The cat blinked sceptically, and began to wash his whiskers with concentrated relish. They probably still bore traces of blood from his last victim.
And here it was - Ecclesiastes 3:1. Cooper read the first few lines quietly to himself, while Randy cocked an ear in case food was being mentioned.
To everything there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under the heaven,
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
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It was appropriate, of course. But had Professor Freddy Robertson really been trying to draw his attention to this verse with his reference to the Book of Ecclesiastes, or was that simply Diane Fry’s unreasonable prejudice against him? If it was Robertson’s intention, it had proved a little too subtle. It meant the professor had assumed a greater knowledge of the Bible than Cooper possessed. And then, there was that discussion of body snatching they’d had in the churchyard. Robertson had thought that his comments about superstition had offended Cooper, though they hadn’t. The professor knew a great deal about a lot of things, but he wasn’t a terribly good judge of people, was he?
Cooper looked at the verse from Ecclesiastes again. A time for everything. So what was the time for right now? A time to kill? A time to die?
He suspected it was neither of those. Not yet. The mystery caller would be thinking of another part of the verse as he sat smug and satisfied in his lair somewhere. He would be considering the possibility of another message, something to keep the police on their toes, to point them subtly in the right direction, or in the wrong direction altogether. Or perhaps he’d be deciding whether he should keep quiet for a while longer and let them stew.
Cooper could almost read his thoughts now. There was a right time for all things, he would be thinking. As it said later in the same verse of Ecclesiastes 3:1:
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak.
Diane Fry watched Angie getting dressed. The flat was too small for her to avoid it, and in any case her sister had never bothered about modesty.
They’d been like that with each other as teenagers, so Diane knew she must be the one who’d changed in the last decade and a half. What was it that had changed her most, she
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wondered. Which aspect of her life had made her incapable of the closeness with her sister that she’d fought so long to recapture? She knew which it was that gave her the most nightmares and ruined her sleep, even now. Moving away from Birmingham couldn’t wipe out that pain; it had followed her in her dreams.
‘Where are you going, Sis?’
‘Out.’
‘But where exactly?’
‘Just out.’
Diane was aware that she sounded like a possessive parent, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. And she knew that her sister’s answers were deliberately designed to make her sound that way. Angie had always been clever like that. As a child, she’d been the manipulative one who knew exactly how to drive the most patient foster parent wild with frustration.
‘Who are you seeing?’ asked Diane, trying not to sound too desperate.
Angie pulled on a clean T-shirt. ‘Somebody nice, maybe.’
‘And will he still be as nice after he’s met you?’
Her sister laughed. ‘Who said it was a “he”? You can’t catch me out, Mrs Detective.’
Diane started to lose patience. ‘Come on, Angie, what’s all the secrecy for?’
But Angie headed for the door. ‘If you speak to me a bit better, I might tell you all about it tomorrow.’
Throwing herself on to the settee and folding up her legs, Diane settled down for another evening on her own. After so many years of restraint, she couldn’t believe how often she now found herself saying things she regretted. But there were thoughts that forced themselves into her mind and heart so forcibly that she could no longer hold them in. Even Liz Petty had put her hand instinctively on a tap that had been waiting to be turned on, ever since Diane had read the transcript of the phone calls and visited Melvyn Hudson at the funeral director’s.
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The one thing she hadn’t told Petty about the Balsall Heath case was the most shocking fact of all, in its way. The parents of that dead and decomposing child had attended her funeral, and sent the largest floral tribute. They had made a great show of mourning their own victim. What was the meaning of all that? She would never figure it out. Never.
The Raj Mahal restaurant in Hollowgate was quiet on Sunday nights, which suited Ben Cooper fine. He’d arrived first - a little early, in fact. But a waiter moved in quickly.
‘Mr Cooper? Yes, a table for two, wasn’t it?’
‘Thank you.’
The first thing he did when he’d settled at his table was check out the other diners. Anywhere in Edendale, there was a dangerously high probability that he’d know somebody, or they would know him. If he was sitting a few feet away from a felon he’d once arrested, it could sour the atmosphere badly. Admirers of his father, or friends of Matt’s, could be just as embarrassing.
But tonight, he was in luck. There were few customers, none of them familiar, and they all seemed too wrapped up in each other to pay him any attention. Cooper made sure his mobile phone was on, and set it to vibrate. ‘Stable’ was all very well, but he couldn’t afford to be out of touch if the hospital called.
Then he fiddled with the menu for a while, knowing he’d have difficulty choosing what to eat. It was one of those menus where he could happily order any of the items and be confident he’d made a right choice. And on a first date there was always that awkwardness of trying to keep a conversation going to break the ice, making it
