‘Even if the blood is identified as David Pearson’s?’
‘It wouldn’t be too difficult for Pearson to smear some of his own blood on his clothes and leave them for us to find.’
‘But he didn’t do that. They were buried.’
‘Our hopes are resting on forensics, then,’ put in Cooper. ‘As always.’
‘Not quite always. But still …’
‘They ought to get something off the items dug out of the peat,’ he said. ‘I know there will have been some deterioration, but we’d be very unlucky to get nothing at all. Haven’t we had any results back yet?’
‘Still waiting.’
Cooper stared at Fry. He found he just didn’t believe her. Forensic results could be slow, it was true. But he was sure that she was lying to him in this instance. Why would she do that?
Henry Pearson was almost exactly as Cooper had pictured him. He was a tall man, with grey hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that turned to deep pools of sadness when his face was at rest. Most of the time he was far from at rest. Pearson fixed his gaze on each of the officers in the room by turn, studying them as if he was trying to see right into their hearts. When he’d been round the room once, he started all over again, perhaps hoping he might see something different next time.
At the same time he was listening intently to everything that was said. He’d brought a briefcase with him, and opened it to pull out a leather-bound pad. Cooper watched him write a careful note of the date and time, and the place of the meeting. Underneath, he listed the names of the police officers present. He made notes as Superintendent Branagh spoke, but still looked up periodically to examine the reactions of the people round him.
‘Naturally, Mr Pearson, in light of the new evidence, we’re reopening the inquiry into the disappearance of your son and his wife,’ said Branagh, seeming a little unsettled by Pearson’s manner.
‘Reopening?’ said Pearson. ‘I was under the impression that the case was never actually closed. Am I wrong in that?’
‘No, sir. The inquiry is active, and always has been. But the fact is, we exhausted all the avenues. It’s only the new evidence we’ve turned up that has given us fresh leads to follow.’
‘Is there a question of resources?’
‘There’s always a question of resources.’
‘If money would help …’ said Pearson.
As one, the officers in the room bristled, their faces a mixture of indignation and panic. The mere suggestion that someone had offered financial inducements was enough to cause consternation. Cooper imagined the investigations that might follow. A neighbouring force sent in to examine procedures and records, probing questions about bank balances … It was everyone’s worst nightmare.
But that wasn’t what Mr Pearson meant. He scanned the shocked faces, and almost smiled. It was no more than a twitch of the lips, which disappeared as quickly as it had come. But in that one second, Cooper saw that their visitor had a sense of humour, and he began to warm to him a little.
‘I mean, in order to encourage witnesses to come forward, of course,’ said Pearson. ‘That’s normal practice, isn’t it? I’ve seen it done in other cases.’
‘A reward?’ asked Branagh, an audible hint of relief in her voice.
‘If that’s what you call it. If it might help to overcome the reluctance of certain individuals, I would be happy to put some cash up. If someone is still hesitating over what they should do, a reasonable amount of money could tip the balance in our favour, couldn’t it?’
‘It’s true,’ put in Hitchens, with a glance at Branagh. ‘We’ve had results that way in the past.’
‘Perhaps we can make a decision on that in a few days’ time. Let’s see what progress we can make in the meantime, shall we?’
‘All right. I suppose I’ll have to accept that.’
‘Mr Pearson, can I ask you something? Do you remain convinced that your son and his wife have met with a violent end?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He hesitated. ‘Obviously I’m very well aware of the stories that have been going round over the past couple of years. All that nonsense on the internet, all those wild theories. Every one of them is ludicrous. It’s inconceivable that David and Patricia would have somehow managed to disappear and change their identities. If my son had known he was accused of doing something wrong, he would have stayed to face the music. He would have wanted to clear his name. He is not the type to run away.
‘There’s one more thing I want to say,’ added Pearson.
‘Sir?’
‘Unlike most of you, I’ve spent every day and every week of the past two and a half years looking for my son and his wife. I’ve given every minute of my time to trying to locate David and Patricia, wherever they may be.’
Pearson looked around the room again, giving them the benefit of his steady gaze.
‘And that,’ he said, ‘is despite the fact that I’ve never been entirely sure, deep in my own heart, that there was still someone alive to look for.’