Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue. Stephen Booth
too, Grandma.’
Gwen dropped her knitting and reached out for Helen’s arm. ‘I daren’t go out, Helen. Will you fetch me some bread and tea from the shop before you go?’
‘Why daren’t you go out, Grandma?’
‘Why? Can’t you imagine what people are saying about us? They’re looking at me if I even go near the windows. That’s why I closed the curtains.’
‘Take no notice, Grandma. People will soon forget.’
Helen had noticed the extra activity in Moorhay. There were more walkers than usually passed through, even in summer. Many of them were not dressed for walking, but stopped and peered into the windows of the cottages they passed. The car park at the Drover was full, and there were cars parked along the roadside, their roofs shimmering with heat. There were even two cars in the layby where the Hulley’s bus stopped twice a day. The bus driver would be annoyed when he came.
Andrew began to mop his brow with a white handkerchief as he cast another glance towards the front window. ‘So the police haven’t been back then, eh, Gwen? That’s good, isn’t it?’
The old woman didn’t look convinced as she fumbled for some money in an old purse. ‘I suppose so. And an extra pint of milk, Helen.’
‘I’ll get off then, if you’re all right, Gwen. Take care of yourselves, you and Harry, won’t you? Bye, Helen.’
Helen said goodbye and watched her father let himself out of the front door. She wondered, for a moment, where he had been passing from if he was on his way back to Sheffield.
Helen paused in the street after leaving Dial Cottage. She had recognized a figure further up the road, emerging from one of the houses near the village hall. Ben Cooper was with the woman police officer who had come to the house with the more senior detectives to talk to Harry. She was carrying a clipboard and she looked serious and businesslike.
Helen hesitated, unsure whether she should speak to them, not knowing whether Ben would want to acknowledge her in front of his colleague.
‘I cannot believe,’ Fry was saying, ‘the way some of the people in this village speak to you, Ben. What do they think you are? Jesus Christ?’
Cooper shrugged. He thought of his first taste of Moorhay hospitality the day before, when the man mowing the graveyard had glowered at him with suspicion, and the woman watering her flower beds had refused to speak to him. They hadn’t known who he was then, hadn’t even known he was a police officer. He had just been some casual stranger in sweaty clothes, running madly through the heat, his behaviour unconventional, his intentions dubious. But that was not the picture of the place he would want to present to a genuine stranger, a real outsider, like Diane Fry. It was not how villages like Moorhay really were, at heart.
‘They just know me, some of them. Or they’ve heard of me, at least. It makes a difference. There are some folk who don’t like talking to outsiders much.’
‘I suppose you think if I was going round on my own they wouldn’t even give me the time of day.’
‘Oh, they’d probably do that,’ said Cooper. ‘But it’d be the time in Papua New Guinea.’
‘Ha, ha.’
‘I’m only joking.’
‘Yes, I know. I could practically see you reading the script. But what gets me is that they all trot out your father’s name, like some mantra. Sergeant Cooper this, and Sergeant Cooper that. If you’re Jesus Christ, who must he be?’
‘Just an old-fashioned copper.’
‘You’d think he was a member of the family. They all look at you like a long-lost relative.’
Fry saw Helen Milner first. Their eyes met, and Helen turned away, as if she had decided not to speak to them after all.
‘And here’s another one,’ said Fry quietly.
Cooper noticed Helen then. Fry glowered at him as he smiled towards her.
‘Did you want to speak to us, Helen?’
‘No, no, it’s all right. Well, only … to say hello. How are you getting on? Are you any nearer catching the man you want?’
‘We’re just the troops on the ground, you know. We don’t get to know the bigger picture in an enquiry until the big chiefs decide to tell us about it.’
‘Oh.’ Helen looked a bit disappointed.
‘Of course, at this rate, it will be the other way round,’ said Fry. ‘We’ll all be waiting like a lot of Dr Watsons for Ben here to condescend to tell us the answers.’
Helen frowned, puzzled by the tone of the comment. ‘Perhaps I’d better let you get on. I can see you’re busy.’
‘No, wait,’ said Cooper. ‘How’s Mr Dickinson?’
She thought Ben looked different today. Less formal, a bit more relaxed, now that they had renewed their acquaintance. Yesterday he had seemed to see her as a stranger, to be treated like any other member of the public. But perhaps relaxed wasn’t the right word. He looked less tightly focused, more readily distracted. His hair was tousled in a way that reminded Helen powerfully of the younger Ben she had known so well. And Gwen was right – his eyes were deep brown. She had almost forgotten.
‘Granddad’s fine. A bit, well …’
‘Yes? Is he upset? It’s understandable.’
‘A bit quiet, that’s all I was going to say.’
‘And your grandmother?’
‘It’s all a bit much for her to take in.’
‘She’s taken it worse than your grandfather, I suppose. People of that generation –’
‘Don’t let Granddad hear you say that.’
‘Miss Milner, did you know Laura Vernon?’ interrupted Fry.
‘Oh, well, I did meet her once.’
‘When was that?’
‘A couple of months ago. It was at a party that the Vernons gave. A Midsummer Party, they called it. Yes, it was in June.’
‘What do you know about Laura?’
‘Oh, absolutely nothing. I don’t really know her parents either.’
‘But you were invited to their party. How was that?’
‘My father works for Graham Vernon. I suppose they invited me out of politeness.’
‘Oh, of course. But you met Laura at this party.’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you make of her?’
‘Laura? She was a very pretty girl. Big, dark eyes. Very mature for her age.’
Fry waited. ‘And?’
‘I don’t know what else to say really.’
‘Her looks don’t tell us much about her personality, Miss Milner.’
‘As I say, I didn’t really know her.’
‘But I’m sure you’re a good observer. What do you do for a living?’
‘I’m a teacher.’
‘Of course. So you’re used to assessing children. What did you think of Laura Vernon?’
Helen lowered her eyes to avoid the policewoman’s direct stare. ‘I suppose I thought she was rather too precocious. She was a bit brash, a bit pushy. Arrogant, even.’
‘Arrogant?’
‘Well, she struck me as the sort