Back The Kill Call
Chapters (46)
  1. Dedication
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-one
  23. Chapter Twenty-two
  24. Chapter Twenty-three
  25. Chapter Twenty-four
  26. Chapter Twenty-five
  27. Chapter Twenty-six
  28. Chapter Twenty-seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-one
  33. Chapter Thirty-two
  34. Chapter Thirty-three
  35. Chapter Thirty-four
  36. Chapter Thirty-five
  37. Chapter Thirty-six
  38. Chapter Thirty-seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. Chapter Forty-one
  43. Chapter Forty-two
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Stephen Booth
  46. About the Publisher
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‘But our tourist wouldn’t have seen a stretch of water on his map. It wasn’t there, because his map was out of date.’

Cooper nodded. ‘When he reached water, he must have thought he was completely lost. He ended up disorientated, trying to work out where he was on the map.’

‘The poor bloke,’ said Irvine, looking at the map. ‘He was never more than a few hundred yards from a road.’

‘Which doesn’t help at all. Not if you’re walking round in circles.’

Cooper took a call from Diane Fry. She was still in her car somewhere, stuck in a bottleneck near Glossop.

‘This body,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’re at the scene, Ben?’

‘Looking at it right now.’

‘It isn’t Michael Clay, is it?’

‘Why would you think it’s him?’ asked Cooper.

‘Because he’s too elusive. I’m starting to think I’ll never get the chance to interview him. So please tell me this body isn’t Michael Clay.’

Cooper watched the body slowly being lifted to ground level, and an officer passing up something else that he’d found in the bottom of the rake. He leaned closer to take a look, and could see the manufacturer’s name and model quite clearly.

‘It isn’t Michael Clay, Diane.’

‘Thank God.’

‘But,’ said Cooper, ‘we do seem to have found Patrick Rawson’s phone.’

FRY DROVE BACK to West Street as fast as she could, bearing in mind the speed cameras on the approach to Edendale. But Sean Crabbe had already been processed through the custody suite by the time she arrived. His fingerprints had been taken in Live Scan, a sample of his DNA had been obtained on a buccal swab, and his personal possessions had been logged by the custody sergeant. Now he was waiting for the duty solicitor before being questioned.

DI Hitchens explained that a call had been put through after the young man’s mother had responded to the public appeal on the local TV news. She hadn’t called straight away, but had waited a couple of hours.

‘Otherwise, you would have been here for the arrest, Diane,’ he said. ‘It was just one of those things.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Fry, though they both knew she was lying. ‘What made the connection for her?’

‘The mention of the old agricultural research centre. The TV people took some footage of it for background to the piece. You know – crime-scene tape, bobby fidgeting in front of the camera. She recognized the place. And she knew perfectly well that young Sean goes up there regularly when he bunks off from college. It turns out she’s been worried about him for a while, thinks he’s been going off the rails a bit.’

‘And he was up there on Tuesday morning?’

‘Mum didn’t know that for certain,’ said Hitchens. ‘But she remembers him coming home early that day and behaving oddly. She says he tried to make out he had ’flu, but she wasn’t fooled. Mothers rarely are, no matter what they tell us to our faces.’