Cooper was completely taken aback. There had been several occasions when he’d thought Fry might head off into the blue. Fry had even hinted at it herself, hankering after a job in Europol, or anywhere more exciting than Edendale. But it was so odd to hear it from someone else. It made the idea sound as though it might be true.
‘Well, she’s ambitious,’ said Liz.
‘She certainly is.’
‘To be honest, I think it would be a good thing if she went, Ben.’
Cooper was silent for a moment, thinking about his Bruce Burger. He’d promised himself not to dwell on work tonight. Not the current enquiry, anyway. You had to escape from those things for a while.
‘There are always changes,’ he said. ‘Life never stays the same. See how different it is since you came to E Division.’
He meant changes in her department. Before Liz’s time, there had been a period when there were only two SOCOs in the division for eighteen months. But their performance was measured on volume crime, and no account was taken of serious crime and road traffic collision work. If Liz had grumbles, she ought to have heard the level of whining in Scenes of Crime for those few months.
But Liz took his comment quite differently, and went slightly pink. She changed the subject as their food arrived.
‘Speaking of Cinderella, wasn’t the pantomime great the other night?’
‘Great.’
‘I know it’s all a bit naff, Ben. But if you take it in the right spirit, it’s good fun.’
‘Of course. It was great. I enjoyed it. Really.’
Liz laughed again, because she knew he was lying.
‘And you’re still coming with me to the baptism service tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘Of course. I’ll be there, with my suit on and everything.’
And, although he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, Cooper found himself thinking about work. He was mentally trying to fit the residents of Rakedale into a pantomime cast. Some of them were chasing the magic genie of the lamp, while others stood around in the street cracking bad jokes, and the Emperor Ping Pong refused to let his daughter marry a poor washerwoman’s son.
Cooper had a feeling he’d met Wishy Washy and Widow Twankey. Maybe even Inspector Chu. But where was the evil Abanazar?
Jack Elder dragged his fingers through his beard, staring in disbelief at the walls of the interview room and at the triple-deck tape recorder as the tapes started to turn, waiting for his answers to Fry’s questions. He’d been waiting an hour already, while checks were made on him. It wasn’t long, but it was enough for anyone to get nervous about what was going to happen next.
‘Mr Elder, we have information that you’ve been offering supplies of cheap diesel. Would you like to tell us where you’ve obtained that diesel from?’
‘Oh, that? Well, that’s just a bit of business, you know. I work for this little haulage company as a driver. I’m a farmworker really, but you make a living any way you can round here these days, and haulage is a good business to be in, if you get your HGV licence. And I’ve got this mate, you see — ’
‘Name?’
‘You what?’
‘The name of your friend?’
‘Now, I can’t do that. You don’t shop a mate, do you?’
‘Well, I can understand that. But it would only be a problem if you were doing something illegal together, Mr Elder. Is that the case?’
‘Well, I …’ He stumbled, unsure now of what the right answer was.
‘Where did this cheap diesel come from, sir?’
‘My mate, see, he works for the same haulage company, at the depot. The company has its own diesel tanks, to keep the wagons fuelled up.’
‘So this is diesel you and your friend steal from your employer?’
‘No, well … I don’t ask him how he gets hold of it, I just assume it’s legitimate, you know. Surplus to requirements, or something.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘I help him to sell it, that’s all,’ said Elder earnestly. ‘He gives me a cut on sales. A bit of commission, if you like. Just to supplement my wages.’
Fry felt unreasonably disappointed that Elder was only admitting to the diesel being stolen.
‘You see, the thing is, Mr Elder, we checked your record on the Police National Computer, and we discovered that you have a conviction for the use of illegal fuel.’
‘Ah, well.’
‘And that wasn’t stolen fuel, but laundered red diesel.’
‘That was just a one-off, you know. I thought I’d get away with it, just using it once, but the Excise turned up in the wrong place and they caught me out. I held my hand up for it and got a fine.’
‘It’s quite a common offence in these parts, it seems,’ said Fry.
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
‘Red diesel is sold to farmers and people like them for use in off-road vehicles. Tractors and so on. As a farmworker by trade, I expect you know lots of farmers.’
‘Yes, I do. But — ’
‘Tell me, Mr Elder, isn’t it the truth that the diesel you’re helping your friend to sell isn’t from the haulage firm at all, but red diesel that is being laundered somewhere for sale to motorists?’
‘I can’t answer that.’
‘There’s a huge mark-up, I believe. Plenty of commission on sales, if there’s a sizeable operation going on somewhere. We need you to tell us where that laundering operation is, Mr Elder.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Have you ever been to Pity Wood Farm, sir?’
‘Oh — Pity Wood?’
‘Pity Wood Farm. It was the home of the Sutton family until recently. I’m sure you know it. Have you ever been there?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Elder, dropping his gaze to the table and fiddling with his beard.
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Sure.’
‘Only, we do have a witness who says he’s seen you going in and out of the farm in your lorry many times.’
‘Well, he’s lying,’ said Elder. ‘Whoever he is, he’s lying. I know the Suttons, of course I do. But I only ever met them in the pub. I was never at that farm.’
‘You know your answer is being recorded, Mr Elder?’
‘Yes. Well, I mean … I think I should have a solicitor.’
‘You’ll get one,’ said Fry. ‘But it might take some time. It’s nearly Christmas, you know.’
An officer knocked on the door. Fry paused the interview and went out. He passed her a message.
‘Oh, interesting.’
She went back in, and found Elder watching her hopefully in a vain expectation that she might be coming back to tell him it was all a big mistake and he could leave.
‘On quite another matter, Mr Elder,’ she said, ‘do you know a place called Godfrey’s Rough?’
Elder looked confused by the change in the direction of questioning.
‘Where?’
‘Godfrey’s Rough picnic site. I believe it’s a well-known dogging area.’
‘Sorry?’ Elder cocked his head as if he had misheard and thought his ear might have suddenly become blocked. ‘Did you say “dogging”? Are you talking about people walking their dogs? But they do that everywhere.’
‘Walking their dogs? Hardly.’
Elder looked even more puzzled.
