Scared to Live (3 page)

Postman Bernie Wilding was already late with his deliveries in Foxlow that morning, when he remembered the package for Rose Shepherd. That was unusual in itself- Miss Shepherd rarely got more than bank statements and junk mail. Most days, there was nothing in his van for her at all. Bernie did a three-point turn at the end of Pinfold Lane

and drew up to the wrought-iron gates of Bain House. He was listening to Ken Bruce on Radio Two, and he turned the volume down a bit before he lowered the window. He reached out to press the button on the intercom, but got no answering voice. That was a bit odd, too. Folk in the village said Miss Shepherd never went anywhere. She was supposed to be a bit of a hermit, shut up alone here in this big house. And sure enough, she'd never been out before when he'd called with a package. But he supposed even a hermit must do her shopping some time. A visit to the doctor, the dentist, the optician. Well, it was nothing to do with him, anyway. Bernie scribbled a message on one of his cards, and was about to push it into the letter box mounted on one of the gates. But when he opened the flap, he saw that a furniture store leaflet was still in there, along with a free newspaper that was delivered by local kids over the weekend. And that definitely wasn't like Miss Shepherd. Even if he didn't see her for weeks on end, he knew she was around, because she emptied the letter box. It was a sensible thing to do, otherwise it gave the impression there was no one at home. There were criminals who drove around these villages every night, looking for signs of empty properties. Uncertain what to do now, Bernie peered through the gates at the house standing among the trees. The curtains were drawn at the front, even on the ground floor. He didn't know the internal layout of the house, but that must be a lounge or something. You wouldn't leave the curtains drawn during the day, unless you were sick. Bernie liked to think of himself as an old-fashioned rural postman, who knew his patch and the people he delivered to. He'd heard so many stories about a postman being the first to raise the alarm when someone was ill or dead and even the neighbours hadn't noticed. It had never happened to him yet, not in fifteen years with the Royal Mail. But he was

always on the lookout for elderly people on his round, the ones who lived alone and didn't get many visitors. Not that Rose Shepherd was all that elderly - but you never knew, did you? Ken Bruce was announcing the ten o'clock news bulletin. Was it so late already? Bernie knew he ought to get on - he'd already lost enough time this morning, with having so many special deliveries to make and getting stuck behind the tractor that overtook him every time he stopped. Miss Shepherd was probably out doing her shopping in Matlock, wasn't she? Monday morning was a good time to go to the supermarket. Nice and quiet. She'd just forgotten to empty the post from her box for once. She'd do it when she got back from the shops. Bernie pushed his card through the flap, put the package back behind the van seat, then reversed into the road and drove on. He'd missed the news headlines, but Bruce was playing a song he remembered from the sixties - the New Seekers, 'Now the Carnival is Over'. Bernie was singing quietly to himself as he headed back through Foxlow.

3

Detective Constable Ben Cooper opened his fridge door, then closed it again quickly when he caught the smell. Another thirty seconds of breathing that in, and he'd lose his appetite for breakfast. He had a brief after-image of something nasty wrapped in plastic, caught by the interior light like an exhibit at a crime scene, sordid and decomposing, its DNA degrading beyond use. 'Well, do you want me to call in and see the solicitor again tomorrow morning?' he said into his mobile phone. 'I can manage that, if you like, Matt. But I'm not sure it'll do any good.' 'He wants a kick up the pants, that's what'll do him some good. Maybe I ought to go in and see him myself. What do you reckon? I'll go straight into his office when I've finished the muck spreading tomorrow.' Cooper smiled at the thought of his brother bursting into the offices of Ballard and Price, his overalls covered in slurry. Matt could be a bit intimidating at the best of times, especially in an enclosed space. In his present mood, the solicitors' receptionist would probably call the police to have him removed. 'It wouldn't help, you know.'

