Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue. Stephen Booth
Charlie. Will you talk to Daniel?’
She raised her head, dabbing at her eyes. They both listened for the sounds of their son, heavy-footed on the stairs, getting ready to go out. But she answered with another question.
‘There isn’t anything that I don’t know, is there, Graham?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About Laura. I need to know exactly what happened, and why. Are there things that you’re keeping from me?’
Graham saw that something important depended on his answer. Should he tell the truth, or was it a lie that his wife wanted to hear? He thought of the sort of information that Tailby and his team might already be collecting – details that could shatter even Charlotte’s illusions about their daughter. The direction of Tailby’s questions about Lee Sherratt, and even about Daniel, had made that possibility clear. And who would Charlotte blame for that? She said she no longer trusted him. But what she thought of him might mean the difference now between holding together and everything falling apart. The truth or a lie? A crucial decision, but to hesitate would be fatal.
‘They haven’t told me anything,’ he said.
Charlotte finished drying her eyes, pushed back her hair and stubbed out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray among a pile of old stubs.
‘I’ll catch Danny now, shall I?’
‘Good girl,’ said Graham.
Cooper tapped Fry on the shoulder as the meeting broke up. ‘Are you in a rush to get home?’
‘Well … no.’
‘I wondered if you fancied a game of squash. I could do with a game to wind down, and you said you were into sport.’
Fry considered for a moment. Ben Cooper was not her ideal choice of a companion, for squash or anything else. On the other hand, it would be vastly preferable to another early night in front of the wobbly old TV with her own thoughts. Besides, she was confident she could beat him. That thought made her mind up for her.
‘Can we get a game at short notice?’ she asked.
‘I can,’ said Cooper, grinning. ‘Just let me make one phone call. We’ll get a court at the rugby club on a Tuesday night, no problem.’
‘Fine, then. Oh, I’ll need to call at the flat to get my racquet and kit.’
‘I’ve got mine in the car, but I’ll follow you home and we can go together. OK?’
‘All right, yes. Thanks.’
‘It seems strange to be going off duty with the enquiry at this stage, though. No money for overtime. Can you believe it?’
‘They think they’ve got it sewn up, once Lee Sherratt’s in custody.’
‘That’s what I think, too. They’re relying totally on forensic evidence. It seems to be some sort of holy grail these days.’
‘Forensics don’t lie, Ben. Only people lie.’
‘And it costs too much to keep a manpower-intensive enquiry going for days and weeks on end. I know, I’ve heard all that.’
‘It’s true. We have to live in the real world.’
‘It worries me that the only suggestion of any motivation for Lee Sherratt is what the girl’s father says about him. That’s not enough, surely.’
‘Enough for Mr Tailby to build a case on, providing the forensics back him up.’
Cooper shook his head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
‘Feel right? That again.’
‘OK, point taken.’
‘Feelings don’t come into it.’
‘At one time,’ said Cooper, ‘it was money that didn’t come into it.’
‘That sounds to me like your famous father speaking.’ She saw Cooper flush, and knew she was right. ‘A proper Dixon of Dock Green, isn’t he, your dad? Why don’t you explain to him one day that it’s not the 1950s any more? Things have moved on in the last fifty years. If he walked down the street in his uniform in a lot of places in this country today, he’d get his head kicked in before he could say, “Evening all”.’
Cooper went completely rigid, and his face suffused with blood. He breathed deeply two or three times before he managed to get himself under control. His hands were shaking as he pushed the papers he was holding into a file.
‘I’ll see you down in the car park,’ he said, in a voice thick with emotion.
As he walked away, Fry immediately began to regret agreeing to play squash with him. It had only been some sudden burst of comradeship, all too easy to give in to in the police service. There was always a feeling that it was ‘us against them’ in the closed environment of a police station. But then she shrugged, knowing that it would only be for one evening. She would have no problem keeping Ben Cooper at arm’s-length.
‘All right, Diane?’ asked DI Hitchens, approaching her from behind and standing close to her shoulder.
‘I’m fine.’
‘What are you doing when you go off duty?’
‘I’m playing squash with Ben Cooper. Apparently.’
‘Really? Good luck then.’
‘And I’m going to thrash him too.’
‘Are you? So you’re a squash expert as well, then?’
‘Not really, just averagely good. But I’m fit, and I’ll have him begging for mercy on that court. Old Ben looks like a real softy to me.’
‘Ben? I don’t think so. He’s a bit of a chip off the old block really. Soft on the surface, but tough as old boots underneath, like his dad.’
‘So you’re a fan of Sergeant Cooper’s too, are you, sir?’
‘We all are in this station. How could we be anything else?’
‘And what exactly has he done to earn this adulation?’
‘If you want to know about Sergeant Joe Cooper,’ said Hitchens, ‘I suggest you stop off downstairs in reception for a few minutes. You’ll find his memorial on the wall near the front counter. It’s about two years since he was killed.’
Cooper screwed up his face, bared his teeth and let the power surge through his muscles. He glared at the ball, swung back his arm and released a ferocious serve that flew off the front wall like a rocket and hit the back corner so fast that Fry hardly had time to move.
‘Thirteen-three.’
They changed sides of the court, passing each other near the ‘T’. Cooper refused to meet Fry’s eye. He was completely absorbed in his game, as he had been since the start. His concentration was total, and Fry felt she might as well have been a robot set up for him to aim at. As they passed, she smelled the sweat on his body like the sweet resin of a damaged pine tree.
‘Your serve’s incredible.’
Cooper nodded briefly, lining up the ball with his left side turned to the front wall. He waited a few seconds for Fry to get in position, then, with a grunt, unleashed a cannonball that bounced straight at his opponent’s face, making her instinctively want to get out of the way, rather than try to hit it back. Returning Cooper’s serve was proving a futile exercise anyway.
‘Fourteen-three. Game point.’
Fry had given up trying to make conversation