Sarah turned and looked at him. But she could only see the back of his head, and his growing bald patch. Beyond him, the television screen was flickering into the opening credits of a wildlife programme. In the branches of a tree, a hook-beaked predator swivelled its head and stared with unblinking yellow eyes at the camera, ignoring the struggles of a small lizard that writhed in its talons.
Ben Cooper remembered the first time Diane Fry had mentioned her sister to him. It had made him feel guilty, as if he had dragged something painful out of her that she would rather have kept to herself. And he knew that Fry had been searching for that
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missing sister ever since she’d transferred to Derbyshire from the West Midlands. In fact, she had told him herself that it was the only reason she’d come to Edendale, desperately following a rumour that Angie was somewhere in one of the big cities to the north.
Cooper felt sure that it was desperation and hope that had driven Fry this far. Desperation to find the one remaining link to her own past, and therefore perhaps the confirmation she needed of her own identity. And hope that she might find her sister before it was too late.
Now he thought about it, Cooper knew he had never really believed that Diane’s hope would ever be justified. Too many possibilities awaited someone who had been a heroin addict by the age of sixteen - as Angie had been, according to her sister. Yet that desperate faith had actually been strong enough to produce Angie herself, right here in the flesh, in the sitting room of his flat at 8 Welbeck Street.
Cooper was so surprised by the fact that for a few minutes he could only stare at his visitor stupidly. He sat down on the arm of the sofa, suddenly feeling so disorientated that he was afraid his knees might otherwise crumple and leave him sprawled on the floor in an undignified heap. Then he stood up again immediately and opened his mouth to speak. But the only questions that came into his mind were ‘Why here?’ and ‘Why me?’, which sounded too discourteous to be uttered to a visitor.
‘How did you find out where I live?’ he said at last.
Angie Fry brushed a strand of hair from her forehead in a familiar gesture that he saw almost every day. ‘Oh, they told me at the police station.’
‘I see. They gave you my address?’
‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind. It’s important, or I wouldn’t have come here bothering you.’
Cooper realized his mouth was hanging open. He could neither believe what he was seeing, nor what he was being told. But the person standing in the middle of his rug was too like Diane Fry to be anybody except who she said she was. And his upbringing prevented him from blurting out what was in his mind.
Angie looked at him and smiled briefly. Cooper thought for a moment that it was a mocking smile, but it disappeared from her face too quickly for him to be sure.
‘Well, aren’t you going to offer me a coffee or something?’ she
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said. ‘You might even ask me to sit down, rather than leaving me standing here.’
‘Of course. Would you like coffee? Or would you prefer tea?’
‘Coffee would he great/ she said. ‘White, no sugar.’
‘Just the way Diane has it. No sugar.’
‘Like they say, we’re both sweet enough already.’
‘Maybe.’
The kitchen of the flat was near enough for Cooper to continue holding a conversation with Angie while he made the coffee and lifted down a pair of Simpsons mugs from the dresser.
‘Did you call in at the station, or did you phone?’ he said.
‘Oh, I phoned.’
‘Who did you speak to?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Just wondering. Did you get put through to CID, or did you talk to someone on the enquiries desk? Male or female?’
He got no answer. Eventually, he went back into the room with two mugs of coffee and found Angie Fry sitting on the floor with her back against his sofa, staring at the ceiling. She’d taken off her rucksack and jacket, and he could see she was wearing an old sweatshirt with lettering that might have been the name of a university or a rock band, but was too worn to read.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Questions and more questions,’ she said. ‘I knew you’d treat me like this. You are a copper, after all. Suspicious lot, aren’t you?’
‘We’re trained to be. But, whether as a copper or just as another human being, I prefer to be told the truth.’
‘I am telling you the truth,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so.’
She said nothing, but sat and looked at him for a moment. He was relieved that she didn’t try to bluff it out, to bluster and lie barefaced, as he had heard so many people do in the interview rooms at West Street. So he didn’t hesitate in explaining what he meant.
‘They would never give out a police officer’s home address at the station,’ he said. ‘It’s the number one rule. You really ought to have known that.’
For a second, he thought she might laugh. But that mocking half-smile flitted across her lips again, then vanished. She nodded, lowering her eyes. Her shoulders slumped a little inside the sweatshirt.
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I’m not a very good liar/ she said. ‘I should have known not to try to lie.’
‘We get plenty of experience of hearing good liars/ said Cooper.
