‘You can just about creep through a gap here,’ said the controller. ‘There’s a capped vertical shaft to the left, and the sough continues for some way to the right. Further on, the passages become lower, and a lot wetter.’
Cooper saw remnants of blackened timbers against the walls of rock.
‘What are those?’
‘Down there is a section where we carried out a rescue a few years ago. We brought the timbers in to hold up the roof while we led some trapped cavers to safety.’
‘Hold the roof up?’
‘Well, you never know. Parts of the mine are unstable. It’s inevitable, given the amount of water flowing through it. You’ve seen the collapse in the sough. It could happen in any part of the mine just as easily.’
‘So this search is risky.’
‘As long as we take proper precautions, we’ll be fine. But some areas are inaccessible, you understand that, don’t you? We’ll have to wait until the teams come back.’
Cooper hated waiting. But after what seemed a long time, helmet lamp beams appeared and the DCRO teams began to return and report to the controller.
He shook his head at Cooper.
‘There’s nothing down here.’
‘So it seems.’
‘One of the teams did find something, but it turned out to be an animal. You’d be surprised how often that happens.’
‘I suppose so.’
Cooper knew that many of their call-outs were for animals. A dog, a calf, or half a dozen sheep that had fallen into old mineshafts. A dead badger rotting in a passage. A caver once spotted what he thought could have been human remains down a mine working. A small DCRO team investigated and found the suspicious object was actually a very old and decrepit cuddly toy.
The controller wiped across his forehead below the rim of his helmet.
‘A few years ago,’ he said, ‘the RSPCA and the Fire Service called us out after a calf fell into a recently collapsed mineshaft. The shaft was about fifty feet deep, and the top ten feet or so were through loose soil and rock. Very dangerous to descend. We decided to remove the loose material around the shaft top and stabilise it to see if we could make a safe descent to bring the animal to the surface in a sling. It took hours of digging by hand and with a JCB to make the top section of the shaft safe and install a platform. We were sending up bags of loose material to the surface to clear it out. But we did eventually reach the calf.’
‘Did you get it out?’ asked Cooper absently.
He shrugged. ‘A decision had to be made. Its position, its injuries, and the state of the shaft meant the safest and kindest thing to do was kill it humanely and leave it where it was. The team doctor tranquillised the calf and killed it with a captive bolt gun.’
‘So it’s still there?’
‘Obviously. If you were exploring in there and came across its skeleton, you might get a shock.’
‘The fact is, people don’t always recognise a dead body,’ said Cooper. ‘Not if it’s the remains of someone who’s been dead for a long time.’
‘That’s true. It’s more likely they’ll get it wrong the other way round. Believe me, if there had been human remains in Mandale Mine for the past decade, someone would have come across them by now. Mine explorers do come in from time to time.’
Cooper nodded. That made sense. Was he on a wild goose chase?
But he looked again at the phone. For most people, this was as personal an item as their wallet. It was as if someone had chosen deliberately, planting clues that pointed directly at a specific owner — in this case, Reece Bower. But where was he supposed to find the owner of the wallet and the phone? It must be somewhere they hadn’t they searched yet. Nearby, he was sure, there must lie a body.
27
The front desk had called up to let Cooper know there was a member of the public downstairs asking to see him. His first reaction was to tell them he needed to make an appointment — he was busy, after all. But when he heard that his visitor had information about the Bower case he gave in to his instincts and had the man brought up.
When the door opened, Cooper found himself looking at a man in his seventies, slim and sprightly looking, with bushy white hair which stood out from his head in untidy wings as if he’d just been walking against a strong wind.
‘Eric Oldfield,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘You’re the detective inspector, are you?’
‘Yes, sir. DI Cooper.’
‘You look a bit young to me. But then, all bobbies look young at my age. Some of them I’ve just passed only looked about fifteen. I’m never sure whether they’re actual police officers or just on work experience.’
Cooper smiled as he waved the man to a chair.
‘I gather you may have some information for us.’
‘Well, there’s something that’s been troubling me for years,’ said Oldfield. ‘I don’t know if it means anything.’
‘What is it?’
‘It goes back to when that woman from Bakewell disappeared.’
‘Do you mean Annette Bower?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘It was ten years ago.’
‘Yes, ten years,’ he repeated, as if Cooper had said something profound and moving. ‘I should explain that I’m a widower, twice over. A little over ten years ago I met the woman who became my second wife. Margaret was the real love of my life, I realised. We met at a local history group and we were soon head over heels in love with each other. It all moved very quickly. It didn’t last, I’m afraid.’
Cooper let Mr Oldfield have a quiet moment. He looked as though he needed it. It seemed unnecessary to ask what had happened to Margaret. He’d introduced himself as a widower twice over. That spoke for itself.
‘The Annette Bower case...’ prompted Cooper gently.
‘Oh, yes. It was in the news an awful lot at the time, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘I didn’t really follow it,’ said Oldfield. ‘We were so busy with our own lives that we didn’t take much notice of what was going in the outside world, especially if it was something unpleasant. We didn’t want anything to intrude into our happiness. We were so focused on building a home and being with our new families. We were very much in love, you see. That’s the way it is, in the beginning.’
He sounded very apologetic. Cooper wanted to tell him it wasn’t something he should feel the need to apologise for. It sounded the kind of life that everyone dreamed about. It was certainly what he’d dreamed of himself, building a home and starting a family. For him, it had never happened.
Cooper fought down a pang of envy. This man didn’t seem so happy now, did he? And he was talking about the past. Perhaps that dream had fallen apart too.
‘This Annette Bower. At first they said her husband had killed her, didn’t they?’ said Oldfield.
‘Yes, he was charged with her murder,’ said Cooper.
‘But then they reported she was alive after all, and it went very quiet. It seemed he hadn’t killed her, she’d just gone off somewhere. Her husband was found innocent.’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Cooper. ‘But go on.’
‘So I forgot about what I’d seen. It didn’t seem to matter after that.’
‘What did you see?’ asked Cooper.
‘I recognised a photograph of the man, the husband.’
‘Reece Bower is his name.’
‘I believe I saw Mr Bower that day, on the day his wife disappeared. In fact, I think I saw him twice.’
Now Cooper was interested. ‘Really?’
Oldfield nodded. ‘It was an odd thing, actually. When you’re out there, you sometimes pass the same people going out and coming back. You say “hello” the first time, as you do when you meet a fellow walker. Then when you pass them again, you don’t know whether to say “hello” a second time or just to smile or nod. Some people laugh as if it’s a huge joke, or an amazing coincidence that they’ve run into the same person twice. But there’s only one route, isn’t there? You’re bound to pass the same people.’