‘But what you put yourself through,’ said Cooper. ‘It must have been appalling.’
Harry shrugged. ‘It’s what you do. For a friend.’
But Fry wasn’t satisfied. She was still angry. She stepped forward, and the old man looked up at her from his chair as they faced each other across a short stretch of carpet. ‘You’ve caused a lot of trouble for us, Mr Dickinson,’ she said. ‘Do you realize you’ve just admitted to committing several offences?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Mr Dickinson, you’ve deliberately misled the police. You’ve concealed evidence of a very serious crime. And that’s only for starters. At the moment, there’s no proof that Wilford Cutts’s death was suicide. There may be more serious allegations to follow, depending on the results of forensic examination.’
‘Sam has the suicide note,’ said Harry. ‘If that’s what you need. It was all done properly.’
‘I see.’
Concern clouded Harry’s impassive face. ‘Somebody ought to go and see Sam. He’s not well.’
o
‘Detective Constable Cooper is just about to do that,’ said Fry.
Cooper looked at her, and their eyes met for a long minute. There was everything in their stare, all the pent-up resentment and jealousy, all the disdain for each other’s views and methods, their lifestyles and backgrounds, all the memories of the things that had passed between them, all the pain of intimacy and
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betraval. Cooper could sense that she was also asking him to trust her.
‘Ben, please.’
She said it as if it was a request. But now the words had a note of authority, naturally assumed, as of a right. She expected him to obey. This was her case, she seemed to say. And she was right, of course. Diane Fry had done everything properly; she had called in, she had sent for back-up, she had secured the scene. As for Ben Cooper, he was officially off the enquiry. He shouldn’t even be here. So how could he possibly expect to take any of the credit?
He nodded and went towards the front door, looking for a passing patrol car to flag down for a lift to Thorpe Farm. As he left the room, he heard Fry begin the litany.
‘Harold Dickinson, I am arresting you on a charge of attempting to pervert the course of justice. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence …’
Sam Beeley looked relieved when the police car came up the track to the smallholding. He was holding an envelope, sealed and addressed ‘To Whom It May Concern’. Cooper realized that he and Fry had actually watched the three old men composing the letter on the bonnet of the pick-up, but had thought they were doing a crossword puzzle.
He looked closely at Sam. ‘We’ll take you to a doctor, Mr Beeley. It’s all over.’
Sam waved his stick weakly. ‘Someone has to look after the dog.’
‘Oh yes.’
Cooper went to the shed and opened the lower door. A black and white Border collie emerged from the darkness, coming eagerly to sniff his legs and lick his hand, gazing up hopefully into his eyes. He guessed that she knew her master had gone. Dogs always did seem to know these things. The bonds of trust and affection they forged with people were so powerful that they could only be broken by death.
He reached down to stroke the animal’s head, an inadequate gesture of consolation.
O
‘We’ll look after you, Connie,’ he said.
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30
rV few evenings later, Diane Fry left her flat and drove her black Peugeot out of Edendale. She headed southwards towards the limestone plateau, skirting Durham Edge and Camphill, where the flying club was. She gazed up at the gliders launching themselves into the air, soaring on the thermals rising from
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the valleys and slipping sideways in the warm breezes stroking
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the tops of the hills. She felt as though she could take off like one of those gliders and fly over the countryside that was now becoming her own. No matter what view she got from up there, she wouldn’t have been able to see her future any more clearly than she did now. Everything was working out fine.
She found Bridge End Farm and crawled down the track to park in the farmyard. She could see Ben Cooper standing by a field gate in the shadow of a barn. He was talking to an older, more heavily built man who had the same colour hair and the same open, boyish look to his face. This must be Matt, the brother who was the farmer. The two men were comparing the guns they held over their arms, and there was a dog on the ground at their feet.
Fry took the cassette from her glove compartment and slipped it into her pocket. Tanita Tikaram’s ‘Ancient Heart’. He had asked about it, and said he liked it. Maybe, just maybe, it would help to bring back some more memories.
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Cooper turned as she got out of the car. His face was a picture of amazement.
‘Diane — is something wrong?’
‘No, Ben. It’s a social call.’
‘I see.’ He seemed suddenly flustered and looked at his brother. ‘This is Matt, by the way. Matt — Diane Fry. A colleague.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Matt, with a smile and a strange sideways look at his brother. ‘Sorry I can’t stop to chat, though. There’s a lot of work to do. I’ll see you later, Ben.’
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