Dancing With the Virgins (44 page)

31

Mark Roper stopped on the path to Ringham Moor and touched his face gingerly where Leach had hit him. His lip was split, and a tooth was loose. If it was true about
Owen, he knew he ought to feel the outrage that had
been expressed by his fellow Rangers. But Owen's arrest
the day before had confused him. Mark knew that
Owen would have been up here to check on his wall, if he could have done. Instead, Mark was doing it for
him.

When he got near the top of the path above Ringham
Edge Farm that afternoon, Mark saw a woman in a
yellow jacket climbing towards the Hammond Tower.
It was the first time he had seen a woman walking on
her own for over a week. There had been plenty of
warnings about the dangers for lone women. But some
of them couldn't stay away. There was something that
drew them, like the women who were attracted to form relationships with convicted murderers and rapists.

He had brought a rucksack from home, because the
one he usually used for patrols had been in the briefing
centre, which had been closed by the police. But at least this rucksack held a pair of binoculars. He focused them
on the woman, following her movements through the
high bracken until she reached a clear spot. She paused,
and looked around. And then Mark saw her face. He
recognized the long, red scar and the disfigured cheek,
the twisted eye. He had seen her photograph in the incident room at Edendale, during the briefing three
days before. Even if he hadn't recognized her, he would
have had to do something. Women weren't safe alone
on Ringham Moor any more.

Mark called in. 'Peakland Partridge Three. Put me through to the police incident room.’

Then he leaned on the wall and looked down on
Ringham Edge Farm. And he saw that the police were
already there.

*

Warren Leach hadn't bothered to move out of the
kitchen after the boys had left the house. The blast of
the shotgun had shredded the back of his skull, and his
body had been thrown off the chair and on to the floor,
where it lay among the debris of dropped food and
unwashed clothes. A dog chained near the back door
was barking ferociously, driven into a frenzy by the
arrival of so many strangers. No one dared go near it.
Someone had called for the dog warden and a vet.

When Ben Cooper had first arrived, a middle-aged
man wearing jeans and a tweed jacket had been stand
ing in the yard next to a red pick-up, talking to Todd
Weenink. He turned out to be a farmer from across the
valley, and Leach had rung to ask him to milk the cows
that afternoon.

‘
He's taken that way out, has he?' said the farmer. 'I
can't say it's a surprise. He isn't the first, and he won't
be the last. Some prefer to finish it cleanly, like.'
When Cooper looked at the state of the farm's kitchen,
he realized clean wasn't the word for what Warren
Leach had done. He stood in the doorway of the room,
careful not to go too near. He could see a white envelope
on the cluttered kitchen table. It was an official-looking
envelope, with the address neatly typed. Unlike some
of the others, which were obviously bills and unopened,
Leach had slit the top of this envelope open with a
knife, leaving a greasy butter stain on the edge of the
flap. Cooper didn't need to look at the letter inside. He guessed it was a notification to Mr Warren Leach that
a prosecution was being considered under the Firearms
Act 1986.

Cooper wondered whether there was anything else they could have done. They had contacted Social Ser
vices after their visit to Yvonne Leach, but that had been
out of concern for the children, Will and Dougie. Who
had been concerned about the fate of their father? Warren Leach had needed help, if anyone had. The
evidence was there to be seen on the floor and walls.

A few minutes later, Cooper was very glad of the call
that took him and Weenink away from the farm and up the hill to meet the young Ranger, Mark Roper.

Mark seemed even younger today. It wasn't just the
fact that his face was bruised and swollen. In between the bruises, he looked pale and lost, like a boy waiting
for somebody to tell him what to do.

‘Are you sure it's her?' asked Cooper.

‘
I'm sure.’

Cooper felt certain Mark was observant enough to be right. This was a situation where Diane Fry would have
to be involved.

*

It was late afternoon by the time Diane Fry arrived at
Ringham, and she was in a bad mood. She drove up the track past the farmhouse to where she could see other vehicles parked on the hill.

‘
Where is she?' she asked when she saw Cooper and Weenink under the trees. Cooper bent down to her car
window.

