his lungs. He reached into the back of the flat-bed and found a cloth rag, which he tore in half. He pushed one half at Cooper and wrapped the other over his mouth and nose.

  ‘Jake’ll be in either number 1 or 2,’ said Lucas, almost having to shout now through the rag and above the noise of cracking roof tiles and burning timbers. ‘They’re both easy to get into. It’s where the lads go sometimes. I think that’s where he’ll have gone. It’s where - Well, you try number 1, and I’ll try 2.’

  Cooper paused a moment, trying to listen for the sirens of approaching fire appliances, but they were still too far away.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘But let’s do it now.’

  And together, Ben Cooper and Lucas Oxley ran towards the houses of Trafalgar Terrace, vanishing into the smoke like the doomed wood pigeons that had no more sense than to return to their burning roosts.

  Diane Fry could hear the dog, but she couldn’t see it. Her view was blocked by the contents of the yard and the smoke that was beginning to drift in little swirls between the stacks, touching the pallets and roof tiles as if testing them for their potential to burn.

  ‘I think it’s usually chained up,’ said Tracy Udall close to her ear. ‘And from what Ben said, if you can hear it barking, you’re safe.’

  But it wasn’t the dog that had made Fry pause. It was the sight of the flames licking from the windows of the houses, just visible through the haze. It was the sound of the slates cracking and the growing roar of the flames consuming the houses room by room, damp floorboards followed by abandoned furniture, window frames catching light from doors. It was the smell of the burning wallpaper, the scorched and blistering paint, the black bricks baking so hot that they were oozing moisture that bubbled and steamed.

  She could have stood nailed to the spot for ever, matching the tongues of flame to the picture in her mind, watching for the burning figures leaping and dancing in the light of the blaze. But it was Tracy Udall who broke the spell, running forward to catch hold of a figure she had spotted through the smoke. It was Marion Oxley, standing at the side of the fence, still calling desperately towards the blazing houses. She was calling for Lucas. But also for Jake.

  Udall spoke to her, then urged her away through the passage to the front of Waterloo Terrace, where support should be arriving

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  now. At long last, Fry could hear the sirens coming over the hill. She looked at the flames leaping from windows to roof, and prayed that assistance wouldn’t be too late.

  Ben Cooper crouched opposite Lucas Oxley in the cellar of 1 Trafalgar Terrace. The body of Jake Oxley lay on its back on the stone floor between them. The cellar smelled of death - that ripe, sweet, intimate smell.

  Cooper filled his lungs with air, bent forward over Jake and breathed into his mouth, watched the boy’s chest rise with the breath, then sat back on his heels. He looked at Lucas, but could barely see more than his eyes, white above the rag that covered his face.

  ‘What the hell has been happening in here?’ he said. ‘It stinks.’

  And it wasn’t just the smell of death. There was a strong smell of petrol here, too, and singed cloth and paper. It seemed as though Jake had come down the steps to set another fire, but there hadn’t been enough oxygen in the tiny cellar.

  Lucas didn’t reply to the question. ‘Is he going to be all right?’ he said.

  ‘We need to get him into the air. Help me carry him up the steps.’

  Cooper was glad he couldn’t see the cellar clearly. He was sure there would be old bloodstains and worse on the walls and floor. They might have been there weeks or months, but the distinctive smell of them hadn’t faded in the enclosed, airless space. It was a perfect environment for a forensic team to salvage evidence from, but it wasn’t going to last long enough for them to reach it.

  He took Jake’s shoulders, and Lucas took his feet. They had left the door open at the top of the steps for air, but they could hear the flames coming steadily closer. When Cooper reached the top of the cellar steps, he could see that the floorboards of the hallway and the treads of the stairway were smouldering. But the route to the broken front door was still reasonably clear.

  When they got out of the house, they made progress, staggering away from Trafalgar Terrace towards the rutted track and damp trees near the Oxleys’ homes.

  ‘OK, stop,’ said Cooper breathlessly.

  Finally, he could see up towards the road. And he realized Scott Oxley had organized the other boys to clear the trees they had felled only a short time before, and were waving wildly at a fire

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  appliance approaching the entrance. Cooper stooped to look at Jake. He was breathing, though raggedly.

  Now the air was full of the sound of sirens. Cooper imagined the convoy coming up the road - fire appliances, police vehicles, ambulances, a whole parade, like the arrival of a besieging army. Maybe they didn’t quite have catapults and ballistas, but the firemen would have axes and heavy cutting gear, and he was willing to bet there would be a police van with a battering ram or two. Maybe it was time for him to choose sides.

  Together, Ben Cooper and Lucas Oxley waited, listening to the sound of the sirens dipping and soaring as the emergency vehicles crested one hill after another on the road into Withens.

  Diane Fry waited for the ambulance to move off. She had been standing watching Ben Cooper for several minutes while Jake Oxley was lifted on to a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance by the paramedics, accompanied by his father. Finally, Cooper looked up and saw her. Fry saw the expression of surprise on his face, and remembered that she was still wearing the hard hat she’d borrowed from one of the contractors. She must look almost as bad as he did, with his face and hands blackened by smoke, like one of the Border Rats made up for a performance.

  ‘Ben,’ she said, ‘how often have I told you - no heroics.’

  Half an hour later, DC Gavin Murfin arrived in Withens with the latest contingent of emergency services. Ben Cooper had been sent off to hospital with orders to get himself checked over. And after Murfin enquired about casualties, he had some news for Diane Fry.

  ‘That missing teddy bear turned up,’ he said.

  ‘Emma Renshaw’s golden plush?’

  ‘Yep. Guess where?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Gavin. Did Alex Dearden have it? Have we traced where the antiques are stored?’

  ‘No such luck. It was in the car.’

  ‘Which car?’

  ‘Her car - Emma’s. It was in the boot.’

  ‘So the Renshaws had
it all the time, and didn’t know.’

  ‘Looks like it. Bit odd, that.’

  ‘Yes.’

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  ‘Oh, and the hospital say the verdict is hopeful on the vicar. He was lucky - the wall of the building he was standing next to took some of the blast, and most of the shotgun pellets that hit him went into his arm and leg down the right side. Good job someone got to him quick, though - the doctors say he might have bled to death otherwise.’

  ‘Is he feeling well enough to talk yet?’

  ‘Nope. He’s had most of the pellets dug out of him, but he’s still in dreamland from the painkillers.’

  ‘Pity.’

  Murfin looked at her.

  ‘You’re sure everybody’s all right, Diane?’

  ‘Yes/ said Fry. ‘Everybody’s fine.’

  Murfin turned towards where some uniformed officers were trying to restore order among the residents of Withens. ‘I’ll see what’s going on over there, then,’ he said.

  ‘Gavin …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be checking on what calls Neil Granger had been making on his mobile the night he was killed?’

  ‘I did. I told you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t/ said Fry.

  ‘Well, I tried to anyway. But you were talking to Ben at the time. You were having some kind of heart to heart, like.’

  ‘Tell me again, Gavin.’

  ‘Neil Granger made several calls to a number in Glossop. The number was in his phone’s memory, so it was easy to find out who it was.’ Fry stared at him. ‘You should have told me this, Gavin. If I was busy, you should have told me later. This is important.’

  ‘Not really/ said Murfin defensively. ‘It was only who you might have expected him to be phoning.’