Already Dead(91)

‘How’s your brother?’ asked Cooper. ‘Sean?’

‘No idea,’ said Gibson. ‘I haven’t seen him. He’s gone abroad.’

‘Oh? Where to?’

‘I don’t know. He doesn’t send me postcards.’

Gibson revved up the forklift and headed away across the yard to lift a pallet of rollers.

Cooper watched him working for a moment. He hadn’t expected to get any answers here. Not from the likes of Ryan Gibson – he was too old a hand. All he’d wanted to do was see him, and read whatever he could find in Ryan’s face. And that had been bad enough.

When he arrived back in Edendale town centre, Cooper thought about Roger Hicklin and his Deluge. The world needs a good clean-out, don’t you think?

Cooper looked at the water pouring down the main roads and swirling away into the alleys on either side. The water was dirty brown, and its stink was vile. It was filled with mud and debris scoured from the hillsides or forced up out of the drains and dumped on to the streets of the town. For all the world, it looked and smelled as though nature had developed a nasty case of unstoppable diarrhoea. Clean wasn’t the word for it.

By the time Charlie Dean and Sheena Sullivan left the house in Green Hill that Sunday, it was already late afternoon, and it had started to rain again.

They’d stayed much longer than Charlie had intended, and they would both have to work on their excuses before they got home. But the house had been so comfortable compared to other locations they’d used in the past that it was hard for either of them to tear themselves away.

As he waited for Sheena, Charlie looked out of the sitting room window. This property had views to die for over Wirksworth, and beyond the town to the hills on the far side of the Ecclesbourne Valley. It stood at the top of one of the steepest hills in Derbyshire, and on one of the narrowest roads in the county too. He knew exactly what it was like up here – his own house was on the adjacent road, The Dale, which was just as steep and narrow. It curled back and linked into Green Hill at the top, where the sides of the quarries prevented either road from continuing further west.

‘Are you ready?’ he called. ‘We need to be moving.’

‘Nearly.’

Charlie cursed quietly. She could be such a nuisance. She didn’t seem to take things seriously enough. This was all going to fall apart one day, thanks to her. Either Barbara or Jay would become too suspicious, and that would be the end of it. He could foresee unpleasant scenes sooner or later.

When Sheena finally appeared, they went outside. The BMW had been standing under the car port out of the rain, and out of sight of the neighbours. The owners of the house must have kept cans of petrol here, or some motor oil. He could smell it when they left by the back door and he paused for a moment to unlock the car. He wasn’t worried that the car might have developed an oil leak – he was very careful about things like that, and always had the BMW serviced regularly. It paid to look after the possessions you valued. He walked round the car, though, just to make sure.

‘Hurry up, Charlie, I’m getting wet,’ said Sheena. ‘I hate getting wet. You know that.’

‘Well, don’t stand out in the rain, silly cow,’ he said.

‘Don’t call me a silly cow.’

‘For goodness sake—look, the car’s open. Get in. And be careful where you’re stepping. It smells as though there might have been some oil spilled in here.’

As soon as he pulled out on to Green Hill, Charlie Dean knew there was something wrong. The brake pedal felt spongy when he pressed it to hold the car on the steep hill. He pumped it desperately, got only a slight response, then felt the pedal go flat to the floor.

‘What’s wrong, Charlie?’

‘There’s nothing in the brakes,’ he said.

‘We’re going too fast.’

‘I know!’

The car just made the first of the tight corners.

The pedal hit the floor.

‘Shit.’

‘Charlie, do something!’

‘I can’t. The steering’s gone too.’

The car slewed round another corner, scraping the wall of a house and peeling off shards of limestone. Metal screeched in protest all along the side of the car. A flower tub went flying, a recycling bag scattered its contents across the windscreen. Sheena began to scream.

‘Shut up, shut up!’ yelled Charlie, wrestling the steering wheel in futile fury.

His tyres bumped crazily over the stone setts, the nearside wheel hit a step and a tyre burst. The wing of the BMW dipped and sparks flew into the air as the bodywork scoured itself against the stone, leaving a trail of red paint flakes on the road. The rear end began to slew from side to side, swiping a Fiat Uno parked at the kerb and sending its wing mirror spinning off into the distance.