‘
She's up there.' He gestured vaguely, irritating her
still further.

‘On the moor?’

Fry got out of the car and flexed her leg. She could
feel her knee starting to swell up. She ought to be at
home with a bag of frozen peas on it — if only she
had any frozen peas in the freezer compartment of her
fridge. She struggled up the rocky slope to look towards
the plateau. She was no more than half a mile from Top
Quarry.

‘
Where is she
exactly?'

‘
Near the Cat Stones, where she was attacked,' said Cooper. 'It was Mark Roper who reported sighting her
earlier this afternoon. She refuses to come down. We
were just discussing taking her into custody for her own
safety.'

‘What?'

‘
She can't stay up there. She's not safe. What if
she runs into our killer? That would be just great, wouldn't it?'

‘It's not very likely.’

Cooper shook his head in exasperation as she pulled
on her black jacket. 'OK, I'll come with you.'

‘Don't bother,' she said.

Fry began to walk away, tugging her jacket around
her as she strode towards the path, brushing past a
PC talking on his personal radio. Cooper and Weenink
watched her go. Weenink's expression was puzzled as
he leaned towards his partner.

‘Ben?'

‘Fetch the car,' said Cooper.

‘Where are we going?'

‘To see Mark Roper again.'

‘Why?'

‘
Because I feel like something to cheer me up.
’

‘
But -
Cooper gritted his teeth. 'Will you just
fetch the car?
’

‘
Jesus,' said Weenink. 'I thought it was only women
who had a wrong time of the month.’

Mark was sitting on the ground in his red fleece jacket, with Owen's walling hammer in his hand.
Occasionally, he dug the cutting edge of the hammer
hard into the soil and studied the shape of the gouge
he had made.

‘So is the wall finished?' asked Cooper.

‘I thought it was,' said Mark. 'But look at that.’

He pointed down the length of the newly-rebuilt
stretch. The stones had bulged and bellied outwards,
and the coping stones had slipped from their places,
exposing the filling, which trickled from the interior of
the wall like grain from a split sack.
'What did that?'

‘
A rotten stone,' said Mark. 'One single rotten stone
that crumbled with the weight and let down every
thing above it. Owen must not have spotted it when he put it in place. He says every stone has to play its part.
You can't have weaknesses, or the whole thing comes
down.'

‘
That's a shame.' Cooper looked at the young Ranger
more closely. 'Mark, how did you come by those bruises?’

Mark touched his face again. 'Oh, I slipped and landed face first on some rocks. I'll survive.'

‘You sure?'

‘Of course.'

‘Mark, has Owen ever said anything to you about children?’

The Ranger looked away. 'Not much. He always says: "Kids? I love 'em. But I couldn't eat a whole
one."‘

Cooper nodded, listening for something beyond the
old joke. 'I suppose you have to do school visits as a Ranger.'

‘
It's part of the job these days. They say if we educate
youngsters about what Rangers do, they'll respect the
Peak Park and what goes on in it. That's the theory, anyway. But Owen says a school visit just gives the kids a chance to take the piss out of you all at once instead of one at a time.'

‘
Yeah, I know what he means. But Owen has no chil
dren, has he?'

‘
He's a good bloke, Owen,' said Mark.

Todd Weenink was getting impatient at the turn of
the conversation. He kicked at the wall and watched as
more filling spilled out from between the stones.

*

Diane Fry could see Maggie Crew from a distance, her
yellow jacket marking her out like a beacon. She was
standing a little way from the tower, on the edge of the
escarpment where the gritstone plateau fell away into
the valley. Maggie was a few yards short of the con
torted rock formations that Ben Cooper called the Cat
Stones. She was standing quite still, as if afraid to go
any closer. Beyond the rocks was the Hammond Tower,
which ought to have represented the hand of humanity on the landscape of the moor, but failed to suggest any
hint of civilization to Fry's eye.

The wind coming down the valley was cold, carrying
the first suggestion of November storms. But Maggie
made no attempt to shelter behind the rocks. She
seemed happy to expose herself to the full blast of the
weather.

