Читать книгу Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue - Stephen Booth - Страница 20

‘And now the good news,’ said DCI Tailby.

Tired heads perked up all around the incident room. Most of the officers were finishing the daytime shift, winding down from the hectic first full day of a murder enquiry. Others were taking over for the evening, beginning their stint by getting up to date at the evening briefing.

Ben Cooper and Diane Fry sat together, reluctant, despite themselves, to break the professional bond that had formed between them by being paired up as a team. Fry still looked alert, her eyes fixed on Tailby, her notebook open on her knee. Cooper was weary, almost dazed, as if things weren’t connecting for him properly. But he felt the tension within him increasing as the day came to a close. He couldn’t stop his mind drifting away from the job towards a clamouring swarm of formless anxieties about his mother – sudden, stabbing fears about the immediate future, mingled with piercingly clear little memories of how she had once been, before her illness, in the not so distant past. He knew he would have difficulty tonight in making the transition from work to home. Wasn’t the one supposed to be an escape from the other?

As Tailby began to speak, Cooper looked down at Fry’s pen, which was already starting to move across her notebook. He was surprised to see the page half covered in drawings of spiders with black, hairy bodies and long legs, their shapes etched deep into the paper with heavily scrawled ballpoint pen.

‘Make sure you all read the reports,’ Tailby was saying. ‘But I’ll sum up the main points. Late this afternoon a witness came forward. A gentleman by the name of Gary Edwards. Mr Edwards is a bird-watcher. On Saturday evening, he was positioned on the top of Raven’s Side on the north of the valley at Moorhay. He was, it seems, watching for pied flycatchers, which are a rare species known to breed in this area. Mr Edwards had travelled from Leicester purely on the chance of seeing a pied flycatcher, so that he could tick it off on a list of British species. I’m told this activity is called twitching.’

Cooper saw some of the officers smiling, but he knew Tailby wasn’t joking. It was very rare that he did. The DCI looked up at them over his reading glasses, then back down again at the report in his hands.

‘Mr Edwards thought the oak and birch woodland near the stream was a likely site. At one stage, though, he says he was watching a pair of merlins nesting on the cliff face below him. While he was doing this, his attention was taken by a bird flying towards the woodland, which he felt might be the said pied flycatcher. He followed the flight of this bird with his binoculars.’

In Cooper’s hands was a summary of interviews conducted with Graham and Charlotte Vernon, and with Molly Sherratt, as well as with the bird-watcher. Some of the details were marked as new information, and would be followed up with actions the next day. There were also reports of the attempts made by DI Hitchens’s team to trace Lee Sherratt, without success. From the tone of the summary, Cooper was left in no doubt that Sherratt was considered the obvious suspect. All they had to do, it was inferred, was to find Sherratt and let the forensic evidence establish his guilt. The rest was all for show.

‘It should be stated at this point,’ said Tailby, ‘that Mr Edwards was equipped with a pair of Zeiss roof-prism-type binoculars with a magnification of x 10 and a 45 mm diameter object lens. A powerful bit of kit. He says he trained these binoculars on the area of woodland into which the bird had disappeared, and he waited to see if there was any further movement. There was. But it wasn’t a bird.’

Tailby paused, like an actor savouring the effect, trying to get his timing just right.

‘Mr Edwards further states that he followed a movement in the undergrowth of something black, only to find the head of a dog appearing in his view. Due to the small field of vision of binoculars of that power, he took them away from his face and with unaided vision saw a man with a dog. We believe from Mr Edwards’s statement that this was near the spot where Laura Vernon was found. The time: approximately seven-fifteen.’

There was a little stir of excitement. The bird-watcher had been in position within an hour of the incident, on a good vantage point, with a powerful pair of binoculars. Who could ask for anything better? What more had the twitcher seen?

Cooper observed that Fry had been scribbling notes rapidly, turning over the page with the spiders and turning again. Now she was sitting bolt upright, alert and eager. He could see that she was getting ready to take the first opportunity to put in a question, to make sure she was noticed.

‘Unfortunately for us,’ said Tailby, ‘Mr Edwards then completely lost interest in the area of woodland. He reasoned that the human and canine presence would disturb the bird population. Particularly the pied flycatcher, which is of a somewhat secretive and sensitive nature, apparently. His attention returned to the merlins. Mr Edwards then remained on Raven’s Side until nine-thirty approximately, but he saw nothing further of interest to us.’

Fry stirred. ‘Over two hours, sir? What was he doing all that time?’

‘Yes. DC Fry, isn’t it? That is a question that was put to him, Fry. He states that he was waiting for dusk on the chance of observing little owls hunting.’

‘Tell him to get a life,’ said someone from the back.

‘I don’t need to point out that this could be an absolutely vital witness,’ said Tailby, ignoring the interruption.

Ben Cooper raised a hand. ‘The man with the dog, sir. Are we thinking it was Harry Dickinson? According to Dickinson’s statement, he walks in that area regularly.’

‘Unfortunately, Mr Edwards wasn’t able to give us a description. He was too far away, and did not study the man through his binoculars.’

There were general sighs of disappointment.

‘More interested in pied flycatchers than people,’ said the same voice.

‘However, Mr Dickinson will be spoken to again today,’ said Tailby. ‘In the initial interview he was not asked about Saturday evening. It may be that he was on the Baulk at that time and he saw something useful. Mr Dickinson will be among the actions for the morning.’

‘It would be a bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t it, sir?’

‘How so, Cooper?’

‘I mean, Dickinson being in the area at the time Laura Vernon was killed and maybe seeing the murderer. And two days later being in the same area and finding the trainer which led us to her body. That’s what we’re saying here, isn’t it? A bit of a coincidence, surely.’

