24
William Thorpe sat in one of the interview rooms at West Street with his elbows on the table and his head drooping, as if his neck didn’t have the strength to hold it up.
‘You’ve no reason to keep me here,’ he said.
‘We just want to ask you a few questions, sir.’
‘I’ve done nothing.’
Diane Fry consulted the file she had on William Edward Thorpe. She took a few moments over it, frowning a little, before she looked at Thorpe again. Watching her, Ben Cooper wondered if Fry had considered getting herself a pair of half moon glasses, which would have completed the effect of a disapproving headmistress.
‘You’re here voluntarily, sir,’ said Fry. ‘You’re free to leave at any time. But if we don’t clear up a few things now, we may have to talk to you again in the near future. And if the matter becomes more urgent, we might not have time for all the courtesies.’
Thorpe was thinking about it. For a moment, Cooper thought he was going to get up and walk out. Fry wasn’t even watching him, but had dropped her head to read the papers in front of her, as if it was of no concern to her whether Thorpe stayed or left, since she had plenty of other things to
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do. But Thorpe had understood what she was saying. He was free to leave now because he was co- operating voluntarily. If they had to pick him up a second time, it might not be so voluntary.
‘I’m not sure what you want to know,’ he said.
Fry looked up, as if slightly surprised that Thorpe was still there. She smiled.
‘Well, let’s see what we can do about that, sir.’
Cooper thought that Thorpe’s eyes had the pale, watery look of someone who never slept enough. They were deep in their sockets, and looked even deeper because of the dark shadows that lay on his cheekbones and underneath his eyebrows. His cheeks were covered in grey stubble that accentuated their sunkenness.
‘Mr Thorpe, you were discharged from the Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters Regiment nearly a year ago,’ said Fry.
That’s right.’
‘A medical problem, I gather.’
‘My time was almost up,’ said Thorpe.
‘Even so, you left the army before your discharge date.’
‘A few months, that’s all.’
‘They don’t tell us what the medical problem was,’ said Fry, raising her eyebrows and turning over a page as if to look for a medical report she knew wasn’t there.
Thorpe said nothing.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of it, is it?’ asked Fry.
‘I was diagnosed with emphysema.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘My lungs are shit.’
‘So you left your regiment a few months early. And you went to live at an address in Derby, according to your regimental office.’
‘That’s right. With a friend.’
‘You didn’t come home to this area straight away?’
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‘I had no reason to, did I?’ Thorpe shook his head. ‘I still don’t know what you want from me.’
‘Let’s come forward a bit, then. You left the address in Derby. After that, your life is something of a mystery. Your regiment has no further record of you. No one seems to know where you were …’
‘Well
‘Except,’ said Fry, ‘for a drunk and disorderly charge in Ashbourne in May this year.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘What were you doing in Ashbourne, sir?’
‘Getting pissed,’ said Thorpe. ‘Obviously.’
‘Do you have more friends in that area?’
‘I might have.’
‘Staying with them, were you? I mean, I know old friends look after each other - especially army mates. They’re the sort of people you can call on when you need help, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘So, were you staying with a friend in Ashbourne?’
‘I’m not telling you about any of my friends.’
‘Well, if you were,’ said Fry, checking her file, ‘it’s odd that you were listed as “no fixed abode” when you appeared in the magistrates court there for your drunk and disorderly. Was that a lie?’
‘I’ve spent some time on the streets,’ said Thorpe. T’m not ashamed of it. It just happened. Sometimes, your circumstances change, you know.’
