his transfer to E Division.
Extractions were a headache when you were trying to manage a small team. They were unpredictable and hard to refuse.
Cooper made sure his DCs were occupied, which was hardly necessary, and he collected Carol Villiers.
‘Where first?’ she said.
‘Monsal Head, I thought. Before it gets busy.’
‘Kuzneski,’ said Villiers.
‘That’s the one.’
Cooper drove as they headed south out of town on the Buxton Road. It climbed and climbed until it reached a plateau where the limestone quarries competed with the moors as background scenery. The stone slates of the roofs were gradually left behind, petering out along the course of the River Eden.
Edendale sat astride a wide valley in the gap between the two halves of the Peak District. Nowhere was the contrast between the White Peak and the Dark Peak more striking than on the climb southwards out of Edendale, past the last of the houses, past the sportsfield and the religious retreat run by the Sisters of Our Lady.
It promised to be another warm day and their visors were down against the sun already glaring through the windscreen. Cooper could barely keep his eyes off the landscape as he drove. It was a constant pleasure to escape from Edendale into the surrounding hills, where the changing moods of the scenery always fascinated him.
Of course, appearances could be deceptive. Even the White Peak bore its scars – the great crude gashes where the limestone quarries and opencast workings had been blasted and ripped from its hills.
‘David Kuzneski vanished from his home in Totley without telling anyone where he was going,’ said Villiers, reminding Cooper of the case. ‘He took the family car and disappeared without a word.’
‘And, unlike so many cases where someone goes missing, his wife was worried straight away,’ remembered Cooper.
‘That’s right. She phoned the police and tried to convince the call handler that her husband was a vulnerable person. But David Kuzneski was forty years old and therefore low priority. He wouldn’t be classed as a missing person for a while.’
Cooper reached the A623 and headed west to Wardlow Mires, turning the Toyota on to a road that skirted the hills above Cressbrook Dale towards Ashford-in-the-Water.
It was almost impossible for him to drive around this area now without passing locations he’d beenbrought to while pursuing a murder inquiry, often in the company of Diane Fry. Here was the village of Wardlow, with its old red phone box still standing near the church. And not far beyond lay the little overgrown graveyard called the Infidels’ Cemetery.
‘And that was too long in this case,’ he said.
‘He was found close to death at Monsal Head before a search had even begun.’
Cooper nodded. From the moment he left home, David Kuzneski had been given time to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was to end his own life.
When he saw the first visitors’ cars parked in a lay-by, with their owners pointing cameras over the wall, Cooper knew he was at Monsal Head. A few yards further down the hill, he turned into the viewpoint car park by the Monsal Head Hotel.
Unlike many locations in the national park, you could park all night at Monsal Head for no more than a pound. One of the parking areas overlooked Monsal Dale itself and the spectacular viaduct, with a narrow road plunging down to the River Wye and twisting its way north along the valley bottom towards Cressbrook.
Cooper and Villiers got out of the car. Behind them, the hotel, Hobb’s Café and the Stables Bar were all doing good business. A queue had already formed at the ice cream van in the corner of the car park.
Hobb’s Café. Cooper smiled to himself. Only in Derbyshire would a café be named after an evil spirit. The rock formation known as Hobb’s House was on the hillside a few hundred yards north of the viaduct. Hecould see its outline from here, though he suspected most of the visitors who came to Monsal
Extractions were a headache when you were trying to manage a small team. They were unpredictable and hard to refuse.
Cooper made sure his DCs were occupied, which was hardly necessary, and he collected Carol Villiers.
‘Where first?’ she said.
‘Monsal Head, I thought. Before it gets busy.’
‘Kuzneski,’ said Villiers.
‘That’s the one.’
Cooper drove as they headed south out of town on the Buxton Road. It climbed and climbed until it reached a plateau where the limestone quarries competed with the moors as background scenery. The stone slates of the roofs were gradually left behind, petering out along the course of the River Eden.
Edendale sat astride a wide valley in the gap between the two halves of the Peak District. Nowhere was the contrast between the White Peak and the Dark Peak more striking than on the climb southwards out of Edendale, past the last of the houses, past the sportsfield and the religious retreat run by the Sisters of Our Lady.
It promised to be another warm day and their visors were down against the sun already glaring through the windscreen. Cooper could barely keep his eyes off the landscape as he drove. It was a constant pleasure to escape from Edendale into the surrounding hills, where the changing moods of the scenery always fascinated him.
Of course, appearances could be deceptive. Even the White Peak bore its scars – the great crude gashes where the limestone quarries and opencast workings had been blasted and ripped from its hills.
‘David Kuzneski vanished from his home in Totley without telling anyone where he was going,’ said Villiers, reminding Cooper of the case. ‘He took the family car and disappeared without a word.’
‘And, unlike so many cases where someone goes missing, his wife was worried straight away,’ remembered Cooper.
‘That’s right. She phoned the police and tried to convince the call handler that her husband was a vulnerable person. But David Kuzneski was forty years old and therefore low priority. He wouldn’t be classed as a missing person for a while.’
Cooper reached the A623 and headed west to Wardlow Mires, turning the Toyota on to a road that skirted the hills above Cressbrook Dale towards Ashford-in-the-Water.
It was almost impossible for him to drive around this area now without passing locations he’d beenbrought to while pursuing a murder inquiry, often in the company of Diane Fry. Here was the village of Wardlow, with its old red phone box still standing near the church. And not far beyond lay the little overgrown graveyard called the Infidels’ Cemetery.
‘And that was too long in this case,’ he said.
‘He was found close to death at Monsal Head before a search had even begun.’
Cooper nodded. From the moment he left home, David Kuzneski had been given time to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was to end his own life.
When he saw the first visitors’ cars parked in a lay-by, with their owners pointing cameras over the wall, Cooper knew he was at Monsal Head. A few yards further down the hill, he turned into the viewpoint car park by the Monsal Head Hotel.
Unlike many locations in the national park, you could park all night at Monsal Head for no more than a pound. One of the parking areas overlooked Monsal Dale itself and the spectacular viaduct, with a narrow road plunging down to the River Wye and twisting its way north along the valley bottom towards Cressbrook.
Cooper and Villiers got out of the car. Behind them, the hotel, Hobb’s Café and the Stables Bar were all doing good business. A queue had already formed at the ice cream van in the corner of the car park.
Hobb’s Café. Cooper smiled to himself. Only in Derbyshire would a café be named after an evil spirit. The rock formation known as Hobb’s House was on the hillside a few hundred yards north of the viaduct. Hecould see its outline from here, though he suspected most of the visitors who came to Monsal
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