She didn't look round when Fry limped up behind
her. But Fry felt as if Maggie had been waiting for her
to arrive.

‘
Maggie, come on. It's time to go back home.
’

‘
Give me a few minutes, then I'll go.'

‘All right. I'll stay with you, then.'

‘
If you like.’

Maggie didn't move for a moment. She hesitated as if
she wasn't sure which way to go. Fry had automatically
walked up to her left side, understanding Maggie's vul
nerability. Now she watched Maggie's face, looking for
clues about her thoughts in the set of her mouth and
squint of her eye.

‘I want to remember more,' said Maggie. 'I know
that's what you need from me, Diane. I want to be able
to tell you that I remember.'

‘Maggie, it doesn't matter. We can do it another way.'

‘
You said you didn't have enough information. Insuf
ficient evidence. You needed me to make an identification.'

‘There are other leads we can follow.’

Maggie shook her head. 'No. You're lying to me
now.’

As if on a signal, they walked in step towards
the Cat Stones. Maggie's footsteps became slower as
they reached them. Imperceptibly, she seemed to have moved nearer to Fry, until their elbows were touching,
making contact for mutual reassurance.

‘
I would have brought you here, Maggie,' said Fry.
'You don't understand. I wanted to do it on my own.'
Fry nodded. 'Yes, I suppose I can see that.'

‘
Can you? You wanted me to share everything with
you, all my memories. But there are things I can't share.'
Her eyes went distant again. 'Tell me,' she said. They were the words that Fry feared to hear from her. 'Tell
me, why did you have an abortion?'

‘
Because I didn't want the baby,' said Fry. 'Obviously.' They stopped by the Cat Stones. They were lumbering
great rocks, precariously balanced on smaller, softer slabs of gritstone that had been worn away by the
weather and shaped like the back-jointed rear legs of
an animal. The rocks crouched like leaping cats - or so
local folklore said. Maybe they were leaping at the tower, determined to knock it from its perch.

‘
But there's more to it than that, isn't there?'
Maggie touched one of the stones gently, as if she
hoped to make it move with the lightest brush of her
fingers. 'Was it rape?' she said.

‘Yes.'

‘But you never talk about it, do you?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Bottled up. Is that the best way?'

‘I don't talk about it,' said Fry firmly.

‘But it's a denial,' said Maggie. 'A sort of lie that you're living.’

They were in the right spot. This was the place they had identified as the location of the assault on Maggie
Crew - the brief, horrific attack that had left her dis
figured. They had found little forensic evidence, noth
ing that could have led them to the identity of an
assailant. There were no witnesses except Maggie her
self. And no trace of a motive.

‘You can't live your life by lies,' said Maggie.

Then Maggie Crew began to laugh. Fry was mortified
that her confession should be treated with hilarity. Then
she began to get angry.

‘What's so funny?’

Maggie put her hand on Fry's arm to support herself.
Her laughter bounced off the Cat Stones and seemed
to drift off down the valley towards Matlock.

‘It doesn't matter, Diane,' she said. 'Don't worry about it.’

She looked to be about to start chuckling again. Fry
pulled away abruptly.

‘
You're getting a bit hysterical. Let's go down. It was
a mistake to come up here.'

‘Perhaps it was,' agreed Maggie.

‘
You're doing yourself no good.' Fry shivered.
'Besides, I'm getting cold.’

Maggie smiled and shook her head. 'Diane, there are
things I remember.'

‘That's good, Maggie,' said Fry automatically.

‘
I remember him running. He was on me so suddenly,
before I knew what was happening. I remember him breathing heavily, like a runner, or . . .' Maggie hesitated. 'I think he was frightened.'

‘Frightened, Maggie?'

‘
Yes. I don't believe he meant to attack me. I was in
the wrong place.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Diane - I think I was just in the way.’

There was a faint scuffling, and a sheep peered at
them from around a rock. Its black face and staring eyes
looked ludicrous. Fry noticed there were hundreds of
small black pellets scattered on the bare ground around
the Cat Stones, drying in the wind. The sheep gazed at
them for a few seconds, seemed to register that they were living creatures, and scuttled away down the slope.

