Dead And Buried

‘We’ve located Ian Gullick’s vehicle,’ said Becky Hurst’s voice in his earpiece.

‘A blue Transit?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes, it was in the town hall car park, close to the market.’

‘It’s not a priority.’

‘I thought not. Uniforms have picked up Gullick, and Gavin’s processing him, since he made the arrest.’

‘Okay.’

Cooper looked around the park. There was a dog handler too, with his modified Zafira and two dogs in cages at the back — a German Shepherd and a young Springer spaniel training for drug-sniffing work. There might only be two handlers on duty in Derbyshire at any one time, and they covered huge areas in those Zafiras. During the course of a shift they could do up to three hundred miles, a lot of that at night, and mostly on blue lights.

To complete the police presence, an off-duty officer dressed in a tracksuit had set up a couple of punchbags in front of the Ozbox van. Ozbox had been one of the big success stories for Derbyshire Constabulary since it was set up by Sergeant Steve Osbaldeston. It ran six mobile gyms, with two hundred officers volunteering their time to teach boxing skills to thousands of youngsters from problem areas. Old Ozbox himself had got the MBE a few years ago for his work. This was real community relations in action.

‘Carol?’ said Cooper. ‘Are you still on Vince Naylor?’

‘We’re sitting behind him on Hulley Road.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘He’s in his pickup making a phone call, as far I can tell from here.’

‘Damn, that might mean he’s already heard about Gullick.’

‘Possibly. What do you want us to do?’

‘Nothing hasty,’ said Cooper. ‘Just stay with him for now.’

‘Fine.’

Cooper walked past the E Division Neighbourhood Watch tent. Buxton Mountain Rescue were performing an operation on a scaffolding tower using something called a Petzl nappy. Below the scaffolding stood the BMRT Ford Transit ambulance and Land Rover. Next to them, Derbyshire Cave Rescue Organisation had set up a plastic cave for kids to crawl through with lights strapped to their heads.

He stopped to pat the head of a SARDA rescue dog, a broken-coated collie with odd eyes. It was odd to find the rescue dog here in the park in the centre of Edendale, being fussed by the public. He’d just been thinking that the Pearsons ought to have been here enjoying the Christmas market instead of walking across the moors in the snow. And this dog might have been the very animal to locate them if they’d been lost or injured out there. Despite its appearance, he knew it had the ability to sniff out a human scent over a kilometre away in the right conditions.

‘Hold on, it looks as though he’s moving again,’ said Villiers.

Cooper looked across the park in the direction of Hulley Road, which ran towards the bridge over the river and the traffic lights at Fargate. He couldn’t see the white Toyota pickup from here, or the CID pool car behind it containing Carol Villiers and Luke Irvine. He pictured them moving off and passing the back of the Royal Theatre.

He began to head towards the corner of the park. A Fire and Rescue team were drawing a crowd by rescuing a mock casualty from an adjacent roof with the extending ladder and cage. He’d probably missed the chip-pan fire demonstration, which always attracted a lot of attention, especially when a firefighter threw water on to the burning pan to illustrate the wrong way to deal with it, sending a sheet of flame and smoke shooting up and over the demonstration vehicle.

He’d once seen a fireman playing up to the kids in the audience by wearing a wig that showed long hair peeping out from under his helmet. Then, after the blaze, he pretended his hair had been scorched, and removed his helmet to reveal a totally bald head. That was always good for a laugh.

Cooper looked for the Fire and Rescue Service’s Argo Centaur 9500, the 8x8 ATV with fat tyres and a fire fogging system that was normally here for Emergency Services Day. But the Argo was missing today.

Of course, like every other bit of available specialist equipment, it was in demand. It would already be in use out on the moors — not battling a snowstorm like David and Trisha Pearson, but helping to fight those out-of-control moorland fires.

‘He’s stopping again,’ said Villiers. ‘Yes, he’s getting out. Looks like he’s working on a job here. Property on the corner of Hulley Road and Bargate.’

‘I’m on my way,’ said Cooper. ‘Don’t do anything until I get there, and we have backup. We don’t want another runner.’

‘No,’ said Villiers. ‘Especially as we don’t have Gavin here to make the arrest.’

The custody suite at Edendale wasn’t one of the newest in the county. If the station ever closed in a further round of rationalisation, the cells might have a sustainable future as a museum of post-war policing. Basic wasn’t the word for the facilities. But they weren’t designed to encourage a long-term stay.