Already Dead(68)

Mrs Turner smiled at him. Then she frowned, as if puzzled by something that wasn’t quite right. He’d become used to that look. He expected it, because he knew himself that something wasn’t quite right. He was sure it must show on the outside too. It was why he felt so reluctant to meet people face to face, strangers and familiar acquaintances alike. Being with Villiers made it different, just as he’d hoped it would. In a way, he felt he’d be able to hide behind her, so that people would see her and not him. She was the only one who could have made that work.

Cooper stayed silent while Villiers ran through her questions. He could tell from Mrs Turner’s reaction that she’d answered them all before. Had her son mentioned that he was planning to go anywhere or meet anyone on Tuesday evening? Had he been having any problems? Money troubles, a girlfriend? Could she suggest anyone else they might talk to about him?

They were questions that were always worth asking a second time, or even a third. People recollected details that hadn’t occurred to them the first time round. Something popped into their head when they weren’t thinking about it, and they forgot it again until they were prompted. Sometimes it seemed heartless to be questioning a bereaved relative over and over. But there was no doubt it could achieve results, and that was the objective.

‘Thank you, Mrs Turner,’ said Villiers finally.

‘Anything I can do,’ she said.

Back in the centre of Wirksworth, there were uneven stone setts on the narrow footways in front of some of the houses on Green Hill. Today they were acting like drainage channels for the water running downhill, which might have been their original purpose.

‘What next, Carol?’ asked Cooper.

‘Diane wants me to visit Ralph Edge,’ said Villiers.

‘And who is he?’

‘Glen Turner’s colleague at Prospectus Assurance. He’s the one who told us about the paintballing.’

‘Paintballing?’ said Cooper.

‘Oh, you don’t know.’

‘Not unless you tell me, Carol.’

Cooper listened quietly while Villiers told him the story of the team building weekend and Glen Turner’s paintballing injuries.

‘Of course, I only picked this up myself today, since I came back from Chesterfield just this morning.’

‘You seem to be on top of things,’ said Cooper.

‘I try. It’s not easy sometimes.’

‘Oh, tell me about it.’

‘You’re feeling out of the loop, I suppose, Ben?’

‘Yes.’ Cooper hesitated. ‘Carol, can I ask you a favour?’

‘Of course. Well … what?’

‘I’d like you to keep me up to date with anything concerning Eliot Wharton and Josh Lane. You know – dates of hearings, pleas, bail conditions.’

‘I suppose I could do that,’ said Villiers. ‘Though there are systems…’

‘They take forever.’

‘All right, then.’

‘And any new evidence that might turn up,’ said Cooper quickly.

‘I don’t know, Ben.’

‘Just do what you can. Okay?’

She sucked in a breath, and he could see that she was torn. He shouldn’t push her loyalty too far.

‘And in the meantime can you keep me up to date with this murder inquiry?’ he said. ‘I’m really interested.’

Villiers let out her breath in relief. ‘Well, that’s better,’ she said.

Ralph Edge lived a few miles outside Wirksworth, in Carsington village. His house was just past the Miners Arms pub. The opening of the reservoir in the 1990s had transformed Carsington. A bypass had been built to take construction traffic, new homes had appeared, and some of the barns were converted to residential use. There were no farms left in the village now, and of course the post office had closed years ago. Yet some of the older cottages were said to be built right over mineshafts. One was supposed to have tunnels still underneath it.

A tiny Gothic-style church was hidden among yew trees on the lower slopes of Carsington Pasture. It had neither tower nor spire, just a small bellcote on the western gable. Cooper was struck by the sight of a new grave standing ready in the churchyard, the hole covered by a couple of planks, and a heap of soil piled next to it.

The Edges’ property was about twenty years old, built from local limestone with dressed stone quoins. Inside, the dining room was set out with a large pine table and eight dining chairs, as if the Edges held regular dinner parties. Garden furniture stood out in the rain, the chairs tilted forward against the table to allow the water to run off. He wondered if the Edges had a dinner party planned this week. If so, it would certainly be held indoors.