On Hollowgate, lines of frustrated motorists sat in their cars, boot to bonnet in clouds of exhaust fumes. But he had stepped out of the alley into a noisy snarl of traffic that had choked the heart of Edendale and brought its snowcovered streets to a halt. He had walked down one of the alleyways from the market square, crunching through fresh snow, slithering on the frozen cobbles, passing from light to dark as he moved out of the range of the street lamps. And snow had turned the morning into shuddering chaos.Ĭooper pulled up the collar of his waxed coat to meet the rim of his cap and brushed away the flecks of snow that had caught in the stubble on his jawline where he had rushed shaving that morning. But this was January, and dawn came late in Edendale. Cooper knew all about the hour before dawn, and it was no time of day to be on the streets. But in the bedrooms of third-floor flats on the council estates, or in stone-built semis in the hillside crescents, there were people blinking in bewilderment at an alien world of deadened sounds and inverted patterns of dark and light. An hour before dawn should be the dead hour. It was an hour before dawn when Detective Constable Ben Cooper first began to get the news. Cejer, Secretary of the Derbyshire branch of the Federation of Poles in Great Britain, for information on Polish language and customs and the Lincolnshire Aviation HeritageĬentre, for a ride on a Lancaster bomber. Lines from ‘Won’t you let me take you on a sea cruise?’, a rock’n’roll classic recorded by Frankie Ford, reproduced by permission of Sea Cruise Productions, Inc.įor their help in the writing of this novel, I am grateful to: Mr F. To DS Fry, Ben’s interest in the case seems a waste of police time - until a vicious attack in the dark Edendale backstreets suggests that the past could provide a motive for the present violence. Now she wants to clear his name, but is met with a wall of silence from surviving witnesses.
Her grandfather was last seen in the winter of 1945, walking away from the crash that had claimed the lives of all but one of his crew. It’s no time to become obsessed with a 57-year-old mystery, but that’s precisely what DC Ben Cooper does when the attractive granddaughter of an RAF bomber pilot arrives in Edendale. With the body count mounting and her team depleted by winter ailments, DS Diane Fry is short of clues and the resources to pursue a murder inquiry. And hers wasn’t the only corpse lying hidden beneath the Peak District snow that January. Marie Tenncnt seemed to have just curled up in the snow on Irontongue Hill and stayed there as her body slowly and agonizingly froze. It wasn’t the easiest way to commit suicide.
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