Blind to the Bones (26 page)

‘Have you actually seen Mrs Wallwin recently?' he asked.

Wendy looked at him as if she'd just noticed him come in. ‘She keeps herself to herself,' she said.

‘So you haven't seen her?'

‘No, but she's OK. She's not dead or anything.'

‘How do you know?'

‘She bangs on the wall sometimes, when we have the telly turned up loud.'

‘Do the kids ever bother her?'

‘What, these two? They cry a bit sometimes, but not that bad.'

‘No, I was thinking of the older kids in the terrace – the Oxleys.'

‘I'm not sure what you mean.'

‘Well, sometimes, they can be a bit mischievous. Someone living on their own can become a target. Knocking on the door and running away. Shouting abuse through the letter box. Stealing bottles of milk. Writing rude words on the windows.'

Wendy was staring at him. ‘You got into bad company when you were a kid, did you?' she said.

‘That's just me, is it, then?'

‘I don't think the kids here do any of those things.'

‘OK.'

‘I mean, they've been in trouble now and then. You probably know that.'

‘Yes.'

‘But they don't do stuff to the neighbours.'

‘Are you sure?' said Cooper.

‘I'm quite sure. Their dad makes a rule about it. He'd kill them if they did anything to the neighbours.'

‘There have been some break-ins in this area recently. There was one at the church on Friday night.'

‘Oh, we don't go to church,' said Melvyn.

‘No, but –'

‘Besides, isn't it antiques and stuff that's being taken? The Renshaws have been done, and the Deardens down the road there.'

‘Yes.'

‘You want to be looking for some gang from outside, then.'

‘We were actually wondering if you had seen or heard anything suspicious.'

‘We're stuck in the house,' said Melvyn. ‘And you don't see much from down here, you know.'

‘Let us know if you think of anything.'

The baby began to cry. It started quietly, but threatened to build up quickly. While Wendy swore over the nappy, Melvyn began to show Cooper and Udall to the door.

‘So what do you think about living next to so many members of the Oxley family?' said Cooper cheerfully, as he paused on the Taggs' doorstep. A tense silence fell. Melvyn stopped smiling. Wendy flushed and walked towards the kitchen without another word.

‘Wendy was an Oxley, before we got married,' said Melvyn.

‘Ah.'

‘She still is, really, if the truth be known,' he added.

‘Still is? Do you mean …?'

‘Oh, we got married properly, unlike some that I could name. We did it right, in the church with the vicar and everything. We had a reception at the Quiet Shepherd, sausage rolls and cheese on sticks. We even had a photographer, and a honeymoon. In the Algarve.'

‘Right.'

‘We're still paying for that, though.'

‘So …?'

‘So Wendy's a Tagg according to the law, but still an Oxley under the skin. Heart and soul, if you ask me. Nobody ever leaves that family. Not until they die.'

‘They must be very close, I suppose. Not many families would choose to live so near together.'

‘You can say that again. Personally, I couldn't wait to get away from my lot. My family only came to the wedding because they wanted to see if it was true what everybody kept telling them about the Oxleys.'

‘But you fit in all right here, do you, sir?'

‘Yes, I do,' said Melvyn. ‘When I married Wendy, I became an Oxley as far as they're concerned. One of the family, I am. Don't make any mistake about that.'

‘Thank you very much,' said Cooper. ‘I wouldn't want to make two mistakes in the same afternoon.'

S
tanding in front of Waterloo Terrace, Ben Cooper looked up towards the road. Melvyn Tagg was right – you couldn't see much from here. Waterloo Terrace was almost completely cut off from view by the thick covering of sycamores and chestnut trees on three sides. Even in the entrance, the track took a forty-five degree turn to reach the road, so that nothing passing could be seen from the houses. Not from ground level, anyway. And probably not even from the upper floor.

He turned back to the houses. Number 5 was next. Its brick façade was indistinguishable from the others in the row, except that the door and window frames had been painted blue, and a plastic water butt stood under the end of the downspout to collect the rainwater. Nettles were growing against the wall, and their tops had already reached the window ledge.

But at 5 Waterloo Terrace, Frances Oxley wasn't at home. Or she didn't answer the door, which wasn't quite the same thing.

‘I think Mr Alton mentioned her,' said Ben Cooper. ‘This must be Fran, Lucas Oxley's daughter.'

‘That's the one,' said PC Udall.

They stood on the step and waited for a moment or two. Cooper rang the bell again. There was something about the house that made it feel as though there was someone at home, but lurking behind the curtains or in the shadows of the hallway. He stood a bit closer to the front door, listening for footsteps in the hall. Udall followed his lead, taking a couple of steps to the side, and casually glancing through the curtains of the front window. She shook her head.

‘No sign of anyone.'

‘Mr Alton suggested there was a man in Fran Oxley's life, but he seemed a bit vague about his status.'

‘Maybe he spends a lot of time away,' said Udall.

Cooper walked backwards to the gate and looked up at the house. The curtains were drawn upstairs, and there was no smoke coming from the chimney, as there was from numbers six and seven. Fran Oxley's house might be heated by gas or electricity, rather than the smokeless solid fuel Mrs Wallwin favoured.

‘By “away”, do you mean working away, or away at Her Majesty's pleasure?' said Cooper.

‘Working, I was thinking. But who knows?'

‘Is there mains gas in Withens?'

‘I doubt it. The bigger houses have propane gas cylinders.'

‘Of course – I've seen them. I suppose it's a bit too remote here. It's easier for the coal man to get here than the gas company.'

