On his desk, Cooper had spread some of the items found during the search of Adrian Tarrant’s house. She watched him pick up the hunting horn in its plastic evidence bag and turn it over to read the label, its brass and copper length glinting in the light. The sight of it made Fry blurt out the first thing that came into her head.
‘You know, Ben,’ she said, ‘I never did hear the kill call.’
Cooper looked up at her, his eyes intense, his face faintly flushed.
‘I was just thinking — we’re not even certain that the horn works,’ he said.
‘We could try it,’ suggested Fry, trying to sound more casual than she felt. ‘Do you know how to use one?’
Cooper raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe. But trying the kill call? We might contaminate the evidence. It’s a big decision to make.’
‘I suppose you’ve given it some thought, though. You’re the sort of man who would.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘And what’s your conclusion, Ben?’
‘Well…’
Fry waited anxiously on his words, conscious of an overwhelming need for someone to make a decision. One way or another, the decision that she had to take in the next few weeks would change her life, and she needed some guidance. Any kind of direction would be welcome right now. A sign, a portent, a few words of advice.
‘Actually, Peter Massey had a thought about decisions,’ said Cooper.
‘Oh?’
‘Do you want to hear it, Diane?’
‘Go ahead. Tell me.’
Cooper glanced at her curiously, before turning over a page of Massey’s statement and read from the last paragraph:
A finger on the button, or a bundle of cloth on the doorstep. An outbreak of the plague, or the radioactive cloud of a nuclear holocaust. It only needs a second. It only takes one person’s decision. And who knows what pestilence might be released into the world?
