‘Greene King,’ said Murfin.
Cooper looked at Eliot Wharton for confirmation, forgetting the young man’s age because of the size and maturity of him.
‘Eliot doesn’t drink,’ said Nancy.
‘Because you’re not old enough?’ he asked in surprise.
‘No, I’m just not interested,’ said Eliot.
‘It must have been tough growing up in a pub, then. Or perhaps that’s
Eliot shrugged. ‘I can do without it. I see plenty of people who drink a lot making idiots of themselves all the time. What’s the point of it?’
Then Cooper remembered what Niall Maclennan had told him, and realised that this young man would have seen his own father deteriorating through alcohol consumption. It was a bit too close to home when it was within the family. He decided it was probably best not to ask any more questions on the subject.
‘Still, you must all have found it very difficult moving from the Light House,’ he said, as he got ready to leave.
Mrs Wharton winced, as if at a sudden pain. ‘It was awful. We knew we’d never be able to find anywhere else that would suit us. And this is where we ended up. Look at it. I know the town isn’t so bad, but this estate …’
‘Not so bad?’ said Eliot, a sudden anger in his voice. ‘I never wanted to live in Edendale. It’s a place where people come to die.’
Cooper looked up sharply at the expression. He’d heard it often before. He knew it as a reference to the number of retired people who moved into the area when they wanted a bit of peace and quiet in their declining years. But said out loud, it sounded odd, as if Eliot was referring to something else entirely.
Before he left the Whartons, Cooper paused in the doorway and turned.
‘I was in the pub earlier that week, Mrs Wharton,’ he said. ‘The night the Young Farmers’ party was held.’
‘Oh, I know you were,’ said Nancy. ‘I remember you very well. I almost had to get Maurice to throw you out. You were, well … how should I put it?’
He held up a hand. ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, there’s no point in apologising now, is there? It’s all water under the bridge. All just history.’
‘Was I …?’
‘Yes?’
‘Was I very obnoxious? When I had too much to drink, I mean.’
Nancy smiled sadly. ‘Don’t worry. You could never be as an obnoxious as some. There are people born into the world just to be a pain in the arse. You soon learn that in the pub trade.’
As he left the house and walked the short length of scrubby garden to the gate, Cooper looked at the street packed with old council houses. Both sides of the road were lined solidly with cars for which there were no garages or off-road parking spaces.
For a moment he was overwhelmed by the difference between this and the setting of the Light House — the wild open landscape, the sense of absolute isolation. Nature was right on the doorstep as you left the pub. All he saw here were clusters of wheelie bins, and motorbikes shrouded in multicoloured polyester covers.
From Oxlow Moor, the views stretched for miles in every direction, to the glowering presence of Kinder Scout in the distance. Here, he saw no further than an identical house twenty yards away across the street.
DI Hitchens tapped Cooper on the shoulder as he arrived back in the CID room at West Street.
‘Ben, don’t forget Henry Pearson is due to arrive with us this morning.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ said Cooper. ‘Is Mrs Pearson coming too?’
‘No, I understand it’s just her husband. I’m sure he will have planned it that way.’
‘To minimise the emotional complications, I suppose.’
‘Yes.’
‘What have we told Mr Pearson?’
‘Just that some items have been found that we believe belonged to his son and daughter-in-law, which we’d like him to help us identify. He didn’t question that; he hasn’t even asked what items we found. But he seems to have dropped everything to come straight up from Surrey.’
‘He’ll want to know more when he arrives.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he will. But we need to be a bit discreet, Ben.’
‘Discreet? You mean we’re going to hold back some information?’
‘Yes. Until we’re, you know … sure.’
‘Sure about the identification of the items? Or sure that Mr Pearson hasn’t been involved in some kind of conspiracy over these last couple of years?’
‘It never does any harm to be certain,’ said Hitchens.
Cooper felt a spasm of discomfort. That was going to be an awkward encounter. Relatives of victims often wanted to be told everything. It put a police officer in a difficult position to know far more than he was able to share.
Sometime during the past six months, Josh Lane had found himself a job at one of the biggest hotels in Edendale. Cooper had thought he might have moved on to a different industry altogether. Bar work wasn’t the best-paid occupation in the world, after all. But he supposed some people enjoyed it. Lane had stayed on at the Light House right to the end, so why shouldn’t he have looked for a similar job elsewhere?