'Nothing wrong with that, Mrs Wharton.'

'No, no. Of course not, Well, Eliot is the clever one, anyway. He's in the sixth form at Lady Manners in Bakewell.'

'I wonder if we could speak to them?'

'They're not here.'

'Pity.'

Just then, they both heard a key turn in the front door, and a male voice calling through the house.

'Mum?'

Eliot Wharton was a tall young man, with short fair hair, flushed cheeks and large hands that dangled by his sides. Cooper wondered if he was a rugby player.

He looked at his mother, and then at Cooper and Murfin with the beginnings of hostility.

'Who's this?' he said.

'The police, love.'

'Oh. Again.'

'Is Kirsten with you?' asked Nancy.

'Yes, I'm here,' said Kirsten from the hall.

Cooper realised that there was hardly any room for anyone else in the lounge since Eliot had entered. They seemed to be uncomfortably close together, too close for anyone who might have problems over their personal s.p.a.ce.

Nancy explained to her children what Cooper was asking. They both began shaking their heads simultaneously.

'That night, the night before the people went missing,' said Eliot. 'They were in the pub then, weren't they? The police asked us questions. But other than that ...'

Cooper turned to Eliot's sister. 'Kirsten?

She shrugged. 'How would I know? I wasn't even old enough to be in the bar, was I?'

He wasn't sure about that. Too young to drink alcohol, or serve it to customers, yes. But not too young to be in the bar. Children under sixteen could go anywhere in a pub as long as they were supervised by an adult.

'I know your husband is very ill,' said Cooper. 'And there's nothing I can say that will help.'

'Maurice has good days and bad days,' said Nancy. 'Of course the bad days can be very bad indeed. The drugs control the pain, but they have a lot of side effects.'

'I understand.'

She studied Cooper closely for a few moments, pursing her lips and frowning, as if trying to make a difficult decision.

'Your colleague who came here asked if she could talk to Maurice,' she said at last.

'I'm sure she did, but if it's impossible ...'

'I could ask him, if you like,' said Nancy. 'He might like to see someone who knew the Light House. It would only be for a few minutes. He gets terribly tired.'

Cooper realised that he must have achieved some kind of honorary status as a pub regular. He wasn't sure what he'd done to earn that honour, whether it was his own infrequent visits to the Light House, his presence at the YFC booze-up with Matt, or maybe even the fact that he'd chosen Gavin Murfin to accompany him to the Whartons'.

Whichever it was, he felt grateful for the results.

'That would be very kind of you,' he said.

'I'll see.'

He looked round, and saw both Eliot and Kirsten watching disapprovingly. He wondered if there would be a family argument after he'd gone. They clearly didn't trust him the way their mother had decided to.

'The Light House was a good pub,' said Cooper. 'I remember when I was a teenager, the beer there was a revelation.'

'Greene King,' said Murfin.

Cooper looked at Eliot Wharton for confirmation, forgetting the young man's age because of the size and maturity of him.

'Eliot doesn't drink,' said Nancy.

'Because you're not old enough?' he asked in surprise.

'No, I'm just not interested,' said Eliot.

'It must have been tough growing up in a pub, then. Or perhaps that's why you don't drink?'

Eliot shrugged. 'I can do without it. I see plenty of people who drink a lot making idiots of themselves all the time. What's the point of it?'

Then Cooper remembered what Niall Maclennan had told him, and realised that this young man would have seen his own father deteriorating through alcohol consumption. It was a bit too close to home when it was within the family. He decided it was probably best not to ask any more questions on the subject.

'Still, you must all have found it very difficult moving from the Light House,' he said, as he got ready to leave.

Mrs Wharton winced, as if at a sudden pain. 'It was awful. We knew we'd never be able to find anywhere else that would suit us. And this is where we ended up. Look at it. I know the town isn't so bad, but this estate ...'

'Not so bad?' said Eliot, a sudden anger in his voice. 'I never wanted to live in Edendale. It's a place where people come to die.'

Cooper looked up sharply at the expression. He'd heard it often before. He knew it as a reference to the number of retired people who moved into the area when they wanted a bit of peace and quiet in their declining years. But said out loud, it sounded odd, as if Eliot was referring to something else entirely.

Before he left the Whartons, Cooper paused in the doorway and turned.

'I was in the pub earlier that week, Mrs Wharton,' he said. 'The night the Young Farmers' party was held.'

'Oh, I know you were,' said Nancy. 'I remember you very well. I almost had to get Maurice to throw you out. You were, well ... how should I put it?'

He held up a hand. 'Yes, I know. I'm sorry.'

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 polishing 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.