The Kill Call

though.’
    ‘Possibly.’
    But Fry didn’t feel entirely convinced of that. The tacit agreement not to talk about things had probably included the police in these parts. She was sure that old-school officers like Cooper’s father would have been perfectly willing to leave embarrassing details out of their reports.
    She felt the familiar surge of satisfaction running through her veins now, the feeling of an enquiry that was finally starting to come together.
    ‘Massey and Hind were about the same age,’ she said. ‘And this ROC post was on the Masseys’ land, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So does it still exist? Or was it demolished?’
    ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ said Cooper.
    Fry raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Ben.’
       
    The windscreen wipers on the Toyota were struggling to clear the rain sweeping across Longstone Moor as Cooper drove back towards Rough Side Farm.
    He remembered his assumptions about Birchlow. The natural instinct to distrust the unfamiliar. Politeness on the surface, suspicion underneath. He wouldn’t have endeared himself to these people by asking questions, or by seeming to know too much. His worst crime was probably sticking his nose into something that no one ever talked about.
    The pastures of Rough Side Farm were wet, their acres of deep browns and greens stretching along the hillside. Peter Massey met him near the gate, as if he’d been expecting a visitor. Rain dripped from the peak of his cap, but Massey seemed oblivious. He screwed up his blue eyes to examine Cooper as he got out of the Toyota.
    ‘Mr Massey, I’ve been hearing about Jimmy Hind,’ said Cooper. ‘How he was killed, in the accident.’
    ‘The accident. Oh yes, that.’
    ‘It must have been terrible for you.’
    Massey’s face remained impassive. ‘What would you know?’
    ‘Jimmy Hind was your friend, wasn’t he?’
    The farmer turned away, and Cooper followed him as he walked towards the field gate. Cooper had his leather jacket on, but the rain was wetting his face and hair. It wouldn’t do to go back for a waterproof. That would mean showing weakness.
    ‘You were there, Mr Massey. You must remember it. I bet you remember it very clearly.’
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘The siren fell when you were dismantling the equipment. It was an accident.’
    ‘So they say.’
    Cooper had to walk more quickly to get in front of him, to see Massey’s face. The farmer stopped, his way blocked.
    ‘What is it you want?’ he said.
    ‘To hear it from you. How did it happen?’
    Massey’s face contorted then. ‘Jimmy never uttered a word when he saw it falling. None of us did. When something like that happens, when you know it’s inevitable and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you just freeze. That’s the way we all reacted. Just in those few seconds, you know.’
    ‘I understand.’
    ‘Jimmy wore these thick lenses in his glasses. When he looked up at us, they made his eyes look all distorted and out of proportion. Like smooth stones lying in deep water.’
    He leaned against the dry-stone wall, looking towards the tower of the church at Birchlow, square on the horizon. Cooper had a sudden recollection of the stained-glass window, depicting the death of a saint. He had an image of a pale face, turned up to the sky as the saint died. A calm, wordless appeal, addressed to the clouds.
    ‘I didn’t know for certain,’ said Massey. ‘I didn’t know for certain which one of us failed to tie the knot properly.’
    ‘Tell me about that knot.’
    ‘It was on the rope that we were using to haul the siren out of the shaft. One of the knots came loose, and that was why the siren fell. I thought it might have been me. But we told it all to the inquest, and they said we weren’t to blame. Well, that’s what they said. The official verdict.’
    ‘And what did Jimmy do? Did he try to avoid it?’
    ‘Not really. He didn’t panic or anything when he saw the siren falling. He was dead calm. Calm as a freshly dropped calf.’
    He took off his cap, a gesture that came close to an expression of emotion. His sandy, Viking hair gleamed briefly in the rain. Then he began to walk on, and Cooper was obliged to follow.
    ‘What was Jimmy Hind like?’ he asked.
    ‘He was a good lad. Clever. And dead keen.’
    ‘Keen on …?’
    ‘The job. The ROC, you know.’
    ‘Yes, I know about the ROC and the observation posts.’
    Massey grunted. ‘You know, you couldn’t sign up for the ROC