Matt sighed in frustration. 'Bloody pen pushers and bureaucrats. They seem to spend their time making life difficult for everyone else.' 'I suppose Mr Ballard has a job to do, like the rest of us.' 'Oh, yeah. He takes a lot longer about it, that's all.' Cooper ran a finger round the fridge door, checking the rubber seal for gaps. It hadn't occurred to him things could get as bad as that so quickly, just because he hadn't bothered checking inside for a few days. It wasn't as if the weather was particularly warm or anything. It was nearly the end of October, and summer was over in the Peak District. But the fridge had come with the flat, so he wasn't sure how old it might be. 'I don't know what else I can do,' he said. 'You're the executor, Matt.' 'I hadn't forgotten.' Of course, he knew what was bothering his brother and making him so impatient. Probate on their mother's will was taking so long that he was starting to get worried about the future of Bridge End Farm. If money had to be found from the estate, the only way it could happen would be if assets were sold off. 'I thought you'd know a bit more about the law than I do,' said Matt. 'Well, not this part of the law.' He didn't bother to tell Matt that his knowledge of criminal law was also a bit sketchy. There were eight thousand criminal offences on the statute books - and more than a thousand of them had been invented since Cooper became a police officer. Without the manuals, he'd be lost, like everyone else. Cooper left the fridge alone and crossed the kitchen, dodging the cat that was sitting looking at him expectantly, having heard a rumour there might be food. On the days he was at home, meal times seemed to come round every hour. 'Besides,' he said, 'don't forget how much Mr Ballard charges for his time.'

'You're right, Ben. Just a phone call then, I suppose.' 'At least it'll keep the subject fresh in his mind.' There was silence for a few moments. The Cooper brothers had always been comfortable with silence. They'd grown up together on the farm hardly needing to speak, because each understood what the other was thinking. But that was when they were physically together. You could read a person's thoughts in their face, in the way they moved or breathed, or what they did with their hands. It was different on the phone, though. Silence felt awkward and wrong. Not to mention a waste of money. With his mobile pressed to his ear, Ben started to wonder whether he could get a reduced tariff from Vodaphone for the amount of non-talk time he used. But in this case, he sensed that there was more to his brother's silence than awkwardness. 'Is there something else, Matt?' 'Yeah Ben felt his stomach tighten. For a second, he thought he was going to be sick, and he looked to see if the fridge door had fallen open again and released the nauseous smell into the room. After the death of their mother, there surely couldn't be more bad news already. But he could read a lot into one word from his brother. 'What is it? Something wrong with one of the girls?' 'No, they're fine,' said Matt. 'Well, I think so.' 'You're not making much sense, Matt.' 'Look, Ben, I've made an appointment to go into the surgery on Friday. I want to talk to Dr Joyce. And if necessary, I'll ask to see the specialist who treated Mum.' 'Why? We know what happened to her - it was a series of strokes. It happens all the time in people of her age.' 'I don't mean the strokes. I mean the other problem.' The family had rarely referred to Isabel Cooper's condition by name. For a long time, it had been 'Mum's problem'. Towards the end, before she died in Edendale District General

from a brain haemorrhage, it had become 'the other problem'. Now, it seemed to Ben there was no point in trying to avoid spelling it out. Mum wasn't around any more to be upset if it inadvertently slipped out in her presence. 'Oh, the schizophrenia.' 'Yes.' 'I don't understand, Matt. What do you want to find out that we don't already know?' 'I can't talk to you about it on the phone - it's too complicated. Can you come over some time? I've got a lot of stuff to show you.' 'Well, I'm going to be a bit busy this week ' 'So what's new?' 'All right, what if I call at the farm tonight when I come off duty?' 'That'll do.' 'See you, then.' Cooper put out a bowl of cat food and placed it on the floor in the conservatory, near the central-heating boiler. Randy was an animal with a fixed routine and firm ideas about his territory. Then he went back to the fridge, took a deep breath and eased open the door. He scooped out some rotten tomatoes, half a carton of sour milk, and a wedge of Stilton with its blue veins blossoming into a furry carpet. They all went into a plastic bin liner. He wasn't sure any of the items accounted for the smell, though. Poking in the salad tray at the bottom of the main compartment, he found a liquefied lettuce, which probably did. When he'd got rid of the worst, he tied up the bin liner and put it to one side. Now he ought to remove everything else from the fridge and give it a good clean. Probably it could do with defrosting, too. But then Cooper hesitated. It would do later on, wouldn't it? Tomorrow, even. He closed the fridge, put the bag near

