But this wasn’t a case of territorial dispute. Not yet, anyway. The two forces were cooperating. It was obvious to everyone that the victim or her attacker were just as likely to have approached the scene from the Staffordshire side as from Derbyshire. Boundaries were irrelevant, especially while the scene was being examined for forensic evidence. Footwear marks, DNA or trace evidence were left with complete disregard to jurisdictions.

Dawn was breaking, and the sun would rise by seven. A bird was singing over some abandoned buildings on the eastern bank of the river.

The young man who’d found the body was sitting in the passenger seat of a police car with the door open and his long legs stretched out in front of him. His head was down and he seemed to be gazing at his feet as if they could explain everything. He was no older than twenty, and he was dressed in denim jeans and a grey hooded jacket. The feet he was staring at were encased in white trainers with thick soles. At least, they’d been white once. The mud covering them now left barely a glimpse of the original colour. Perhaps that was why the young man looked at them so morosely. They were probably the most expensive thing he was wearing.

‘Mr Beresford?’ said Cooper. ‘Detective Sergeant Cooper, from Edendale Police.’

‘I suppose you want me to go over it all again,’ said the man sullenly. ‘I’ve seen this bit on the telly. Over and over again with the self-same questions that the other lot have asked already.’

‘Perhaps. But quite a few new questions too, I imagine,’ said Cooper.

‘Oh, great.’

Cooper settled himself against the stone wall and found a comfortable position, trying to bring himself closer to the young man’s level. It was less intimidating than standing over him, and it allowed Cooper to get a closer look at Rob Beresford’s face.

‘I do need to ask you again whether you saw anyone else in this area tonight. Now that you’ve had a bit of time to think about it. You can appreciate it’s very important.’

‘I didn’t see anyone,’ said Beresford without hesitation.

The answer came so quickly that it heightened Cooper’s attention to the man’s choice of words. Did he detect slightly too much emphasis on the word ‘see’?

‘Perhaps you heard someone?’ he said.

Beresford shook his head, still not meeting Cooper’s eye. The answer was noticeably slower in coming this time. ‘No. There was no one around.’

‘That’s a shame.’

He didn’t bother to explain why it was a shame. He could let the young man interpret that for himself. If there really was no one else around, that left only one person known to have been at the crime scene, apart from the dead woman herself. Beresford must have realised that, surely. If he’d seen this sort of thing on the telly, he’d know who the first suspect would be. Yet he made no effort to point his questioners in another direction.

For a moment Cooper watched Rob Beresford’s expression, which seemed to be set into a look of stubborn resignation. Then he glanced round at the bridge. ‘You told my colleagues you were out for a walk, sir.’

‘That’s right.’

‘An early morning walk. Very early. Do you own a dog, Mr Beresford?’

‘We have a Jack Russell terrier.’

‘So where is it?’

‘At home,’ said Beresford.

Cooper smiled at his tone. ‘It’s just that most early morning walks are accompanied by a dog in my experience. When someone is out before dawn for a walk, it suggests they have to start work early. That, or the dog has a bladder problem.’

Beresford didn’t respond. But that was fair enough – Cooper hadn’t asked him a question. The young man sat forward on the seat and stared down at his feet. His trainers were soaked.

‘What do you do for a living, sir?’ asked Cooper.

‘I’m a student.’

‘Really? Where?’

‘University of Derby. I’m studying.’

‘Buxton campus? The Dome?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So you don’t have far to go for lectures.’

‘My dad usually takes me into Buxton on his way to work.’

‘And what does he do?’

‘He’s a driver. He drives a van for a parcel delivery company.’

‘That can involve an early start, I imagine. He’ll have to get to the depot in plenty of time, so he can load up and get out on his route.’

‘Yes.’

‘Which company does your dad work for?’

‘ABC Despatch. They have a distribution centre just outside Buxton.’

‘I know it. On the industrial estate at Harpur Hill.’

‘That’s it.’

Cooper let a silence develop. Sometimes it was the best way to deal with someone like this. Beresford would be expecting the next question, the one he didn’t want to answer. But if he was left waiting long enough, he wouldn’t be able to stand the tension. Cooper was patient. Besides, he didn’t really have the energy at this time of the morning to try too hard.

The young man began to fidget, and bit his lip.

‘Well, the truth is, I needed to get away from the house for a bit,’ he said.

‘Ah.’

‘The parents. You know what it’s like.’

‘Yes.’

Cooper didn’t really. He’d never had the chance to reach that stage where you didn’t want to be in the house with each other a moment longer. But he’d heard people say it often enough, so he’d come to believe it must be true.

‘You had a row?’

‘That’s it. Nothing serious. But I had to get out, take in a bit of fresh air.’

‘Why did you come down here?’

‘I don’t know. It was just handy.’

Cooper consulted the notes he’d been given. ‘You live in Earl Sterndale, sir. You didn’t walk all this way. It must be a couple of miles at least.’

‘My bike is up the hill there.’

‘A motorbike or…’

‘Just an old pushbike. It’s all I can afford. Student loans, you know.’

‘I see.’

It was obvious that Rob Beresford wasn’t an experienced walker. No one with any sense wore expensive trainers to go hiking in. You needed a pair of boots or good stout shoes on terrain like this, or you risked breaking an ankle, not to mention ruining your footwear. And everyone knew you didn’t wear denims to walk in wet weather. They soon became sodden and heavy, and would take hours to dry out. The young man’s jeans were a much darker blue below the knee, where they’d got soaking wet from the damp undergrowth.

Beresford looked up. ‘There’s one question your mates didn’t ask. And you haven’t asked me either.’

Cooper stopped. ‘What’s that, sir?’

‘Whether I knew the dead woman.’

With a sinking heart, Cooper realised that he’d missed a vital point completely. He could only put it down to tiredness. But it was unacceptable that a witness should have to remind him of an important question he’d overlooked. He’d have to watch himself carefully, or someone else would be keeping an eye on him.

‘And did you, Mr Beresford?’ he asked.

Beresford nodded despondently.

‘Of course I did,’ he said. ‘Her name is Sandra Blair.’

4

Detective Sergeant Diane Fry didn’t do early mornings any more. Not if she could avoid it. Since she’d transferred to the Major Crime Unit of the East Midlands Special Operations Unit, her life seemed to be getting back on track. The nights were more peaceful, the days more fulfilling. Apart from a brief setback, when she’d been obliged to return to Derbyshire’s E Division to cover for sick leave, she was doing the job she’d always wanted to do. What’s more, it meant she was able to move back to a city.

When Fry first came to the Peak District, the culture shock had been pretty traumatic. Compared to her old stamping grounds in Birmingham and the Black Country, this had seemed like, well … not just the backwoods, but a barren wasteland. Those vast, bleak expanses of peat moor they called the Dark Peak were like the back of the moon to a city girl. The first day she drove past a road sign that said ‘Sheep for 10 miles’ she’d known she was no longer in civilisation.