‘You said they bought the house in Castleton, though,’ said Fry. ‘He didn’t build it himself.’
‘No, the cobbler’s wife and all that. This place was new, and nicely done out. I wouldn’t have minded somewhere like that myself, but you can’t get houses in Castleton these days.’
Fry turned away from the window, irritated by the sound of another strip of paper being fed into the fan. The grinding was making her think of her last visit to the dentist’s.
‘Were there any children, sir?’
‘The Quinns had two, one of each. Sounds like the perfect happy family, doesn’t it?’
‘But this Carol Proctor … ?’
‘Yes, that’s where the pretty picture falls apart. The other woman.’
‘It sounds rather predictable.’
‘Maybe. Unfortunately, we were never able to establish why Carol Proctor had gone to the Quinn house that day. She only lived down the road, so maybe it was just an impulse, or she had something to say to Quinn that wouldn’t wait. We couldn’t find out why they’d argued, either. Quinn himself was notably unhelpful.’
‘And his affair had been going on for some time, regardless of the nice new house, two children and a dog?’
‘There wasn’t a dog,’ said Hitchens.
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‘I meant it figuratively.’
Hitchens watched her as she moved away from the window and found a chair.
‘Are you all right, Fry?’ he said. ‘You seem to be in a strange mood this morning.’
Fry gave herself a mental shake. ‘I’m fine. Sorry.’
‘Good. Anyway, yes. Quinn’s affair was long standing. I was amazed at the time. I mean, how do you keep up a lie to a person you’ve lived with for so long, and not get caught out? You’d be bound to slip up in some way, wouldn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t know, sir,’ said Fry.
‘No?’
‘I’ve lived alone, mostly.’
‘Oh, yes.’
Fry had lived alone for a long time, as the DI knew perfectly well. But she’d become hardened to it. She’d been able to hold back the tide of loneliness, until now. Having someone else around made it difficult to deal with things in her own way.
Since the middle of June, she’d been constantly aware that there was another person in the flat. She’d started to notice the grubbiness of the carpets and the damp stains on the walls, as if she were ashamed of the way she lived.
‘I think being single can be an advantage sometimes,’ said Hitchens thoughtfully. ‘I mean, for the job. You’re ambitious, aren’t you, Fry? Want to get promoted further?’
‘Of course.’
‘With fast-track procedures, you can rise to superintendent in seven years now. The pressure’s immense, and the chances of failure are enormous. But it’s possible. That’s what I wanted to do, you know. But life gets in the way.’
‘Yes, sir.’
If he was appealing for her sympathy, he was wasting his time. Fry remembered the way she’d been thinking when she first transferred to Derbyshire Constabulary. There had been
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very little on her mind except how quickly she could progress up the promotion ladder, the best way to make an impression on her senior officers, and who among her new colleagues might be of most use in her ambitions. But at this distance, she could see that she’d been trying hard to fill her mind with work, to keep out the things she didn’t want to think about.
There had been only one exception to her self-imposed rule then, just one subject that had occupied her thoughts when she was away from the office: her sister.
Yet that first time Angie had visited Grosvenor Avenue, when Diane had driven her back from the Dark Peak village of Withcns in a daze, her sister had barely glanced at the flat, commenting: ‘This place is OK, I suppose.’ She’d shown no interest in seeing the kitchen or the bedroom, let alone any inclination to disapprove of the clutter, or the dirty clothes left on the bathroom floor. So why should her presence have made Fry feel suddenly so defensive about the mess?
‘It suits me,’ she’d heard herself say.
And it was true, of course. She had no need of a home any more, no desire for a place that she might learn to care about.
‘Who are the people in the other flats?’ Angie had asked.
‘Students.’
‘God, students. They’re a pain in the arse.’
And the conversation had stumbled into of those awkward pauses again, as if Angie were some total stranger she had nothing in common with, instead of being her sister.
Diane had found herself standing like an idiot in the middle of the sitting-room carpet, shuffling from one foot to the other while she tried to think of something else to say.
Angie had flopped down on the old settee and stretched her legs with a sigh, staring at the toes of her trainers,
