Yet within a few miles of Edendale all the minor roads and passes would still be closed and outlying villages would be cut off until the snowploughs reached them.
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The weather changed so quickly in the Peak District that snowfall always seemed to take motorists in the town by surprise. Hair short and dark brown, approximately six feet tall.’ One suspect has been identified as Edward Kemp, 6 Beeley Street, Edendale. All are white males, aged between twenty-five and forty-five. ‘Four suspects are currently being sought.
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They created a grey blanket that absorbed the light and swirled slowly in front of black Georgian windows sparkling with frost. Around him, fumes rose from the shadows and hung under the lamps, trapped in the street by the freezing temperature and the stillness of the air. ‘Two male victims received multiple injuries and are described as being in a serious condition.’Ĭooper worked his way between the gridlocked cars to reach the far side of Hollowgate. Since it was only seven o’clock and still completely dark, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable shift unless he got to his locker at E Division headquarters in West Street pretty soon for a change of socks. It went over the top of his shoe and turned his foot into a frozen sponge. It’s an hour to go before dawn.Ĭooper stepped off the edge of the pavement and straight into six inches of wet slush. Not unless somebody called in and gave them a weather report. It was the crackly voice of a tired operator in a control room with no windows, where they would never know if it was still snowing or the sun had risen. The voice from his radio sounded alien and remote. ‘We have a serious double assault, believed to be racially motivated.
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Headlights pinned drivers and their passengers in cruel shadows, like silhouettes on a shooting range. The throbbing of engines filled the street, echoing from shop facades and the upper storeys of nineteenth-century buildings. Many of them hadīeen driving almost blind, their windscreens covered in halfscraped snow or streaks of brown grit that their frozen wipers couldn’t clear. 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.
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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.