Part 30 (2/2)

But he knew there would be no bog up there now. That stretch of moor had been dry for years.

'Which direction is it moving?'

'Westwards at the moment,' said the ranger. 'Towards Hayfield.'

'It won't get that far, surely?'

'No, we'll have it under control before then. But we're pretty overstretched. We're having to pull in all the resources we can. The trouble is, some of the other fires aren't completely damped down. They could flare up again.'

'Like Oxlow Moor?'

'Yes. Though there isn't much left to burn up there, to be honest.'

High above him, bright red embers were floating like fireflies against the bank of black smoke, and Cooper could see for himself that the fire was heading westwards.

Just away to the west was Kinder Downfall, a cascade of water falling vertically among shattered rocks. It was the highest waterfall in the county, where the River Kinder hit the edge of the plateau. On bl.u.s.tery days, the water seemed to flow upwards as the wind caught it in mid-air and hurled it back over the edge.

Below the downfall, the dark waters of Mermaid's Pool were reputed to be haunted by a spirit who could either grant eternal life or pull you under the surface and drown you. Myth said it was a site of ancient human sacrifices. He remembered looking down at the pool from the rocks and realising how obvious it was that it used to be much larger. You could make out the original shape from the slope of the ground, and from the beds of reeds standing where the shallower parts of the pool had been. It must have covered three or four times the area it did now, but its edges had retreated, the body of water shrunk to little more than a pond. It would be very difficult now to imagine anything living in there except a few small fish and the odd frog, let alone a water demon. Luckily the people of Hayfield didn't go in for human sacrifices as much as they used to.

He became aware that the ranger had finished conducting an agitated conversation on his radio and was cursing.

'What's the problem?' asked Cooper.

'Our temporary reservoir on the moor has been sabotaged.'

Cooper knew what he meant. He'd seen the big orange tank sitting in the middle of the moors. Because of the risk of fire, every year the national park rangers sited one of the water tanks out on Kinder. They held more than fifty thousand litres of water, and were large enough for a helicopter to lower its dipper bucket into, if necessary. Due to the remote nature of the moorland sites, tanks were often vital to prevent a fire from spreading. They usually stayed up there throughout the summer, and could be refilled from bowsers towed by rangers' Land Rovers.

'We had reports that the tank was empty, and when it was checked we found that somebody had cut the side of it with a knife,' said the ranger. 'The original cut was only about eighteen inches long, but the force of fifty-four thousand litres of water ripped a ten-foot hole. That's impossible to repair. We're just left with a big collapsed balloon.'

'What does that mean for Kinder?'

The ranger followed Cooper's gaze up the hill.

'The consequences of losing that tank could be devastating. They helicopter is using Ladybower Reservoir instead, but it takes a lot longer. We were hoping to stop the fire in its tracks, but that won't happen now.'

'A few more square miles destroyed, then.'

'You can bet on it.'

'And it's Kinder, too.'

'Yes, Kinder. What can I say?'

Kinder Scout had its own unique history. Britain's national park movement had started right here in the 1930s, when four hundred ramblers from Manchester staged a ma.s.s trespa.s.s on to grouse moors owned by the Duke of Devons.h.i.+re.

The 1932 Kinder Trespa.s.s was the turning point in the campaign to open up access to the countryside. Five young ramblers had been jailed, and the resulting waves of support had ensured that Kinder was included when the first national park was created in the Peak District after the Second World War. Eventually, a later Duke of Devons.h.i.+re had apologised for his ancestor's actions. How times changed.

It was an episode recorded in Derbys.h.i.+re Constabulary history, too. About a third of the force had been deployed around Hayfield to intercept ramblers taking part in the trespa.s.s. One hiker convicted of a.s.sault on a gamekeeper had protested his innocence right into his eighties. It had taken an enlightened chief constable to make amends for that one.

Cooper went back to his Toyota. He had to accept that there wasn't much he could do, short of grabbing a beater and going up on the moor himself. Being here was just tormenting him, and he might even be getting in the way. He wished the ranger luck, and left.

Near Upper Booth, a couple of cars had been turning in a field entrance, and came slowly past him down the road. A silver Mercedes and a pale blue VW. As they pa.s.sed, Cooper saw that their paintwork was covered in black specks, a shower of oily soot from the moorland fires they'd been watching with such enjoyment.

It looked as though the ranger's prayers had been answered. The wind had changed direction after all.

At West Street, Cooper sat down at his desk and tried to get his thoughts in order. It was taking a bit of an effort this morning.

He remembered first of all that he'd arranged to meet Josh Lane at the Light House later on. The cellars were one part of the pub he felt sure hadn't been looked at. Since nothing seemed to have been taken, a reason for the presence at the Light House of either Aidan Merritt or his killer still hadn't been established. But what might be in the cellars?

He was picturing a motorcycle now. That was Roddy who'd put the idea into his head. But Maurice Wharton hadn't been the type to ride a motorbike a or any of his family, except perhaps his son. Eliot was old enough to have a driving licence at seventeen, but he would have been too young when they lived at the pub.

Ah yes, Aidan Merritt a that was the second thing. According to Mrs Wheatcroft, Merritt's father had been interested in the abandoned mines, and knew the locations of all the old shafts, maybe some that had been lost for a while. Had Aidan picked up some of that knowledge from his father?

It was interesting to speculate, but Cooper wasn't sure how it fitted in with the inquiry. The mine shafts had been searched after the disappearance of David and Trisha Pearson, and there was nothing to suggest that Aidan Merritt had even had any contact with the Pearsons, let alone a reason to kill them.

So what else was there? Cooper tapped a pencil against his teeth as he gazed out of the window at the rooftops of Edendale. There was something that still eluded him, a memory that he hadn't quite grasped at the time, and that was proving even more elusive now. He hoped it would come back to him at some point when he wasn't thinking about it.

DI Hitchens stuck his head round the door.

'Ben, have you got a minute?' he said.

Cooper went into the DI's office. Hitchens looked weary, drained of energy. He had a leaflet on his desk promoting a seminar for inspectors. Meeting the challenges of the new performance landscape.

'I wanted you to be the first to know, Ben,' he said. 'I'll be moving on soon.'

'Really?'

'Yes, one way or another.'

Cooper sat down. He didn't quite know how he felt about that. He was used to his DI, who had served in E Division for years. But everyone moved on eventually a especially if they were the least bit ambitious and wanted promotion. It always created a bit of uncertainty, though. Who would they get in his place? Hitchens might not have been the most dynamic DI, particularly in recent years. But sometimes it was better the devil you knew than the devil you didn't.

Automatically, Cooper's mind began to run through potential candidates for the job, those in other divisions rumoured to be tipped for promotion or transfer. On the other hand, might the DI's departure create a vacancy that would be filled internally?

'And you'll be losing DC Murfin soon,' said Hitchens. 'How do you feel about that?'

'Gavin has a lot of experience,' said Cooper, immediately conscious that he'd said it before, and not just once. Was it starting to sound as if he was d.a.m.ning Murfin with faint praise?

'Experience, yes. It's worth a lot. Or it used to be, anyway. Everything is different these days, as you know. We have to make cutbacks everywhere we can.'

'We're not likely to lose anyone else, are we?' said Cooper.

Hitchens shrugged. 'Who can say?'

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