The winner was followed by more boats. A steam engine rode magically on the river, a miniature paddle steamer floated in a pool of its own light. There was a vintage car, a carousel, a biplane, a Viking longboat. As they came by, it was impossible to distinguish the boats from their reflections, red cascades bursting and rippling across the surface in the splash of oars.

‘It’s hopeless, Diane.’

‘Keep trying.’

Cooper worked his way through the crowds on the bank. People were so tightly packed that it was impossible to walk normally. He found it uncomfortable to move with such short steps, squeezing his way between the backs of strangers. Some of the faces were too close to make out. People were standing on the slopes to see over the crowd. Some were under the lights, and some were in darkness. Underfoot, it was impossible to see if you were treading in mud or a puddle. A light drizzle had begun to fall, adding a mist to the blur of coloured lights above the heads of the crowd.

Soon after eight o’clock, people began to drift out of the gardens again, and Cooper made his way back across the bridge. The raised areas of grass had been trodden into mud and people slipped on damp tree roots. Fast-food cartons crunched underfoot. The rock band was still playing, but had moved on to ‘Sweet Child of Mine’.

‘Where are you, Ben?’

‘I’m near the bandstand. Look for the Dinky Donuts van. You can’t miss it – there’s a big pink thing on the roof, like an inflated condom.’

‘OK, I see it.’

Cooper waited, the crowds separating around him, music blasting his ears. Teenagers walked by with their mobile phones held out in front of them to take photographs of each other. He thought he caught a glimpse of the gypsy woman again, a blue scarf flashing briefly in the lights. When the band finished playing, the announcer started trying to persuade everyone to move across to the west bank of the river for the fireworks display.

‘I’m still here, Diane. I can’t see you yet.’

His ear piece was silent. And for a moment, Cooper remembered that you didn’t have to be a recluse to be alone. It was possible to feel desperately alone even in the middle of the biggest crowd.

36

An air of anticipation developed again as nine o’clock approached. Streams of people came back over the bridge to the gardens, or stood on the pavements outside the Pavilion and the Fishpond pub. Their faces were turned up towards the rock face of High Tor. The hill rose into the night sky above the swathes of multi-coloured trees. An expectant hush gradually developed, but for a little chatter here and there.

Then the crowd was silenced by a terrific bang that hit the village like a huge hand had been slapped down on the landscape. It punched eardrums and stopped a few hearts, judging by the expressions on the faces around him. It was the maroon, the single loud report that signalled the start of the display.

The maroon was followed by flares, fountains and rockets, candles. Brilliant white star bursts and red blossoms. They produced a barrage of bangs and whistles, whizzes and crackles, intense light and smoke. Glittering, coloured fire hung over the tor. A canopy of colour exploded into sparks, bangs, crackles and whistles. He saw the characteristic sparkling tail of a rocket on its way up. Screamers and screechers chased each other into the sky. Small stars and balls of fire changed colour in flight, finishing with a series of bangs. Comets grew brighter, their tails splitting into small fragments. Serpents snaked and wriggled through the air.

‘Hold on. Diane, I can see him.’

‘Brian Mullen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s him and Luanne. They’re right down the north end of the gardens, near where the boats are docking after the parade.’

‘Can you get to them, Ben?’

‘I’m on the wrong side of the river. The nearest crossing is the footbridge. I’ll have to go back and cross over.’

‘Which way is Mullen heading?’

‘He’s standing still at the moment. No, wait – he’s moving.’

‘Has he seen you, do you think?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m on the darkest part of the bank over here. But he’s moving all right. God, he’s running. Diane, he’s started to run. He’ll be on the road in a minute.’

‘I’ll get back to the car and drive down. Gavin, where are you?’

‘By the ice-cream kiosk in the Pavilion car park.’

‘Get to the road, and I’ll pick you up.’

There was no way of spotting Brian Mullen again, once he’d disappeared into the crowd. There were too many paths up there in the trees, too many dark corners, too many members of the public in the way. And too many of them were parents with small children.

‘I’m pretty sure there’s no way out at the other end of the gardens,’ said Cooper. ‘Not unless you’re fit enough to scramble up the slope and get over that wall. Mullen couldn’t do it with a small child in tow.’

‘So he’ll have to come back this way?’

‘The nearest way out on to the road is by the netball court. I left my car at this end, Diane – opposite the church.’

‘OK, we’ll catch you up. Don’t worry, he hasn’t got a big start on us.’

But the police on traffic duty had closed off the entire stretch of road when the fireworks started, and Fry found lines of traffic were already backing up in both directions.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Did Mullen get through?’ asked Cooper when she told him.

‘A CSO up here says a red Citroën went through like a bat out of hell just before they closed the road.’

‘It’s lucky I was on this side of the gardens. Georgi’s with me now, and we’re nearly at my car. Where do you suppose he’s going?’

‘He isn’t going anywhere, as far as I’m concerned. His car will be stopped when it reaches Cromford. There are two officers posted at the junction, with manual control of the traffic lights.’

Kotsev followed Cooper into his Toyota, and it bounced off the kerb as Cooper accelerated down the empty roadway.

‘He’s definitely heading south, Diane?’

‘Yes. There’s nothing else that way, is there? No other roads? No way he can dodge us?’

‘There’s just Masson Mill. It’s only three hundred and fifty yards downstream from the gardens, but he’ll be able to see the Cromford junction from there. He’s not an idiot – if he sees the uniforms standing at the lights, he’ll know what’s going on.’

‘Masson Mill? The shopping village?’

‘That’s it. He could turn into the car park at the mill – the walls are high enough for him to get out of sight there.’

‘OK. He might think we’ll go flying straight past into Cromford. We’ll probably find him sitting quietly with his headlights off, praying that we don’t stop.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

The central storeys of the mill were lit up, picking out Arkwright’s name on the brickwork. But the rest of the building and the roofs of the weaving sheds below the road were in complete darkness. At the entrance to the car park, a couple of attendants leaned against a wall, looking bored as they waited for owners to return for their vehicles.

Sensing that something was wrong, Cooper twisted his head round, and stamped on the brakes.

‘Damn. The Citroën is on the forecourt in front of the main entrance. I almost didn’t see it.’

Motorists in the queue of stalled traffic stared at him curiously as he reversed a few yards towards Mullen’s car. It was parked at an awkward angle between two other vehicles that had been left there when the Car park full signs went up.

‘He must have swung straight across the pavement as he went through the pedestrian crossing. And I bet none of these people noticed anything.’

‘They don’t look happy about the hold-up,’ said Kotsev. ‘Why should they report another driver for escaping it?’