Val McDermid 3-Book Crime Collection: A Place of Execution, The Distant Echo, The Grave Tattoo. Val McDermid
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Val McDermid 3-Book Crime Collection: A Place of Execution, The Distant Echo, The Grave Tattoo - Val McDermid страница 48
Название: Val McDermid 3-Book Crime Collection: A Place of Execution, The Distant Echo, The Grave Tattoo
Автор: Val McDermid
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9780007515325
isbn:
‘Aye, they’ve always got something to say for themselves,’ Kathy added. ‘It’ll be a load of rubbish, all that stuff about Alison being stuck in some terraced house in a city. You can’t hide somebody in the city that doesn’t want to be hid. Them houses, they’ve got walls like cardboard. Can’t you stop them printing that rubbish?’
‘We live in a free country, Mrs Lomas. I don’t like this morning’s paper any more than you do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Look at the state of her,’ Diane said, nodding at Ruth. ‘They don’t think about the effect they’ll have on her. It’s not right.’
George’s lips pursed in a thin line. Eventually, he said, ‘That’s partly why I’ve come to see you this morning, Mrs Hawkin.’ He pulled out a chair and sat facing Ruth and her sister. ‘Is your husband in?’
‘He’s gone to Stockport,’ Ma said contemptuously. ‘He needs some chemicals for his photography. O’ course, he can come and go as he pleases. Not like them as are Scardale born and bred.’ Her words hung in the air like a thrown gauntlet.
George refused to pick it up. His own conscience was giving him enough grief about his part in Peter Crowther’s death without allowing Ma Lomas free rein with her sharp tongue. He simply bowed his head in acknowledgement and continued regardless. ‘I wanted to tell you both that we will be continuing the search for Alison. But I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell you that I think it’s becoming increasingly unlikely that we’ll find her alive.’
Ruth looked up then. Her face was a mask of resignation. ‘You think that’s news to me?’ she said wearily. ‘I haven’t expected anything else since the minute I realized she was gone. I can bear that, because I have to. What I can’t bear is not knowing what’s happened to my child. That’s all I ask, that you find what’s happened to her.’
George took a deep breath. ‘Believe me, Mrs Hawkin, I am determined to do just that. You have my word that I’m not going to give up on Alison.’
‘Fine words, lad, but what do they mean?’ Ma Lomas’s sardonic voice cut through the emotional atmosphere.
‘It means we go on looking. It means we go on asking questions. We’ve already searched the dale from end to end, we’ve searched the surrounding countryside. We’ve dragged reservoirs and we’ve had police divers checking the Scarlaston. And we’ve not found anything more than we found in the first twenty-four hours. But we’re not giving up.’
Ma snorted, her nose and chin almost meeting as she screwed up her face. ‘How can you sit there and look Ruth in the eye and say you’ve searched the dale? You’ve not been near the old lead mine workings.’
Monday, 16th December 1963. 9.06 a.m.
Bewildered, George saw his surprise mirrored on the faces opposite him. Ruth’s eyebrows furrowed as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. Diane looked baffled. ‘What old lead mine workings, Ma?’ she asked.
‘You know, up inside Scardale Crag.’
‘First I’ve heard,’ Kathy said, sounding mildly affronted.
‘Just a minute, just a minute,’ George burst in. ‘What are we talking about here? What mine workings are we on about?’
Ma gave an exasperated sigh. ‘How much plainer can I make it? Inside Scardale Crag there’s an old lead mine. Tunnels and chambers and whatnot. There’s not much to it, but it’s there.’
‘How long is it since it was worked?’ Clough asked.
‘How would I know?’ the old woman protested. ‘Not in my lifetime, that’s for sure. For all I know, it’s been there since the Romans were here. They mined for lead and silver in these parts.’
‘I’ve never heard of a lead mine inside the crag,’ Diane insisted. ‘And I’ve lived here all my days.’
With difficulty, George resisted the impulse to shout at the women. ‘Where exactly is this lead mine?’ he asked. Clough was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of this voice that cut like a blade. He’d had no idea that George had such an edge in him, but it confirmed to Clough that this had been the right star to hitch his wagon to.
Ma Lomas shrugged. ‘How would I know? Like I said, it’s never been worked in my day. All I know is that you get into it some place down the back of the spinney. There used to be a stream ran along there, but it dried up years ago, when I was a lass.’
‘So the chances are nobody knows it even exists,’ George said, his shoulders falling. What had seemed like a thread worth pursuing was falling apart in his hands, he thought.
‘Well, I know about it,’ Ma said emphatically. ‘The squire showed me. In a book. The old squire, that is. Not Philip Hawkin.’
‘What book?’ Ruth said, showing the first sign of animation since the two men had arrived.
‘I don’t know what it were called, but I could probably recognize it,’ the old woman said, pushing her chair back from the table. ‘Has that husband of yours chucked out the squire’s books?’ Ruth shook her head. ‘Come on, then, let’s take a look.’
In Philip Hawkin’s absence, the study was as cold as the frigid hall. Ruth shivered and pulled her housecoat tighter across her body. Diane threw herself into one of the chairs and took out her cigarettes. She lit up without offering them, then curled around herself in the chair like a plump tabby cat with a mouse in its paw. Kathy fiddled with a pair of prisms on the desk, holding them up to the light and turning them this way and that. Meanwhile, Ma scrutinized the shelves and George held his breath.
About halfway along the middle shelf, she pointed a bony finger. ‘There,’ she said in a satisfied voice. ‘A Charivari of Curiosities of the Valley of the Scarlaston.’ George thrust out an arm and pulled the volume down. It had clearly once been a handsome volume, now ravaged by time and much use. Bound in faded red morocco, it was about ten inches by eight, almost an inch thick. He laid it on the desk and opened it.
‘A Charivari of Curiosities of the Valley of the Scarlaston in the County of Derbyshire, including the Giant’s Cave and the Mysterious Source of the River itself. As retailed by the Reverend Onesiphorus Jones. Published by Messrs. King, Bailey & Prosser of Derby MDCCCXXII,’ George read. ‘1822,’ he said. ‘So where’s the bit about the mine, Mrs Lomas?’
Her fingers with their arthritic knuckles crept across the frontispiece and flicked over to the contents page. ‘I recall it were near the middle,’ she said softly. George leaned over her shoulder and quickly scanned the list of contents.
‘Is that it?’ he asked, pointing to Chapter XIV – The Secret Mysteries of Scardale Cragg; Ancient Man in the Dale; Fool’s Gold and the Alchemist’s Base Metal.
‘Aye, I think so.’ She stepped back. ‘It were a long time ago. The squire liked to talk to me about the history of the dale. His wife were an incomer, you see.’
George СКАЧАТЬ