Part 19 (2/2)

She shrugged. 'Well, there's no point in apologising now, is there? It's all water under the bridge. All just history.'

'Was I ...?'

'Yes?'

'Was I very obnoxious? When I had too much to drink, I mean.'

Nancy smiled sadly. 'Don't worry. You could never be as an obnoxious as some. There are people born into the world just to be a pain in the a.r.s.e. You soon learn that in the pub trade.'

As he left the house and walked the short length of scrubby garden to the gate, Cooper looked at the street packed with old council houses. Both sides of the road were lined solidly with cars for which there were no garages or off-road parking s.p.a.ces.

For a moment he was overwhelmed by the difference between this and the setting of the Light House a the wild open landscape, the sense of absolute isolation. Nature was right on the doorstep as you left the pub. All he saw here were cl.u.s.ters of wheelie bins, and motorbikes shrouded in multicoloured polyester covers.

From Oxlow Moor, the views stretched for miles in every direction, to the glowering presence of Kinder Scout in the distance. Here, he saw no further than an identical house twenty yards away across the street.

DI Hitchens tapped Cooper on the shoulder as he arrived back in the CID room at West Street.

'Ben, don't forget Henry Pearson is due to arrive with us this morning.'

'I hadn't forgotten,' said Cooper. 'Is Mrs Pearson coming too?'

'No, I understand it's just her husband. I'm sure he will have planned it that way.'

'To minimise the emotional complications, I suppose.'

'Yes.'

'What have we told Mr Pearson?'

'Just that some items have been found that we believe belonged to his son and daughter-in-law, which we'd like him to help us identify. He didn't question that; he hasn't even asked what items we found. But he seems to have dropped everything to come straight up from Surrey.'

'He'll want to know more when he arrives.'

'Yes, I'm sure he will. But we need to be a bit discreet, Ben.'

'Discreet? You mean we're going to hold back some information?'

'Yes. Until we're, you know ... sure.'

'Sure about the identification of the items? Or sure that Mr Pearson hasn't been involved in some kind of conspiracy over these last couple of years?'

'It never does any harm to be certain,' said Hitchens.

Cooper felt a spasm of discomfort. That was going to be an awkward encounter. Relatives of victims often wanted to be told everything. It put a police officer in a difficult position to know far more than he was able to share.

17.

Sometime during the past six months, Josh Lane had found himself a job at one of the biggest hotels in Edendale. Cooper had thought he might have moved on to a different industry altogether. Bar work wasn't the best-paid occupation in the world, after all. But he supposed some people enjoyed it. Lane had stayed on at the Light House right to the end, so why shouldn't he have looked for a similar job elsewhere?

But the hotel he was employed at now was rather more upmarket than the Light House had ever been, not to mention much easier to find. It stood on a rise overlooking Edendale town centre, with a view over Victoria Park towards the town hall and the market square. It was favoured by the more well-heeled tourists, and by production companies filming at locations in the area.

Lane was polis.h.i.+ng gla.s.ses in a plush lounge bar behind the lobby. A few hotel guests sat around on sofas drinking coffee, rather than anything alcoholic. Cooper couldn't recall the Light House ever serving coffee. Anyone who asked for it would have been pressing one of Mad Maurice's red b.u.t.tons.

It smelled very good, though, and Cooper was pleased when Lane offered him one.

'Latte?'

'Thank you.'

'A pleasure.'

Cooper sat on a high stool at the counter to drink his coffee. Lane was older than he'd expected. Another mistaken preconception perhaps. He'd imagined a young man in his twenties, maybe Australian, doing a bit of bar work before finding a real job in marine biology or whatever his degree had been in.

But Lane was probably in his late thirties, a little over-weight, a discreet piercing in one ear, his hair gelled into short blond spikes.

'Yes, I remember Merritt,' he said when Cooper opened the subject.

'Was there ever any trouble?'

'With Aidan Merritt? No.'

Cooper detected a subtle hint there. He felt he should take that reply as an invitation to ask a different question. There was a bit of information that Lane wasn't going to volunteer, but it was there to be obtained if he persisted.

'Who, then?' he asked.

'There were other customers who weren't so well behaved as Aidan Merritt.'

Okay, so that was the deal a Cooper needed to produce a name. He tried the first one that came to mind.

'Ian Gullick?'

'You're close,' said Lane.

'This isn't a guessing game,' snapped Cooper.

He immediately regretted losing his patience. Many individuals would clam up when they were spoken to the wrong way.

'No, I'm sorry,' said Lane. 'I'm just ... well, I know we're not exactly doctors or priests, but if people thought we were gossiping about them, it wouldn't be good for business. I like to chat to my customers a bit a it makes them feel at ease. So they often end up telling me things they wouldn't want to be pa.s.sed on.'

'Vince Naylor?' said Cooper.

Lane visibly relaxed.

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