pyrites had first been discovered in the late Middle Ages but had not been exploited fully until the eighteenth century when four main galleries and a couple of hollowed-out caverns were excavated. However, the seams were less productive than they’d appeared and at some point in the 1790s, the mine had ceased to operate commercially. At the time the book had been written, the mine had been closed off with a wooden palisade.
George pointed to the description. ‘Are these directions good enough for us to find the way in to these workings?’
‘You’d never find it,’ Diane said. She’d come up behind him and was peering round his arm. ‘I tell you who could, though.’
‘Who?’ George asked. It can’t have been harder to get lead out of the ground than information out of Scardale natives, he thought wearily.
‘I bet our Charlie could,’ Diane said, oblivious to his exasperation. ‘He knows the dale better than anybody living. And he’s fit as a butcher’s dog. If there’s any climbing or caving to be done, he’s your lad. That’s who you need, Mr Bennett. Our Charlie. That’s if he’s willing, after the way you’ve treated him.’
Monday, 16th December 1963. 11.33 a.m.
Charlie Lomas was as skittery as a young pup straining at the leash with the scent of rabbit in his nostrils. Like George, he’d wanted to race down the dale to the place where river met crag as soon as he’d known what was afoot. But unlike George, who had learned the virtue of patience, he saw no advantage in waiting for the trained potholers to arrive. As far as Charlie was concerned, being a Scardale man was advantage enough when it came to investigating the mysteries of Scardale Crag. So he’d paced up and down outside the caravan, smoking incessantly, nervously sipping from a cup of tea long after it must have been stone cold.
George stared out of the caravan window, glowering at the village. ‘It’s not as if we’re not used to people withholding information, but there’s usually a motive behind it that you can see. Mostly they’re either protecting themselves or they’re protecting someone else. Or else they’re just bloody-minded toerags who take pleasure in frustrating us. But here? It’s like getting blood out of a stone.’
Clough sighed. ‘I don’t think there’s any malice in it. They don’t even know they’re doing it half the time. It’s a habit they’ve got into over the centuries, and I don’t see them changing it in a hurry. It’s like they think nobody’s entitled to know their business.’
‘It goes beyond that, Tommy. They’ve all lived in each other’s pockets for so long, they know everything there is to know about Scardale and about each other. They take that knowledge totally for granted and simply forget that we’re not in the same boat.’
‘I know what you mean. Whenever we uncover something they should have told us, it’s as if they’re gobstruck that we hadn’t already known it.’
George nodded. ‘This is the perfect example. Ma Lomas never said at any point, “Oh, did you know there are some old lead mine workings inside Scardale Crag? It might be worth searching there.” No, like everybody else, she assumed that we’d know about them and her only intent in mentioning them was to get into my ribs because she thinks the police search has been inadequate.’
Clough got up and paced the narrow confines of the caravan. ‘It’s infuriating, but there’s nowt we can do about it because we never know what it is we don’t know until we discover we didn’t know it.’
George rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I can’t help thinking that if only I was better at getting the locals to tell us what they knew, we might have saved Alison.’
Clough stopped pacing and stared at the floor. ‘I think you’re wrong. I think by the time the first call was made to Buxton Police Station, it was too late for Alison Carter.’ He looked up and met George’s eyes. Unable to bear what he saw there, he added, ‘But that might just be me whistling in the dark because I can’t stand the alternative.’
George turned away and looked again at the text in the nineteenth-century book, trying to marry its description to the large-scale Ordnance Survey map. Tommy Clough, recognizing his limitations, sat down again by the window and watched a pair of blackbirds scrabbling in the dirt under the heavy shelter of an ancient yew tree. There would be work to do soon enough; for now, he’d content himself with sitting and thinking.
The cavers arrived in a Commer van with rows of seats bolted to the floor. Peak Park Cave Rescue was painted in an amateur hand across the doors. Half a dozen men spilled out across the green, apparently oblivious to the rain, grabbing handfuls of gear out of the back of the van. One man detached himself from the group and crossed to the caravan. Charlie stopped pacing and stared eagerly at him, like a gun dog on point. The man appeared in the doorway and said, ‘Who’s the boss man, then?’
George stood up, stooping under the low ceiling. ‘Detective Inspector George Bennett,’ he said, extending a hand.
‘You’ve got the look of Jimmy Stewart, anybody ever tell you that?’ the caver said, pumping George’s hand briefly.
George frowned as he caught Clough’s grin. ‘It’s been said. Thanks for turning out.’
‘Our pleasure. We’ve not had a decent rescue for ages. We’re champing at the bit for something a bit out of the ordinary. How d’you want to run this?’ He sat down on the bench seat, the rubber of his wet suit corrugating across his lean stomach.
‘We’ve got a vague idea where the entrance to these mine workings might be,’ George said. He gave a brief outline of what they’d learned from the book and the map. ‘Charlie here is a local. He knows the dale, so he can probably give us some pointers on the ground. If we find it, then I want to be with you when you go in.’
The caver looked dubious. ‘You done any potholing? Any climbing?’
George shook his head. ‘I won’t be a liability. I’m fit and I’m strong.’
‘You will be a liability, whatever you say. We’re a team, we’re used to working together and looking out for each other. You’ll upset our rhythm. I don’t really want to go into an unexplored cave system with somebody that doesn’t know what’s what.’ He rubbed his cheek with his knuckles in a nervous gesture. ‘People die in caves,’ he added. ‘That’s why we were set up.’
‘You’re right,’ George said. ‘People do die in caves. That’s exactly why I have to be there with you. It’s possible that you might walk into a crime scene. And I’m not prepared to compromise any potential evidence. You have an area of expertise, I’m not denying that. But so do I. That being the case, you’re not going in there without me. Now, have you some spare gear, or am I going to have to get one of your team to strip off and give me his wet suit?’
The caver looked mutinous. ‘I’m not putting my team at risk because of your inexperience.’
‘I’m not asking you to. I’ll stay back, let you go ahead and check out any potential dangers. I’ll follow your orders. But I have to be there.’ George was implacable.
‘I want to come an’ all,’ Charlie burst out, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘I’ve been in caves, I’ve done potholing, and climbing. I’m experienced. I know the terrain. You’ve got to take me.’
Tommy put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s not a good idea, Charlie. If Alison’s in there, chances are she’s not going to be