‘
Maggie, you told me the other day there were leaves.
You remembered kicking the leaves, just before you were attacked.'

‘Yes.’

Fry gestured at the rock face, the tumbled boulders, the bare earth. 'There are no leaves here. There are no
trees.'

‘But I remember it.'

‘All right,' said Fry. 'So perhaps you're mistaken about where it happened.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘
Some of these boulders look very much alike to me.
What about a bit further up?' Fry pointed towards the
tower. Maggie didn't move. 'Maggie?'

‘All right.’

They walked a few yards to the north. As they
rounded the central boulder of the Cat Stones, a view
of the valley came into sight. Traffic could be seen moving on the A6 at Darley Dale, with the houses of
Two Dales climbing the hill behind to the forest plan
tations on Matlock Moor and Black Hill. Nearer to the
tower, the beeches began to cluster together, mixed with
the occasional oak. Now there were plenty of leaves underfoot.

‘What about here?' said Fry. 'Surely this is more likely?'

‘It could have been, I suppose.'

‘
But it's important, you see. If we've got the scene of
the attack wrong, then we ought to have the SOCOs up
here again, to see if there's anything that might still be
left. Though it's so long now . . .'

‘Yes, it's so long,' said Maggie. 'Too long. It can't matter that much.' .

‘You never know,' said Fry. She began to cast her
eyes about the area, worried now about where she and Maggie were treading. They could be contaminating
the
scene. There could be a vital piece of forensic evidence
waiting to be found, the one piece of evidence that
would link the attack definitely with a suspect. Just one
bit of evidence. If only it hadn't blown away, or been trampled into the ground. Or eaten by a sheep.

‘You shouldn't have come out here, Maggie. You're still alone out here, you know. Just as much as you were when you were at home.’

Maggie shrugged. Fry watched her carefully. They were close enough by now for her to gauge Maggie's reactions without being completely misled.

‘
Maggie, I know about your daughter,' said Fry. She
saw Maggie lift an eyebrow a fraction. It was her left
eyebrow that moved, while the right one merely
twitched like a facial tic and settled into its bed of red
scar tissue again. 'I know you had your daughter adopted.'

‘
I don't know what you're talking about,' said
Maggie. 'I'm afraid you've lost me.'

‘
Your sister told me,' said Fry. 'But it was a long time
ago, wasn't it?’

Maggie walked a few yards further on, hunching her
shoulders and turning up her collar when the wind
cutting between the boulders caught her in the face, on
her damaged side.

‘
Do you have memories of your daughter?' asked Fry.
'It might help to let the memories come.'

‘You might be right,' said Maggie quietly. 'It
could
have happened about here.'

‘You shouldn't just bury it, Maggie.'

‘
I still don't remember exactly. It's a wonderful view.
You can see forever from here. Right down the valley.
Right across the hills to Chatsworth.'

‘Maggie -’

Maggie sighed. 'Do you blame me?' she said.
'No. But does that make it any better?’

Then Maggie touched her. It was the first time they
had touched each other since they had met. A week ago, that was. A lifetime away.

Maggie put her hand on Fry's sleeve and gently drew
her towards the edge of the rock at the base of the tower. They stood close to the drop, with the wind
whipping round their ears and stirring their hair. They
were elbow to elbow, with Fry standing, as always, on
Maggie's left side.

Fry's injured leg was throbbing from climbing up the
rocky slope. She knew she had done too much, pushed
herself too far. Her heart and lungs were struggling
with the effort of breathing in the face of the wind. She
waited to hear what Maggie had to say, not knowing what she hoped for.

‘There's the train, look,' said Maggie.

A trail of steam was emerging from the trees towards
Rowsley, as the Peak Rail train ran along the far bank
of the Derwent near Churchtown and the houses on Dale Road.

‘
It's the last train of the day. They'll be shedding the
engines at Darley Dale station. They don't run as far as
Matlock in November.’

Fry realized Maggie was directing her attention away
- well away, towards the centre of Matlock and her
own home. The smell of smoke was strong; it seemed
to reach her all the way from down in the valley.