‘Mr Naden?’ called Cooper when they got closer.

The man looked up, startled. Almost frightened. For a moment Cooper wondered if he was deaf, or listening to an iPod while he worked. But it appeared he’d just been so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he was noticing nothing around him. That took quite a bit of concentration.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ he said, with the rake poised in mid-air. ‘I can’t show you the church. I don’t have the keys.’

‘We’re not visitors, sir.’

Cooper produced his warrant card and introduced himself and Irvine.

Naden looked around him and hefted the rake in his hand. For a second Cooper thought he was going to do a runner or lash out at the two police officers. He almost took a step backwards to put himself out of reach of a weapon, but stopped himself. He was surely just imagining things. Everybody was starting to look suspicious.

‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ asked Naden finally.

‘We’re making enquiries about a lady called Sandra Blair,’ said Cooper.

‘She works at the tea rooms.’

‘That’s the lady.’

Naden began to poke at some more leaves, but in a desultory fashion. There was no longer the passion he’d been showing with the rake when Cooper first set eyes on him.

‘We’re trying to contact her family. Would you know—’

‘There’s a sister in Scotland, I think.’

‘We’re aware of that.’

‘But that’s all I know.’

Cooper sighed. He was beginning to wonder if this sibling north of the border actually existed. Could she be a figment of Sandra Blair’s imagination, casually mentioned to everyone she met in order to give the impression that she had a family like everyone else? If the sister in Scotland couldn’t be tracked down, he might have to turn his attention to finding the family of the deceased husband. For some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he had no faith in the existence of a grandfather who’d arranged a meeting at one o’clock in the morning.

‘Are you the churchwarden or something?’ asked Cooper.

‘No, I just help out,’ said Naden. ‘We all have to do our bit.’

‘And how did you first meet Mrs Blair?’

Naden shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, really. I suppose she’s always been working at the tea rooms.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, that’s where we always saw her. She doesn’t live in Hartington.’

‘No, you’re right there.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper noticed Irvine had walked a few yards away and was kicking at a pile of leaves. He was getting bored.

But Cooper waited a little longer. Naden raised his head, sensing from the silence that he was supposed to say something else.

‘What’s happened to Sandra Blair, then?’ he said. ‘Has she had an accident?’

I thought you’d never ask, thought Cooper.

‘Something like that, sir,’ he said.

‘Well, he was a washout,’ said Irvine as they returned to the car. ‘Mr Grumpy with the rake. What was his name?’

‘Mr Naden,’ said Cooper.

‘He didn’t tell us anything.’

‘He might do, though. Given time.’

Irvine laughed. ‘I don’t know how you can have so much patience with people like that, Ben.’

‘Sometimes it’s the only way,’ said Cooper.

‘Are we going back to West Street now?’ asked Irvine.

‘Yes.’

‘What next, then?’

‘That address book has to be gone through,’ said Cooper. ‘Sandra Blair’s remaining relatives must be in there somewhere. The sister in Scotland…’

‘And her grandfather,’ said Irvine.

‘Yes. Well, possibly. And perhaps someone who knew her a bit better than her employer and her neighbours. Gavin should be in the office. You can do the job between you. But let me know if you think you’ve traced the sister. We’ll need her to come down for a formal identification and start going through all the formalities.’

‘Couldn’t someone else do the identification? Someone who knew Mrs Blair well?’

‘Yes, of course, if we really needed it,’ said Cooper. ‘We could get Miss Grindey to do it. But it’s a sensitive issue for the family of a murder victim. They feel it’s their job, to make that official confirmation of the death of their family member. They don’t understand when it’s been left to some person they didn’t even know, and they can get very upset about it. It just doesn’t feel right to them. They should be the first to know about the death, too. But in this case…’

‘Understood.’

Cooper took a last look around the centre of the village. His route back to Edendale would be up through Hartington Dale and north on the A515 to the turning for Tideswell.

Despite the visitors, Hartington was actually quieter than he remembered it. That was due to the closure of the cheese factory, he supposed. There were no delivery vehicles coming and going to the empty factory in Stonewell Lane. There was no major employer in the village now. And he didn’t have time to buy that piece of cheese either.

‘After that you can call it a day, Luke,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if there are any house-to-house enquiries to do near the crime scene.’

‘There are no houses there,’ said Irvine.

‘Exactly. I’m going to get the press office to start putting out some public appeals as soon as possible. Tomorrow we’ll see what forensics have come up with. Then we ought to have some leads to follow up.’

‘Suits me,’ said Irvine. ‘I’ve got a date tonight anyway.’

Cooper looked at him as he started the Toyota. He couldn’t help a twinge of envy. He’d been Luke Irvine’s age once and it wasn’t all that long ago either. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to say those words to a colleague: ‘I’ve got a date tonight.’ It sounded so innocent. The sentence seemed to hang in the air inside the car, oozing with freedom and hope for the future.

With a jerk, Cooper put the car into gear and drove away from Hartington.

‘Good luck with that then, Luke,’ he said.

10

The first appeals for witnesses were broadcast on the local TV news early that evening. They appeared on Twitter feeds for the police and BBC Radio Derby, and were soon all over the internet. Detectives wanted to hear from anyone who’d been in an area of the Upper Dove Valley last night near a location known as Hollins Bridge.

When Cooper heard the appeal, he realised the press office had decided against using the familiar colloquial name for the bridge. Instead they had chosen the official name, which featured on Ordnance Survey maps of the White Peak but was never used by ordinary people. At least, it wasn’t used by local people – only by visitors who relied entirely on maps.

That was a pity. The individuals they were hoping to hear from would surely be local. Too often people didn’t have enough knowledge about their own locality. Not accurate, factual knowledge. They just knew the stories and legends, and the vernacular names.

So he just had to hope that someone with useful information would make the proper connection. But wasn’t that the whole principle behind solving crime?

Cooper tidied the paperwork on his desk, pulled on his jacket and left the office. He drove out through the barrier from the police compound and headed down West Street towards the town.

Dusk was long past and it was dark over Edendale. Below him street lights sparkled in the cold air and windows of houses glowed in their pale colours. It would only need the first heavy frost to arrive and the town would start to look quite Christmassy.

The thought reminded him that he had some shopping to do. Instead of continuing all the way to Fargate, he turned off into Hollowgate and found a parking place in the market square near the war memorial.

When he got out of the car, Cooper listened for a few moments, enjoying the sound of the River Eden running below him in the darkness. At night its sound had a mysterious quality, as if thousands of tiny, invisible creatures were out there, whispering and murmuring until daylight came again. He could picture the mallard ducks that lived on this stretch of the river through the centre of town. They would be bobbing gently on the surface as they slept with their heads towards the weir. The flow of water didn’t seem to bother them. He’d always admired the ability of the mallards to float calmly in whatever torrent of water came their way.