Ten miles later, Jonathan’s car left the A6 at the Blackbrook exit near Chapel-en-le-Frith and turned onto Sheffield Road. Once they were in Derbyshire, the rising altitude was evident from the banks of mist rolling down from the hills. At a few hundred feet above sea level, the climate was completely different. It could be inches deep in snow here while Manchester barely experienced a drizzle.
‘He’s stopped,’ said Villiers after another mile or two.
‘The Chestnut Centre,’ said Cooper. ‘What does he want there?’
But he stopped for only a moment, as if to get his bearings. He set off again, driving up the hill at Slackhall from the Chestnut Centre and taking the back road to Sparrowpit to reach the A623.
‘Do you think he’s lost?’ said Villiers.
‘I don’t know. But if he stays on these roads, we’ll have to call in a Road Traffic unit for a pursuit.’
Cooper knew the narrow back lanes were dangerous at the best of times if you were travelling at speed, but the thickening fog would make anyone think twice. You had no idea what might be coming round the next bend until their headlights were in front of your bonnet and there was no room to pass.
But Jonathan seemed to have ceased to care. Instead of staying on the main road, he swung north again at Peak Forest and followed the winding lanes round the Limestone Way and Hucklow Moor.
The Eden Valley railway line emerged from a tunnel here on its way from Edendale to the junction at Doveholes. Straight ahead was a level crossing on a lane that led from Hucklow and climbed over the moor towards the furthest edges of the town. Visibility was growing worse, the isolated farmsteads on the lower slopes sinking into mist like ships disappearing under the waves.
Then red brake lights flared ahead.
‘He’s slowing down,’ said Villiers. ‘Is he stopping again?’
‘I think the crossing gates are down.’
‘We’ve got him, then.’
But instead of stopping, Jonathan Matthew’s car swung suddenly to the right and the brake lights went out.
‘No. He’s going round the gate,’ said Villiers.
‘Idiot. He can’t see anything in this fog. There could be—’
But it was too late to complete the sentence. The front end of a diesel locomotive emerged from the fog, the beams of its lights briefly catching Jonathan Matthew’s shocked face through the window of his Impreza.
A mournful horn blasted out. But there was no time for the train driver to brake. Cooper heard a smash and a screeching of metal as the locomotive struck the car and pushed it along the track until it lurched sideways and began to slide down the banking. It came to a halt with a loud thump and a shattering of glass.
‘It sounds as though it’s hit a tree.’
‘Let’s see if he’s still alive.’
They got out of the car. As they crossed the line, Cooper saw movement in the fog. Something falling from above. But they were just leaves, wafting slowly down from the trees and settling onto the wet track.
34
Diane Fry walked into the police station at West Street. She’d almost forgotten what a dump it was. It was hard to think that she’d worked here for years and had put up with these conditions. She hoped she never had to come here again.
She went straight to Ben Cooper’s office and walked in with a perfunctory tap on the door.
Cooper looked up.
‘Diane?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘DCI Mackenzie wants to know what’s happening with the Darius Roth murder inquiry. He thinks you might be taking matters into your own hands.’
‘Tell Mr Mackenzie it’s all under control. We already have a suspect in custody.’
‘I know that. Have you interviewed him yet?’
‘We’re just about to. Do you want to sit in?’
Fry hesitated. ‘No. But keep us informed.’
‘Of course.’
Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down on a chair in front of his desk, suddenly feeling weary.
‘And have you sorted out the problem with the Atherton case?’ she asked.
Cooper raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you know about that?’
‘A conflict in a witness statement from the neighbour, isn’t there? The timing of a phone call.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’s probably quite simple,’ she said.
‘It may look simple to you, Diane, but it isn’t so easy when you’ve got a witness to interview who might be mistaken about what happened.’
‘I don’t think she’s mistaken,’ said Fry. ‘I think you are.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve been trusting Gary Atherton to tell the truth.’
‘He’s confessed to killing his wife. He was still there holding the murder weapon when the FOSAs arrived. He says he made the call when he realised what he’d done.’
‘According to the files, there’s a teenage son,’ said Fry.
‘So?’
‘Why don’t you ask him if he made the call?’
‘And his father is covering for him? It’s a hell of a risk for Gary Atherton. He’ll get a life sentence if he’s convicted.’
‘But he won’t if there’s a flaw in your evidence,’ said Fry. ‘The timing of that 999 call. I spotted it myself.’
‘It was you who kicked the file back?’
‘I took it to Mr Mackenzie anyway. I’m sorry if it reflected badly on you.’
Cooper thought of poor old Dev Sharma’s disappointment that a hole had been poked in his case so easily. But of course he could never mention Sharma’s role. Cooper was the DI in this department. It was his team. It was part of the job to take the responsibility when things went wrong.
‘Sometimes it just needs a fresh pair of eyes to see where someone has made an assumption or accepted a statement on trust,’ said Fry. ‘That’s often where it all goes off the rails, isn’t it? Trusting the wrong person.’
‘Yes,’ said Cooper. ‘You’re right again.’
They had Jonathan Matthew waiting in Interview Room 1. He’d been treated for his injuries and released into custody. The fact that he hadn’t suffered any broken bones or internal injuries was down to a combination of seat belt, air bag and a lot of good luck. His ancient Subaru was a write-off, of course.
‘Jonathan, why did you try to run?’ asked Ben Cooper.
‘I’ve never trusted the cops,’ he said. ‘Once you fix on someone as a suspect, you never change your minds. You’ll have me in court without any proper evidence and there’ll be nothing I can do about it.’
‘Evidence of what?’
‘Of—’ Jonathan stopped and scowled suspiciously. ‘Of whatever you’re arresting me for.’
Cooper couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never heard it put quite like that before.
‘You’re here for questioning in connection with the murder of Mr Darius Roth,’ he said.
Jonathan lowered his head. Was this as far as he’d planned? An attempted escape with his guitar in the back of the Subaru, like a hippy on a road trip? But he hadn’t even worked that out properly. He’d left his guitar behind at his flat in his haste to get away.
‘Faith was behaving oddly. It was so obvious,’ said Jonathan.
‘What was?’
‘Her relationship with Darius.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ said Cooper.
‘Of course.’
‘Did Greg suspect?’
‘She’d finished with Greg Barrett.’
‘Mr Barrett doesn’t seem to be aware of that.’
‘Well, I’m sure she was intending to finish it. She’d developed other interests.’
‘With Darius?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Elsa know?’
‘I think she knew everything about Darius that she wanted to,’ said Jonathan. ‘Anything she didn’t want to know she just ignored, pretended it didn’t exist or that it never happened. She lives in her own world, that one. And it’s partly a fantasy.’