Cooper sat reluctantly. He was cold, and he could feel the first spots of rain. The insulating alcohol was wearing off already.
‘Ben,’ said Weenink in a suddenly different voice. ‘I’ve done something really stupid.’
Cooper’s heart sank. Not now, please, he thought. Any time except now. He was tired. He had to get home.
‘Really, really stupid,’ said Weenink. ‘And I think I’m going to be found out.’
On the way out of her house in Grosvenor Avenue that night, Fry caught a glimpse of a figure lurking in the shadows under the overgrown hedges near the streetlight across the road. It wasn’t unusual. The female students and nurses staying in her own house and the ones on either side attracted a motley selection of boyfriends, some of whom wouldn’t look out of place in a cell in Derby Prison.
Fry studied the figure carefully. If she hadn’t been alert on a professional level, she -wouldri t have seen him. He was wearing dark clothes, and standing quite still, so that his movement didn’t give him away. Nine out of ten people would have passed by without
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noticing him at all. Fry shrugged. It was nothing to do with her. When she was off duty, she didn’t feel any obligation to concern herself about the dangerous private lives of her fellow flat-dwellers. She had plenty of concerns of her own to think about.
She fetched her car from behind the house and drove out of Edendale and through Grindleford to get on the A625 into Sheffield. She tried to keep her eyes closed to the scenery until she was into the built-up area near Ecclesall. She might live on the back of the moon, but she didn’t have to admire it. She was a city girl, and always would be.
Fry began to curse Ben Cooper. She cursed him for being the one who had revived memories she had been trying to put behind her. There was only the one reason she had chosen Derbyshire to transfer to, when she ought to have gone south, to London. They always needed officers in the Met; it would have suited her much better in a big anonymous city, where nobody cared who you were or what you did with your life. By now, she would have been well established, instead of dickering about in this tinpot rural force. She had made the decision for her own reasons, and for months now she had been pretending that those reasons didn’t exist. She had tried to let the job take over, and had hoped it would become her number one priority. No -her only priority. But it hadn’t worked. The time for pretending was over.
A couple of hours later, she returned from Sheffield tired and frustrated. Pain was shooting up her leg, and
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she could feel her ankle had swollen to twice its size where she had twisted it at the cattle market. She had walked the streets of the city centre, hunting out the dark corners and following the sounds of the uneasy silences that lay beyond the bright lights around the pubs and night clubs. She had explored all the subways, lit and unlit, walking in areas most women would have avoided after six o’clock in the evening. She had visited a shelter for the homeless she had located north of the university. But Sheffield was a big place. She might even have to widen her search to Rotherham and Doncaster. Fry knew it could go on for months or years, without success. But once she’d started, she would never be able to give it up. When she reached Grosvenor Avenue, she noticed that the same figure was opposite the house again. He seemed to be watching a lighted window on the first floor. A peeping tom, no doubt about it. It was time to give him a nasty surprise. Fry unlocked the front door and went into the hallway. She waited a minute, then switched off the hall light and took the bulb out of the fitting, in case one of the students came downstairs. Then she walked straight through the house and stepped out of the back door. She clambered over the garden fence and moved silently down the alley between the houses until she could emerge on to the road again. She could see the man’s back now. His shoulders were hunched in a black or dark blue jacket, his hands in his pockets. He was totally unsuspecting. A pushover.
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When she touched him, he jumped like a startled rabbit and tried to turn round. ‘What the I’ But she already had him in a wrist hold, with her other hand above his elbow and his arm held straight out. From this position, she could force him easily to his knees, cuff him, do what she liked with him. The thought gave her a surge of satisfaction. ‘What’s your business?’ she said. He kept very still. Now she was close to him, Fry could see he wasn’t a big man, though he was well wrapped up and wore a peaked cap. He said nothing, but kept his mouth tight shut and rolled his eyes towards her. She applied a bit more pressure to her grip. ‘Whatever it is, I suggest you go and do it somewhere else, mate.’ He was so still that she knew he was going to try to take her by surprise and break free. If she had too firm a grip on him when he tried it, one of them would get hurt - and she knew which of them it would be. Fry didn’t want to find herself responsible for a suspect with a broken arm at this time of night; maybe ending up on the wrong end of an ABH charge in the morning when the suspect got to talk to a lawyer. She increased the distance between them slightly and relaxed her grip just enough so that he would notice. Suddenly, he jerked his arm free, put his head down and legged it as hard as he could for the corner of the road. Probably he had a car parked somewhere out of sight.
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Fry let him go. There was no point in chasing him, even if her leg hadn’t been hurting. She had definitely given him a scare, though. That was one weirdo who would think twice about following women in the future.
Ben Cooper managed to get Weenink moving again and they turned left at the top of the path and emerged on to Bargate. There was still some traffic passing across the lights a few yards away, where the pedestrianized area began.
Uh-oh, got to have a piss,’ said Weenink. You’ll have to hold on.’
‘Can’t.’ Weenink began to unzip and stumbled into the doorway of Boots the Chemists.
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Cooper stood with his back to the doorway, watching the cars cross the end of Bargate, praying that none of them would turn down the street. The sound of a trickle turned into a steady stream, and a pool of urine began to run past his feet on to the pavement.
‘Hurry up.’
Weenink just grunted. Cooper swore under his breath as a patrol car appeared at the lights and stopped on the red signal. The car had the distinctive green and yellow checkerboard pattern on the side that indicated it belonged to Traffic division. Cooper wasn’t even likely to know the crew. Not that knowing them would help in the least.
He recalled travelling on the M1 one day with his
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father, back at the time of the year-long miners’ strike - 1984, it must have been. Ben had been fourteen years old, and he had gone with his father and Matt to a football match. Derby County had been playing Aston Villa at Birmingham in the FA Cup. He remembered the match well. But he remembered the incident on the motorway, too.
On the way back, they had come up at the rear of a long convoy of coaches, one behind the other, travelling in the inside lane of the motorway. They all carried the name of a coach operator in London and they were packed with men, like some factory outing. When the Coopers’ car was close behind the last vehicle, every man on the
