He watched as Adam continued to fiddle with the fins of the heating vent.
What's on your mind? Jon wondered, sensing undisclosed information in the silence. 'Adam, if you've got anything to say about this that is relevant to the investigation, now is the time.'
Keeping his eyes averted, the other man shook his head. This is your last chance, mate, Jon thought. 'You're sure?' Their eyes met. 'Yes, absolutely.'
Bollocks, thought Jon, you're lying. His immediate reaction was to cut him from any further involvement in the investigation. Then he remembered the saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. What was Clegg? Deciding it would be better to keep an eye on him, he said,
'And can you find the file on that dog he shot? I'd like the owners traced, interviewed and eliminated. In an ideal world, I'd like the same for the owners of that Alsatian, though God knows how we'll ever find them.'
'So what's the next step in the investigation?'
Jon could tell the other man was worried that his role in the case was about to evaporate. 'I need to get back to my nick and report to the boss. We'll be setting up an incident room at Longsight for Peterson's death, but I'd like to keep your room at Mossley Brow open too. Can you continue acting as my point of contact here?'
Adam looked relieved. 'With pleasure.'
'It's going to be necessary to start moving the files, photographs and records on Rose Sutton over to Longsight. I'll get an indexer to start putting everything we have on her into HOLMES.'
Adam looked disappointed.
'We have to work these cases side by side,' Jon explained. 'It's the only way to uncover whatever links Peterson to Mrs Sutton.'
'I know,' Adam replied, looking out the window towards the road as it dropped down into the tiny village of Holme. 'I need to drop by at my sister's. Which way are you driving back?'
Jon ducked his head so he could see the summit of the moors through the windscreen. 'That's the quickest way isn't it?'
Adam nodded. 'Yup. Best you set off now while there's still some light left.'
'What, beware the moon and all that?' Jon grinned.
The serious look remained on Adam's face. 'It's just a long walk down if you get a puncture. Reception from your mobile comes and goes up there, remember?'
'Fair enough. I'll be in contact soon.' Jon climbed out, got back into his own car and set off up the steep road. On reaching the level ground at the top, he could see the sun was now just a faint smudge of orange on the western horizon. There wasn't a single other car in sight and suddenly he felt very small as he crossed the empty terrain. After a few minutes he reached the other side of the plateau and was surprised to feel relief at the sight of the pooled lights of Manchester twinkling away below.
His mobile phone started beeping away in his pocket. Jon realised he'd had no signal for the past three hours and he quickly fished it out of his jacket. The voicemail symbol was flashing so he pressed the button that connected him to his messages.
Summerby's voice immediately came on the line. 'Jon, you might want to get back here at some stage. Apparently you promised a press conference this afternoon and we now have a shoal of reporters circling in reception. The press liaison officer would be pulling his hair out — if he had any.'
Fourteen
Adam Clegg watched Jon Spicer's rear lights grow faint as the vehicle laboured away up the hill. His finger continued to pick nervously at the slats on the air conditioning vent as a succession of thoughts ran through his head. Spicer knew he was being evasive — the way the atmosphere had just tightened between them was unmistakable. Clegg leaned his head to the side, weighing up how the obvious loss of trust may have damaged their working relationship. Not too badly it appeared, since he was still on the investigation.
He let out a sigh of relief, his breath fogging the side window like ice spreading across water. At least he could continue to exert some control on what the glare of the investigation revealed, subtly guiding its light from the areas he needed to remain in shadow.
Putting the car back into gear, he turned left and followed the steep road as it plunged down into the tiny village of Holme. The narrow rows of dark stone houses clung to the sloping side streets, many of which were still cobbled. Parked vehicles rested unevenly on their suspensions, as if an earthquake had been frozen in the act of buckling the road. Clegg followed the twisting high street, his eyes gliding over a pub called The Old Tup, a couple of tea rooms clearing up for the night, a closed butcher's and newsagent's, then finally the brightly lit interior of the small tourist office. He spotted his sister standing alone as usual behind the counter. From her expressionless stare, he wondered if dusk had made it impossible for her to see through the windows on to the street beyond.
He pulled into the half deserted Co-op car park, listening to the sound of a babbling brook as he walked to the rear of the tourist office. A bell jangled briefly on opening the back door and the smell of freshly printed paper filled his nostrils. On racks and shelves beside him were neat stacks of photocopied sheets — areas of local interest, walks in the surrounding countryside, summaries of the village's history — including accounts of the great flood of 1936 that washed many of the original weavers' cottages away down the valley.
He emerged from the rear of the premises into the front room where, alongside the ordnance survey maps and glossy National Park guide books were pencils, rulers, rubbers and other small items, all bearing a ram's horn emblem and the words, Holme of the weavers' art.
'Adam, I wondered if that was your jeep going past just now.' His older sister's blue eyes twinkled as she smiled, her hands going to the back of her head to adjust the band keeping her frizzy brown hair in its ponytail. 'What brings you over the hill?' Adam gave a half smile, unable to keep the worry from his eyes. 'We need to have a chat, Edith. Are you closing up soon?' She glanced at the door, concern now making her eyebrows tilt. 'I doubt we'll get anyone coming in now. What's happened?'
Adam moved across the room and positioned himself in the corner by the till, out of sight from the street. The familiar reassurance he felt in the company of his older sister flooded him and he started speaking quickly, keen to unload all his anxieties on to her. 'There's been some developments in the investigation into Rose's death. Someone else was killed this morning and now there's an officer from the Major Incident Team in Manchester sniffing around. He's linking both deaths and moving the investigation to the city, proper incident room, team of officers on outside enquiries. They'll be going into Rose's life. . '
His sister held up a finger and the rush of words died in his throat. She took the set of keys lying by the side of the till, walked over to the front door, locked it and flipped the sign over to Closed.
'Now,' she said, a firm note in her voice. 'Start again and take it slowly this time. 'What do you mean someone else has been killed?'
'Some bloke from Manchester. A car park queer.' She shook her head in question.
'You know, one of them who hangs around in public places looking for other men. Toilets and that.' His mouth was turned downwards in disgust.
'And he was killed. Why are they linking it to Rose?'
'His injuries. They were the same,' he replied, gesturing towards his neck.