Cooper tried the door again, but there was still no response. And it still didn't feel right. People who didn't answer their door to the police were a challenge. They made him want to know more about them.

‘Number 4, then,' he said. ‘Mr Scott Oxley.'

Cooper knocked on the next door. They were all looking the same already. And at number 4, Scott wasn't in, either.

He shrugged at Udall.

‘There are three more houses yet,' she said.

They didn't need to go out of the gate and down the path to the next house, because there was no wall or fence separating numbers 3 and 4. There was nothing to prevent them just walking a few feet along the flags. But they did have to cross the entrance to one of the dark passages that Cooper thought of as a ginnel – though they weren't anything like the usual narrow alleyways that he was familiar with in White Peak villages. Ginnels could be pleasant little thoroughfares, bordered by hedges and trees, and offering glimpses of other people's back gardens or flower-covered walls. They usually led somewhere that you wanted to go, too. But the dark, brick passages of Waterloo Terrace held no temptation at all.

‘I suppose these passages lead into a kind of communal yard at the back,' said Udall. ‘I don't know what they keep back there.'

‘Perhaps Mr Lucas Oxley will tell us.'

But there wasn't much chance of that. Again, there was no response to his knocking.

‘It's starting to feel as though we're not wanted,' said Cooper.

And then he heard a very low growl, which stopped almost immediately. It died simultaneously with the sound of his own voice, so that he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it at first. Logically, he wasn't sure. But emotionally, he had no doubts.

‘Well, you got that about right.'

Lucas Oxley was standing just within the arch of the passage that ran between numbers 1 and 2. He was wearing the same suit that he'd had on the day before yesterday, and the same hat. The long snout of the shaggy-haired Alsatian protruded from the corner of the brick wall, close to its owner's leg. Its eyes were fixed on Cooper, and a small string of saliva dripped from the side of its mouth on to the path.

Oxley had been standing so still that again Cooper wouldn't have been aware of him, but for the dog. A man who could keep still, and a dog that could keep silent. They made a formidable combination.

Lucas Oxley looked annoyed. Briefly, Cooper wondered whether he was more irritated by the fact that his dog had let him down and broken its silence, or by his unwelcome visitors. Tracy Udall took a couple of steps to the side to separate herself from Cooper and create two targets instead of one. There was a low brick wall between them and Oxley, but it was no barrier to the dog. Cooper couldn't see the body of the Alsatian, but he was hoping that Oxley had it on a strong leash, for now. He had to be polite, anyway, until other measures were called for. It was procedure.

‘Police, Mr Oxley. Detective Constable Cooper and Police Constable Udall.'

‘You were here before,' said Oxley suspiciously.

He looked at Udall. Cooper could tell from the corner of his eye that Udall had adopted a non-threatening stance known as the ‘Father Murphy', with her palms open and facing upwards, her left foot slightly forward and her body half-turned. Her forearms would be in contact with her baton and handcuffs, and her cuffs could be drawn unobtrusively, if necessary. It had been automatic for her, something deeply ingrained from her training. And it was a sensible precaution.

But Cooper felt a bit more relaxed. He had met this dog before, and he knew it would have attacked by now, if Lucas Oxley intended it to. But this time he couldn't mistake Udall's uniform.

‘I was here on Saturday,' said Cooper. ‘What's the dog called?'

Oxley shifted his feet a bit. He was a man of so little movement that this was almost a burst of activity. Watching him carefully, Cooper decided to read it as a form of apology. Oxley gazed down at the dog.

‘Nelson,' he said.

‘Nelson? That's a grand name.' Cooper could see that the dog had two eyes, so maybe the name had some other significance than a reference to Admiral Horatio Nelson. The row of houses was called Waterloo Terrace. But surely the Battle of Waterloo was on land, won by the Duke of Wellington?

The Alsatian looked pleased to hear its name and get a bit of attention from its owner. Cooper still couldn't see its body for the brickwork, but the angle of its head changed, and he knew it had sat down. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

‘We'd just like a few words, if you don't mind.'

‘Well, I mind.'

Cooper took a breath, but pretended he hadn't heard properly. ‘We're asking a few routine questions. You know about the death of your nephew, Neil Granger?'

‘I heard.'

‘It's a quiet village, isn't it? We're hoping that residents like yourself might have seen something. A strange vehicle, or anyone acting suspiciously around the area some time on Friday night or Saturday morning.'

‘I saw nothing,' said Oxley. ‘Are you finished?'

‘Well, we'd like to have a word with any members of your family –'

‘They're not at home. You know the way out.'

The Alsatian's ears went up as it heard the change of tone in Lucas Oxley's voice, and it let out another rumbling growl. At this point, the procedure was to retreat.

‘Don't you want to
help
?' said Cooper in frustration.

Oxley looked unimpressed. ‘We help ourselves,' he said.

I
n the next lay-by down the valley from where Neil Granger had left his Volkswagen, there was a roadside café in a portakabin, for lorry drivers who wanted to stop on their trans-Pennine runs over the A628. Across the road, black-and-white crash barriers had a strip of red reflectors set into them, warning of the bend as well as the drop.

The lay-by itself contained the usual debris from passing vehicles – fragments of windscreen glass, cigarette packets, aluminium drinks cans, bits of broken pallet, an entire lorry wheel. And, inexplicably, a pair of green serge trousers lay on the grass, with their legs intertwined. The wall was topped by barbed wire strung between rusted iron posts, intended to discourage people from falling over into the stream below. Further up the hill, water ran down a series of natural steps formed from dark, smooth stones.