the back door, and returned to the sitting room. He put on his shoes and jacket, and checked how much money he had in his wallet. Then he made sure his phone was fully charged. Allowing your phone battery to go flat was as bad as letting your car run out of petrol. Both things happened now and then, but it was better if they happened to someone else. Finally, he left the flat. For once, even the smell of the morning traffic was like a breath of fresh air. He was unsettled by his conversation with Matt. He hoped his brother wasn't having to cope with too many worries at once. There were certainly some decisions to be made about the future of Bridge End, though. The new farming support payments favoured the more productive farms in the valleys, and an upland farmer's income could be halved, unless he changed his ways. The suckler herd might have to go, for a start - no matter how environmentally friendly and picturesque they were, grazing cattle were becoming as economically unviable as sheep. Matt could intensify the dairy herd, or leave part of the land unfarmed, in return for environmental grants. On the other hand, he could abandon the idea of running a profitable farm altogether and get himself a job stacking shelves in a supermarket. On his way through the market square, Cooper pulled out his mobile and chose a number from his phone book. His call was answered almost straight away. 'Hi, it's me. How are you this morning?' She sounded pleased to hear from him, and the sound of her voice alone made him feel better. He didn't know how she did it; perhaps it came of being a civilian. 'Oh, I'm fine, too,' he said. 'No, really. There's nothing wrong at all. I just wanted to find out how you were.' He listened to her talk for a while, neither of them saying much, but enough to put a smile on his face as he crossed Hollowgate towards the Raj Mahal and the pedestrianized area.

He had to end the call when a couple of acquaintances stopped to say hello. Cooper couldn't place their names at first. But he knew so many people around Edendale that it wasn't surprising. Faces from his childhood haunted him constantly. He'd see an old schoolfriend passing in the street, then immediately another and another. It was like the way a phrase he'd heard for the first time suddenly seemed to be repeated everywhere, as if someone was trying to send him a message. What sort of message could these familiar faces be trying to convey? This is where you belong, perhaps.

Later that morning, Cooper found himself watching a man in a grey sports jacket approaching a cash machine outside Somerfield's supermarket. Running his finger along the edge of the card slot, the man glanced over his shoulder with an apologetic smile. He wasn't sure whether he liked being watched or not. There were two ATMs at Somerfield's, both set into the outside wall near the trolley park, about fifteen yards from the main entrance. A small queue of shoppers had formed at the other machine, fidgeting with their carrier bags and purses. 'If you feel an obstruction of any kind, don't use it. That's the best advice. Usually there are a couple of tiny prongs. Here, see?' With a flick of the finger, the man pulled out a thin, clear sleeve of rigid plastic. He held it up to reveal a loop at the back. 'This is the old Lebanese Loop trick. The loop retains a card when it's inserted. Since the machine can't read the magnetic strip, it keeps asking you to re-enter your PIN. Someone standing behind you watches you tap your number in. When you walk away, the suspect removes the card and empties your account. Bingo.' 'Surely that type of device is easy to detect?' said someone in the watching group. 'We just saw you do it.'

'But I know what to look for.' PC Steve Judson had greying hair, a little longer than favoured by most police officers. He worked with the Plastic Crime Unit, a team struggling to deal with a mounting wave of cash and credit card fraud. According to the latest figures, it was big business - worth at least forty million pounds a year across the country. Judson looked at the queue for the adjacent cash machine. 'This is a typical location. The ATMs would be more secure inside, but the store isn't open twenty-four hours. Some customers want to use them late at night, when this car park is probably deserted.' 'Is that when the biggest risk is, rather than when the cash machines are busy?' asked a female DC, one of two who'd driven over the hills from B Division for the plastic crime session. 'The risk is different. If you look at the people in the queue there - they're close enough to each other to make shoulder surfing easy. But at night, when the place is empty, you'd be pretty damn suspicious of somebody who came and peered over your shoulder, wouldn't you?' There were other officers present in the car park who'd come from Nottinghamshire and even from Leicestershire. Strangers, but probably future colleagues. No one was talking about their future this morning, but it must have been in everyone's minds when they greeted each other. 'It isn't so long ago that the NCIS bulletins were warning of cash machine gangs spreading out of London down the M4 to the West Country. Did they get it wrong?' 'No, not at all. Those gangs did good business in the West Country, so they decided to go nationwide. Now they operate in any place they can recruit enough illegals.' 'Illegals?' Cooper could hear a few sets of antennae going up, alert for derogatory remarks. It was always a tough call, knowing