just trying to establish the victim’s exact movements yesterday.’
‘Fair enough.’ Don leaned on the counter with an expectant smile.
‘Is this the woman you remember seeing?’ Cooper produced a copy of the photograph provided by Eric Weston, a picture of Jenny at her cousin’s wedding two years before. Jenny was dressed in a dove grey suit. Unlike the others in the wedding group, she was not wearing a hat, and her dark hair curled round her face, the strands of it echoing the curve of her smile. She looked as though she had been enjoying herself for once.
‘Oh, yes. I don’t need to see the photo either,’ said Don. ‘I remember her. Weston, that’s right. She’s here in the book. She took out a mountain bike at twelve forty-five. It was what she always had. She was a regular, you see.’
‘A regular? How often did she come?’
‘About once every two weeks in the summer. I think she probably went to some of the other hire centres on the weekends in between. Winter, it depended on the weather. But we’re open every day of the year here, except Christmas Day.’
‘So you knew who she was.’
‘I recognized her, of course. And you get to know the names of the regulars, after a bit. You have to enter it in the book, see, and on the computer. They have to show me some ID and put a deposit down on the bike. Twenty quid, it is. She gave me cash. Do you know …?’
‘Somebody else will sort that out, I expect,’ said Cooper.
‘Right. Only it’s not something that’s happened to me before, the customer dying before they can reclaim their deposit. It’s not in the regulations.’
Weenink had been flicking through leaflets advertising the local attractions of Lathkill Dale and Carsington Water. Now he seemed to take notice for the first time of what Marsden was saying.
‘Did she chat to you, then?’ he asked. ‘I mean, did she just come in, pay the money and take the bike, or did she pass the time of day a bit?’
‘She didn’t say much really,’ admitted Don. ‘She was pleasant, you know. But I wouldn’t have said she was the chatty type. Not with me, anyway. Women on their own are a bit distant these days. They learn not to be too friendly.’
He sounded regretful. Cooper wondered what his prospects were as an interviewee when the reporters and TV crews arrived, as they surely would. It was lucky they had got to Don Marsden before the cameras. He had a feeling the story might get embellished along the way later on.
‘So what else do you know about her?’ suggested Weenink.
Don shook his head. ‘Just where she came from. I’ve got her address, look. The Quadrant, Totley, Sheffield. I’ve been through it once or twice, I think. She normally showed me her driving licence for ID. We have to go through the procedure every time. Can’t make exceptions. But as for knowing anything about her – not really. Except I don’t think she was married.’
‘Oh? What makes you say that?’
‘Dunno really. Just the way she was. Friendly, yeah. But it was more like she seemed to be able to please herself what she did. I had the impression there probably wasn’t a husband and kids at home waiting for her to get back. Do you know what I mean?’
Weenink simply stared at the cycle hire man. This was his principal interrogation technique, the intimidatory stare. He had perfected the art of silent disbelief.
‘You’re quite observant really, Don,’ said Cooper.
‘I think so. You see all sorts here, you know. You get to recognize the types.’
‘It was a quarter to one when she came in, you said.’
‘That’s right. It’s in the book.’
‘You saw her arrive, did you?’
‘Yeah. I was standing in the doorway there, as it happens. It was quiet, like now. Maybe not so quiet as this, but quiet anyway. I saw her car pull up. A Fiat, right? So I came back in, and I had a bike ready for her. I knew what she’d want.’
‘Where did she park?’ asked Weenink, though he knew exactly where the Fiat had been found.
‘Just over there, the first bay on the left.’
‘Were there any other cars here?’
‘One or two. Three or four, maybe. I didn’t really count them.’
‘Anybody else that you knew? Any other regulars?’
‘No. But the ones who hired bikes are in the book here. The other policemen took their names and addresses. Of course, there are some folk who bring their own bikes. They don’t come in here at all unless they want a map or something, or they want to ask directions. Some walk or go jogging. Them I don’t notice so much.’
Cooper turned the book round to look at it. The next bike hire recorded after Jenny Weston’s entry was nearly half an hour later, when a tandem had been signed out to a couple called Sharman, from Matlock. Other hirers weren’t his concern, for now. Checking them out was somebody else’s job.
‘Did Jenny Weston ever tell you where she was heading?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Don. ‘But she usually set off eastwards, down the trail towards Ashbourne.’
‘Is that what she did yesterday?’
‘That’s right. It’s sensible for somebody on their own to tell me where they’re going. In case they have an accident or something, you know. There are times when people get lost and are really late back with the bikes. You start to wonder whether something’s happened to them. But there’s not much you can do, if you’ve no idea where they’ve set off to.’
‘Jenny’s bike was overdue for being returned, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it was. She had a three-hour ticket. It should have been back here by a quarter to four, by rights. You have to pay extra if you go over – two pounds more. Or you can lose your twenty quid altogether. We’re supposed to close at dusk anyway.’
‘Did you worry about the fact she wasn’t back?’
‘I thought it was unusual, that’s all. There’s plenty of folk late back. But it was odd for her. She’d never been late before, so I did wonder. But when it came time to close, I would have been reporting in. Head office would have made a decision whether to call you lot. But, of course, young Mark Roper found her before that, didn’t he?’
Cooper pricked up his ears. ‘How did you hear that?’
‘Owen Fox told me. He came through from the Ranger centre when he heard. It’s practically next door, see.’
‘Do you work closely with the Rangers?’
‘We help each other out a bit. I’ve known Owen Fox for years. Good bloke, Owen.’
Weenink had wandered past the wooden barrier and was examining the bikes stacked in the back of the building.
‘Hey,
