Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue. Stephen Booth
during his holiday. He wasn’t reading the papers; in fact, he didn’t appear to see them at all. His face was completely blank as he listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.
‘I suppose so, if that’s what they think,’ he said. ‘But how long for? Yes, I know Kate needs a break, but Matt –’
He saw the new DC coming from the far end of the CID room. She moved with a cool deliberateness, not meeting his eye, but glancing from side to side as she walked past the desks and filing cabinets, as if searching for evidence of misdemeanours among her absent colleagues. Cooper half expected to see her stoop to check for footprints in the carpets, or turn over an envelope to examine the address. She had a lean face and short fair hair, and she was very slim – slimmer than he had grown up to expect women to be. His mother would have said she was sickening for something. But she had a certain wiry look that suggested she was no weakling. No wilting violet, this one.
He had worked out who she was, of course. She was the one PC Garnett had told him about, the new DC who had come from the West Midlands with a reputation. Garnett had been almost right in his description. The only surprise was that she was actually quite attractive – though a smile, he thought, would help to relax her face and do something about the dark shadows in her eyes.
‘Yes, Matt. Yes, you’re right, I know. Two days, then. And we can talk about it properly on Thursday, OK? It just seems a long time to wait.’
The new DC had reached Cooper’s desk. She stood looking at the mess of papers, idly tapping the Moorhay file against her thigh. He turned away, shielding the phone. He knew it was obvious that the call was nothing to do with work. She would recognize a personal call when she heard one. She probably thought he was discussing a girlfriend.
He watched in amazement as she calmly took a seat and booted up his computer terminal, still without looking at him.
‘Hold on a minute, Matt.’
He saw her start to smile as the computer came to life and she logged into the database. It allowed her into the first two screens, but then threw up a dialogue box when she tried to extract some data.
‘You need a password,’ said Cooper.
‘What’s that?’ said Matt in his ear.
‘Nothing.’
‘What is it then?’ she asked.
‘I can’t just give it out. You need authority.’
‘Yeah? I’ll find a way past it then.’
She started tapping keys to get into the terminal settings, looking for the security program and the password function. A silver stud glinted in her ear where it was exposed by a recent trim.
‘You’ll never get anywhere without knowing the proper password.’
‘Ben, if you’re busy –’
‘Yes, look, Matt, I’ll have to go,’ said Cooper. ‘I’ll speak to you tonight.’
He replaced the phone, and didn’t look up for a moment, as if he was adjusting himself to something, preparing to face a whole new challenge.
‘Damn!’
A ‘fatal error’ message was frozen on the computer screen. The terminal had objected to the unauthorized tinkering and had crashed.
‘I did tell you you’d get nowhere without the password,’ he snapped.
‘You’re my new partner,’ said Fry. ‘When you’re available, that is.’
Cooper took a deep breath. ‘OK. Hi, I’m Ben Cooper. You must be DC Fry.’
He waited for her to say something else. He didn’t know her first name yet.
‘My friends call me Diane.’
He nodded cautiously, noting the ambiguity of the message. ‘What are we up for?’
‘House-to-house with some woodentops.’
‘Don’t let them hear you call them that.’
Fry shrugged. ‘We could get going, if you’re ready. I’m only the new girl, but I understand murder enquiries are usually considered quite important.’
‘All right, I’m ready.’
In the corridor, DI Hitchens called them back.
‘I’ll be out for another briefing and to take your reports myself at the end of the morning,’ he said. ‘There’s a pub in Moorhay, isn’t there, Cooper?’
‘The Drover, sir.’
‘Marston’s, I seemed to notice when we went through the village yesterday.’
‘That’s right.’
‘We’ll rendezvous there then – let’s say twelve-thirty. And Ben …’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Don’t be late, will you?’
‘Sorry about that, sir. Family problems.’
‘It’s not like you. Don’t make a habit of it.’
‘No, sir.’
‘One more thing everybody needs to know. Mr Tailby pointed out how important these first few hours of an enquiry are. We all know that. But don’t get too carried away when your shift is finished. There’s no more overtime.’
‘What?’
‘There’s no cash in the budget. The top floor think we can get a result without it.’
‘It’s crazy,’ said Cooper.
Hitchens shrugged. ‘That’s the way it is. OK, you know what your tasks are. Off you go.’
Cooper and Fry had reached the car park at the back of the police station before they hesitated. Fry thought she could read his thoughts.
‘My car’s over there,’ she said. ‘The black Peugeot. And I’m a good driver.’
‘My Toyota’s got four-wheel drive,’ said Ben. ‘It might be handy for some of those lanes round Moorhay. And I know the way.’
Fry shrugged, allowing a small victory. ‘OK.’
They found little to say to each other on the drive out of Edendale. Cooper took a route that Fry didn’t know, dodging down narrow back streets that wound their way across town past the parish church and Edendale Community School. When they emerged on the Buxton Road, she realized that he had managed to bypass all the traffic snarled up on Clappergate and the other approaches to the town centre. Already, she thought, he was making a point of showing off his famous local knowledge.
Cooper could barely keep his eyes off the landscape as he drove. It was a constant pleasure to him to escape from Edendale into the surrounding hills, where the changing moods of the scenery always surprised and delighted him.
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 housing developments, past the sports field and the religious retreat run by the Sisters of Our Lady. Right at the top of the hill was a pub, the Light House, with its stunning views across both limestone and millstone grit.
The patchwork of farmland and tree-covered slopes to the south looked welcoming and approachable lit by the sun, but was full of hidden depths and unseen corners. It was criss-crossed by a pattern of white dry-stone walls and it erupted here and there in steep limestone cliffs or the ripples and pockmarks of abandoned mine workings. It was, above all, a human landscape, settled and shaped by people, and still a place where thousands of years of history might be expected to come to the surface, if you cared to look.
Behind the car, to the north, the moors of the Dark Peak looked remote and forbidding, an uncompromising landscape that was anything but