Cooper’s eyes had settled on the four wind turbines that had recently been erected to the north on Carsington Pasture. The wind farm was just outside the boundary of the national park, but very close to the High Peak Trail. He remembered the National Park Authority objecting to the scheme because of the impact on the landscape of turbines three hundred and fifty feet high overlooking the reservoir.
Close by the new wind farm was the Dream Cave, where the remains of a woolly rhino had been found and Homo erectus had visited during the warm inter-glacial period. By the time the Romans arrived more than two thousand years ago, they’d found a thriving lead mining industry in this area. Now, they would find tourists living in EcoPods.
Human memory seemed such a fleeting, fragmentary thing in this landscape. Ephemeral and transitory. It flickered into the mind and out again so quickly that it meant nothing. Nothing at all.
He became aware that Villiers was looking at him with concern, her coffee going cold in front of her. In fact she seemed to have been speaking his name, and perhaps had been doing so for a minute or two.
‘Ben?’ she said. ‘Earth to Ben Cooper.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, shaking himself as if throwing off a heavy blanket.
‘I have to say this, Ben, but you’d really lost it there for a while.’
‘It’s nothing.’
But he could see she wasn’t convinced. He would have to work harder to pass muster, even with Carol Villiers.
‘Focus,’ she said. ‘You need to focus on something useful, a practical objective.’
‘You’ve told me that before.’
‘Because it’s the best advice I can give you.’
Cooper tried to smile. ‘I’ll remember.’
But Villiers was watching him closely. She didn’t miss much. In fact, she never had.
‘Well,’ she said, picking up her phone and checking the screen, about to get up and leave. ‘It’s been great, Ben, but—’
‘Don’t go, Carol. Not yet.’
He’d blurted the words out. But as soon as they left his mouth he knew they made him sound desperate and needy. That wasn’t the impression he’d been trying to give.
‘Sorry, Ben, I have to.’
What was he going to do? Carol Villiers was the person he could rely on. He knew he could trust her.
‘Where are you going now, Carol?’ he asked.
‘Into Wirksworth, then Carsington. I’ve got to see if this man in the four-wheel drive rings a bell for anyone connected to Glen Turner.’
‘Mind if I tag along?’
Her mouth fell open. Then after a moment she smiled. ‘It would be a pleasure.’
21
When they got Charlie Dean in an interview room at West Street, he spilled the whole story about his assignation with Sheena Sullivan in the woods, the car getting stuck in the mud, the mysterious stranger in the red rain jacket who’d appeared out of the night and made such an impression on them both.
‘You can see why we didn’t come forward,’ said Dean.
He looked appealingly from Fry to Irvine, but found no understanding from either of them. Fry stared at him, seeing a man who thought far too much of himself, perhaps imagined he was the centre of the universe. Did Mr Dean really believe his actions had no consequences, except for himself? Yes, it was perfectly possible. He wouldn’t be the first to sit in this interview room and look baffled that no one else thought he was important.
‘You’re a married man,’ said Fry. ‘And yet you took a woman into the woods in your car for sex. And you admit you’ve done this many times? What were you thinking?’
He stared at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Well, obviously … I was thinking that I’d get away with it and never have to explain myself.’
‘No excuses, no reasons? No rationalisation?’
‘I always think rationalisation after the act is a bit futile,’ said Dean. ‘We all live in the moment, don’t we? We don’t feel we have to explain our actions to ourselves. So it’s only other people who have those expectations of us. Excuses, reasons …? Detective Sergeant, it’s all so much bullshit.’
Fry supposed he might be considered attractive by a certain type of woman. He was dark and well built, with a boyish smirk and a mischievous gleam in his eye. Once he’d recovered from the stress of being picked up by the police and taken into the station, he’d collected himself well and told a good story. At the same time, he’d managed to exude an air of assurance and self-possession, a man who was in control and could handle any problem. It was his own image, she supposed, a role he’d created for himself.