The Dead Place by Stephen Booth Page B
Authors: Stephen Booth
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, England, Police Procedural, Traditional British, Policewomen, Police - England - Derbyshire, Derbyshire (England), Cooper; Ben (Fictitious Character), Fry; Diane (Fictitious Character)
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with weary, patronizing expressions. One of them yawned deeply and dropped his head back to the floor with a thump, rolling his eyes at the two men.
'They're hoping it'll be dinner time soon,' said Jarvis. 'Idle buggers, they are. I don't know why I give them house room.'
'Are they any good as guard dogs?'
Jarvis snorted. 'Guard dogs? Well, if I could train them to sleep in the right places, they might trip somebody up in the dark. But that's about the strength of it.'
'Still, they're big enough,' said Cooper. 'The sight of them alone might deter burglars.'
'Aye, happen so.'
But Jarvis didn't seem convinced. Perhaps living at the damp end of the valley for so long had given him an eternally
48 sceptical view of life. The outlook was always rain at Litton Foot. He would probably react the same way if Cooper told him the sun would break through one day. Aye, happen so.
Jarvis descended the steps and headed down the path, not looking to see if Cooper was following.
'Graceless, now, she really likes people,' he said. 'Whenever somebody new comes to the house, she always wants to . . .'
'What?'
'Well, she likes to sniff their trousers, if you know what I mean.'
'Their trousers?'
'If you know what I mean.'
'Oh, yes.'
'Not everybody likes it,' said Jarvis.
'No, I can imagine.'
'But she's only being friendly. I'm wasting my time trying to stop her. She's a big lass, and if she wants to go somewhere, she goes. She doesn't mean any harm by it, but some folk get the wrong idea when they see her coming.'
'Yes.'
'She hates it,' said Jarvis, with that jerk of his head again.
'Your wife? Well, it must be a bit embarrassing when you have visitors.'
'What visitors?'
'Business not good, sir?'
Jarvis gave him a sour look and wiped the moisture from his hands on the legs of his jeans.
It had been dry on the porch, but now Cooper was glad he'd put on his jacket before he left the car. It was the one he'd taken to the Black Mountains with him for the weekend, so the pockets were full of all kinds of odds and ends, but it kept him dry as he waded through the long grass in the rain.
Litton Foot lay deep in Ravensdale, above Cressbrook village. Ash woods hung above the stream here, deep and dank. Ivy had wrapped itself around the tall, slender trunks
49 of the trees, spiralling high into the canopy, seeking a bit of sun. Everything at ground level was covered in moss so thick that it was difficult to tell what was stone, what was wood, and what was something else slowly rotting in the damp air.
Just downstream, he knew there were two rows of cottages built for the workers at Cressbrook Mill, but they weren't visible from here. Stepping stones crossed the water down there to help climbers reach the limestone pitches on Ravens cliff e Crags. On the wet margins of the stream grew clumps of a plant that Cooper didn't recognize - something like a ten-foot-high cow parsley with purple stems and spotted leaf stalks, furred with tiny spines.
'There's a footpath at the bottom of your land, isn't there, sir?' he said.
'It isn't the footpath that's the problem,' said Jarvis. 'That's been there for centuries, as far as I know. It's this new law they brought in. This . . . what is it? ... right to roam. Some folk think it gives them the right to go traipsing all over the shop. There was a bunch of them came right down through the paddock and tried to walk across the weir. I don't mind admitting, I were fair chuffed when one of them fell in the stream. She were near to drowning, judging by her noise.'
Finally, they reached the patch of ground that had been dug out around the remains of the unidentified woman. Blueandwhite police tape still clung to the trunks of nearby trees, some of it trailing on the ground now in sodden strands, one loose end rattling sporadically in the breeze. Cooper couldn't tell now how wide an area the search had covered.
He hadn't brought any of the scene photos with him, but could remember them well enough
'They're hoping it'll be dinner time soon,' said Jarvis. 'Idle buggers, they are. I don't know why I give them house room.'
'Are they any good as guard dogs?'
Jarvis snorted. 'Guard dogs? Well, if I could train them to sleep in the right places, they might trip somebody up in the dark. But that's about the strength of it.'
'Still, they're big enough,' said Cooper. 'The sight of them alone might deter burglars.'
'Aye, happen so.'
But Jarvis didn't seem convinced. Perhaps living at the damp end of the valley for so long had given him an eternally
48 sceptical view of life. The outlook was always rain at Litton Foot. He would probably react the same way if Cooper told him the sun would break through one day. Aye, happen so.
Jarvis descended the steps and headed down the path, not looking to see if Cooper was following.
'Graceless, now, she really likes people,' he said. 'Whenever somebody new comes to the house, she always wants to . . .'
'What?'
'Well, she likes to sniff their trousers, if you know what I mean.'
'Their trousers?'
'If you know what I mean.'
'Oh, yes.'
'Not everybody likes it,' said Jarvis.
'No, I can imagine.'
'But she's only being friendly. I'm wasting my time trying to stop her. She's a big lass, and if she wants to go somewhere, she goes. She doesn't mean any harm by it, but some folk get the wrong idea when they see her coming.'
'Yes.'
'She hates it,' said Jarvis, with that jerk of his head again.
'Your wife? Well, it must be a bit embarrassing when you have visitors.'
'What visitors?'
'Business not good, sir?'
Jarvis gave him a sour look and wiped the moisture from his hands on the legs of his jeans.
It had been dry on the porch, but now Cooper was glad he'd put on his jacket before he left the car. It was the one he'd taken to the Black Mountains with him for the weekend, so the pockets were full of all kinds of odds and ends, but it kept him dry as he waded through the long grass in the rain.
Litton Foot lay deep in Ravensdale, above Cressbrook village. Ash woods hung above the stream here, deep and dank. Ivy had wrapped itself around the tall, slender trunks
49 of the trees, spiralling high into the canopy, seeking a bit of sun. Everything at ground level was covered in moss so thick that it was difficult to tell what was stone, what was wood, and what was something else slowly rotting in the damp air.
Just downstream, he knew there were two rows of cottages built for the workers at Cressbrook Mill, but they weren't visible from here. Stepping stones crossed the water down there to help climbers reach the limestone pitches on Ravens cliff e Crags. On the wet margins of the stream grew clumps of a plant that Cooper didn't recognize - something like a ten-foot-high cow parsley with purple stems and spotted leaf stalks, furred with tiny spines.
'There's a footpath at the bottom of your land, isn't there, sir?' he said.
'It isn't the footpath that's the problem,' said Jarvis. 'That's been there for centuries, as far as I know. It's this new law they brought in. This . . . what is it? ... right to roam. Some folk think it gives them the right to go traipsing all over the shop. There was a bunch of them came right down through the paddock and tried to walk across the weir. I don't mind admitting, I were fair chuffed when one of them fell in the stream. She were near to drowning, judging by her noise.'
Finally, they reached the patch of ground that had been dug out around the remains of the unidentified woman. Blueandwhite police tape still clung to the trunks of nearby trees, some of it trailing on the ground now in sodden strands, one loose end rattling sporadically in the breeze. Cooper couldn't tell now how wide an area the search had covered.
He hadn't brought any of the scene photos with him, but could remember them well enough
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