Chapters (43)
- Dedication
- Author’s Note
- Epigraph
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- About the Author
- Also by Stephen Booth
- About the Publisher
‘I saw Vernon’s motorbike parked outside the Jarvis house the first time I went there, you know. He might have been watching from the woods when I went down to look at the grave site. The dogs would have been used to him, I suppose. They got used to me pretty quick.’ Cooper had a sudden thought. ‘I wonder if that was when he tried to cross the stream further down and damaged his hands on the giant hogweed.’
Fry pushed her hands into her pockets and sat on the wooden plinth next to the miner, resting her arm on his knee. From here, there was a wonderful view over the dale, down to Ravenstor and Miller’s Dale in the south. They might have been able to see the spire of Tideswell Church to the north, but for the hills in between. Fry didn’t seem to notice any of it.
‘We traced the owner of the rifle,’ she said.
‘Oh? The one that Vernon used to kill Freddy Robertson?’
‘He got it from one of the gang who poach in Alder Hall woods. Vernon had seen the lampers. And he recognized one of them. When he met up with the man at a funeral, he dropped some hints and was invited to go lamping a couple of times. Then Vernon told him he needed a rifle to shoot rabbits on his own property.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. And you might be interested to know that we got a match with the bullet the vet took from Mr Jarvis’s dog.’
‘You’ve identified the person who shot Graceless?’
‘That’s why Mr Jarvis thinks so highly of you, Ben.’
‘But I didn’t –’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Cooper looked at Fry. For a long time, she’d regarded him as something to be avoided as far as possible. He seemed to be an irritant to her, every bit as noxious as the giant hogweed that had caused the burns on Vernon Slack’s arms.
‘Gavin Murfin came to see me, you know,’ he said. ‘Was it you who told him about something called the Death Clock?’
‘Yes. It’s a website that lets you put in your personal details, and it predicts how long you’ll live. It claims to give you the exact date of your death. Why?’
‘Well, Gavin found the website and tried it out.’
‘Ah. And did he get an interesting result?’
‘Yes,’ said Cooper. ‘It told him he’d died three months ago.’
‘Poor Gavin.’
Cooper couldn’t help smiling. ‘Actually, I think it did him good. He’s decided he might as well enjoy himself as much as possible if he’s living on borrowed time.’
‘Back to his old self, then.’