One smell in particular was teasing him. When he caught a fleeting whiff of it, Matt’s face loomed up in his mind, red and sweating, with the suggestion of a snatch of conversation that he couldn’t quite grasp. It was like the elusive memory of a dream that he knew was still there in his mind when he’d woken up, but which slipped away whenever he thought about it.
As a result of the sensations Cooper was experiencing in the Whartons’ sitting room, Murfin was the first to speak.
‘You might remember us, Nancy. We both knew Mad … er, Mr Wharton. Sorry.’
Nancy noticed Murfin’s moment of embarrassment, and her face slipped into a bitter smile.
‘Oh don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard it all before. Don’t you think I know what people used to call him? Imagine what it was like being “Mrs Mad Maurice” for all those years.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Murfin again, though it wasn’t necessary and was obviously too late.
Cooper gave him a warning glance. If Gavin was going to mess up with the public, it was a different thing altogether from what went on in the office. That couldn’t be tolerated.
He knew he had to tread carefully with the Whartons if he was going to get any more out of them than Diane Fry had. Questions about Maurice’s tendency to alcoholism were probably out, then.
‘It was such a shame about the pub closing,’ he said. ‘You and Mr Wharton must have been devastated.’
Mrs Wharton shrugged. ‘We could see it was inevitable for a long time. We had a balance sheet like
‘But how did it happen?’ asked Cooper.
‘How? Well, it started with the crackdown on drinking and driving. Nobody gets up there any other way, do they? Then there was the smoking ban in 2007. We did our best, but who wants to sit outside in this environment? Customers were getting blown away by the wind in the winter, and eaten by midges off the moor in the summer. Then the recession came along. We actually thought that might help us for a while. People staying at home for their holidays instead of going abroad, you know. What do they call that?’
‘A staycation?’
‘Yeah. What a load of crap. Oh, more folk came to the Peak District, I suppose, but they weren’t spending any money. Not in our pub.’
‘The Light House used to have a very good reputation.’
‘Oh yes. At one time Maurice Wharton was known far and wide. My husband was respected for the quality of the beer he served. Traditional ales, you know. We used to serve Hardy and Hanson, William Clarke, Marston’s Pedigree. We had guest beers on draught, rotated on a monthly basis.’
‘Greene King,’ said Murfin.
‘Timothy Taylor’s Landlord,’ said Cooper.
Nancy smiled again, just a little. ‘All those. And we had a selection of over twenty malt whiskies. Irish and Welsh, as well as Scotch. Sales of beer declined by another ten per cent in our last year, in spite of a warm spring and a royal wedding, and all the things we thought might bring people out to the pub. The budget put duty up to nearly eight times what it is in France, and over twelve times the duty in Germany or Italy. And that’s not to mention an escalator, so duty goes up two per cent more than inflation every year. It was crippling.’
For a moment Cooper had a sense of déjà vu, as if he was listening to the familiar litany of complaints from farmers like his brother. Things were always bad in the farming industry. Prices were never right, costs were always too high, the weather was either too dry or too wet. Small farmers were going bust for much the same reasons that Nancy Wharton was giving him. In a nutshell, they couldn’t make their businesses pay any more.
‘We’re not alone,’ said Nancy. ‘Not by a long way. Jobs are being lost throughout the industry. The pub trade is being decimated.’
‘My colleague Detective Sergeant Fry came to talk to you about Aidan Merritt,’ said Cooper tentatively.
‘I can’t tell you any more than I told her.’
‘I’d particularly like to know about any contact Mr Merritt had with other customers.’
‘You know what? Aidan kept himself pretty much to himself.’
‘Could there have been anyone who had a grudge against him?’
‘A grudge? Like who?’
‘Ian Gullick is a name that’s been mentioned.’
Nancy looked away, no longer willing to meet Cooper’s eye. It was a perfectly natural reticence, he supposed. Who would want to criticise their own customers? It was a kind of loyalty — and Cooper understood loyalty.
‘I wouldn’t know anything about it,’ said Nancy finally. ‘I’m sorry, really I am. It’s horrible what happened to him, but what else can I say?’
Cooper nodded. A roadblock, then. Move on.
‘I understand.’
She looked at him steadily. ‘And I suppose you’re going to ask me about those tourists, too — like the woman did?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. The Pearsons. They were in the Light House the night before they disappeared.’