‘Keith Teasdale is inside,’ said DI Hitchens. ‘His vehicle has been located in the car park.’
‘When do we make a move?’
‘We want to do it as discreetly as possible.’ ‘Wait for the auction to finish, then?’
‘Yes. We take it easy, keep an eye on them and let the crowd disperse. It’s too full of people in there at the moment.’
The radio crackled, and Fry answered it. ‘I think we might have a problem, sir,’ she said.
‘What’s up?’
‘DC Weenink reports a group of women gathering in the car park. Fifteen or twenty of them, he says.’ ‘What the hell do they want?’
‘It looks like some kind of protest.’
As he entered the hospital ward, Ben Cooper nodded to the nurse at the desk, who smiled at him. She looked a nice girl, but tired and preoccupied, too busy to engage in social intercourse. But for the colour of her uniform, she could have been in the police service.
There were twelve beds in the ward. Some of the patients were old men, stirring restlessly or sitting up in their striped pyjamas, staring at the unexpected visitor. It was outside normal visiting hours and there was little to occupy them until the next meal arrived.
At first Cooper thought it might have been a mixed ward, one of those relics of the NHS. But then he
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remembered who he had come to see. Stride lay on his side, a slight figure too slender and too mannered in his pose to be at home among the old men. He was running his pale hand through his long hair, pushing a strand away from his face.
As Cooper came nearer, he saw that Stride’s eyes were distant and unfocused, like a man listening to a personal stereo or an audio tape of some absorbing thriller that had taken him away from the real world. But there were no headphones. Stride needed no artificial aids to distance himself from reality. That distancing must be a great talent.
‘Visiting time, Simon,’ he said.
The young man didn’t stir. ‘They call me Stride.’ There was a bottle of mineral water on the bedside cabinet and a glass. Stride seemed to be fascinated by the slow floating of the bubbles towards the surface.
Stride had told the police nothing so far - nothing useful either about the night he had been attacked, or about anyone he might have seen on Ringham Moor. But Cooper knew Stride spent more time on the moor than anyone else. He was there at night, too - to talk to the Virgins, according to Cal. Like Mark Roper, he probably saw more than was good for him.
But Stride’s vagueness was more than just an absence of memory which might be brought back by the right triggers, like Maggie Crew. What sort of unimaginable triggers would release Stride’s knowledge?
‘I wanted to tell you something,’ said Cooper. ‘There was a youth on the moor that day - the day that Jenny Weston was killed. His name was Gary and he’d been
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working for Warren Leach at Ringham Edge, but they had a row and he walked off. He saw Jenny reach the top of the path, and he says she went towards the Hammond Tower. It was very helpful that Gary came forward. Eventually.’
‘Yes?’ ‘You didn’t come forward, though, Simon. You didn’t tell us anything. All that stuff about the Fiddler. What was the point?’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘This youth, he saw Jenny Weston. Who else do you think he might have seen?’
‘I could call for the nurse. You’re not good for my condition.’
‘I thought about you first. Were you there, Simon? And was your friend there too?’
Stride stayed on his side and stared straight ahead. ‘He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’ said Cooper. ‘Nobody ever accepted me for what I am. But Cal did.’
‘I understand,’ said Cooper. ‘But, Simon - did you see Jenny Weston?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘It was something you said once. You said: “I saw her face.” Simon, I think you saw her after she was dead.’
‘Oh.’ Stride shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his face pale.
‘Do you need more painkillers?’ ‘No, don’t worry.’
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‘It looks uncomfortable.’
‘Yeah. Will you tell me something?’ ‘What?’
‘Is this what anal sex is like?’
Cooper blinked. Stride laughed at his expression, and his fingers went to his mouth. Men in the other beds turned to look at them. They were already curious about Stride.
‘No, you wouldn’t know, would you? Anyway, it’d have to be a bloke with a cock as big as a broom handle. Not many of those about.’
‘I’ll ask around a bit,’ said Cooper.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Stride. ‘For your own safety.’ ‘Cool.’
Stride looked around for the mineral water. Cooper poured it for him and passed him the glass, to save the young man having to stretch too far.
‘Did you actually see her?’ he said.