‘What would be your interpretation, Cooper?’

‘I think we ought to press Harry Dickinson harder.’

Tailby frowned. ‘At the moment we are not considering him as a suspect, merely a potentially useful witness.’

‘But if –’

‘Now,’ said Tailby, turning away, ‘we have to look at the immediate family. Obviously, we need to bear in mind the possibility of a family row of some kind. The parents have to be under suspicion.’ Tailby waited for somebody to ask him why. No one did. But he told them anyway. ‘Murders occur mostly within families. The statistics tell us this.’

All the faces in the room continued to look at him expectantly.

‘For that reason, we will be looking more closely at the Vernons. Particularly the relationship between Laura Vernon and her father. I have spoken to Graham Vernon myself, and I have to tell you I’m not happy in that respect.’

‘Haven’t we got a TV appeal lined up with him, sir?’

‘Yes, with both parents, in fact. That’s scheduled for the morning. We will, of course, be watching them closely during the appeal.’

Cooper saw Fry nodding calmly, as if it was perfectly normal to suspect parents of murdering their own daughter. He wondered what cases she had worked on in the past to feel like that, or whether it was as a result of experiences in her own family. The thought made him feel very sad. His own family had been a totally happy one, and he thought the destruction of a family was the worst thing that could happen to anyone.

‘And then there’s the brother,’ Tailby was saying. ‘Daniel Vernon. Nineteen years old and a student at Exeter University. We’re led to believe that he was away in Exeter at the time that Laura went missing, and has only now arrived back in Moorhay. But we checked, and his term doesn’t start for another two weeks. So what has he been doing? I need his movements tracing – when did he leave and how did he get back? From a brief look at him earlier this afternoon, I’d say he was a pretty angry young man. On the other hand, you don’t need me to tell you that the victim’s family must be treated with care. I don’t want any complaints about officers being heavy-handed or insensitive.’

The DCI paused to allow this to sink in, then turned to gesture at an impressive aerial photograph of Moorhay, taken by the helicopter crew and blown up to enable the probable route of Laura Vernon’s last journey to be superimposed on to it.

‘Meanwhile, I intend to begin a full search of the Vernons’ garden,’ he said. ‘This is in view of the possibility that Laura may have met someone there shortly before she was killed. Remember the sighting of her talking to a young man earlier in the evening. We need to find evidence to establish the identity of that young man. It is, however, a very large garden.’

The officers in the incident room could see that there were extensive lawns and flower beds in the Vernons’ garden, along with two greenhouses and a small summerhouse, as well as plenty of odd corners near the back, where a gate led out on to the hillside path.

The area of pale scrub where Laura had last been seen was clearly visible between the back wall of the garden and the vast expanse of dark woodland. The long shadows of a line of conifers fell across the patchy gorse of the scrubland like the bars of a cage.

‘We are also following up Laura’s other contacts. DI Hitchens’s team is gradually piecing together her background. We believe she had at least one regular boyfriend, according to what her classmates tell us. The parents deny this, but we all know parents, don’t we? They’re the last people to find out. The youth’s name is Simeon. That’s with an “e”. We don’t have a surname yet, and apparently he doesn’t attend the same school as Laura Vernon did. DS Morgan is confident of tracing him, though. Yes, Luke?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘As you know, DI Armstrong is working on the known offenders list and possible links to the Susan Edson case in B Division. There are some similarities on the surface. The age and sex of the victim, obviously. But note the fact that an item of clothing is missing in both instances – in Laura Vernon’s case, a Reebok trainer. In the Edson case, a pair of tights. It is likely these are now in the possession of the attacker or attackers. Please be aware of this. But we follow up all possible lines of enquiry. We are not assuming a definite link at this stage. But I confess to a certain concern in that respect.’

The murmurs of agreement sounded like the low rumble of a lorry outside, or the muttering of a disappointed crowd in the stand across the road when Edendale FC had lost again. Ben Cooper felt something equally distant and unidentifiable grumbling deep in his mind – a dark, hovering anxiety that growled and whined and threatened to emerge from where it was lurking and rip the certainties out from under him. But it was something that was impossible to pin down among the other worries that swirled about in there, all the other things he hardly dared to think about.

‘Also, no murder weapon has yet been identified,’ said Tailby. ‘The nature of the injuries suggests a hard, solid object. Scientific Support are still at the scene and will continue the search, and I remain hopeful. Two sets of prints have been taken from the trainer, but they match only with the victim’s own prints and those of Mr Dickinson, who was printed for comparisons. However, as you will see, we do have a very promising piece of forensic evidence. I refer to the suspected bite mark on the victim’s thigh. The services of a forensic odontologist have been obtained, with the intention of obtaining a cast of the bite which can be matched to the teeth of a perpetrator.’

Around the room, officers could be seen whispering to each other as they asked what an odontologist was.

‘Obviously,’ said the DCI, ‘a priority remains Lee Sherratt. Sadly, we’ve drawn a blank on his whereabouts so far. His mother states she doesn’t know where he is and hasn’t seen him since Sunday afternoon. He is, she says, “a bit prone to wandering off”. Whatever that means. We would very much like to interview Lee Sherratt in connection with the killing of Laura Vernon. All officers are being issued with his photograph. Keep your eyes open.’

Ben Cooper jerked to attention. His mind had been drifting away again. It was almost as though DCI Tailby’s last words had been addressed directly to him. Yes, he needed to keep his eyes open. If he didn’t, the dark thing that lurked and whined might jump out at him before he could see it.

Charlotte Vernon lay on the sofa in the sitting room at the Mount. She was wearing nothing but a black satin print wrap, but her hair was washed and brushed and she had made up her face and painted her toenails. Though Graham would normally enjoy the sight of his wife’s body, today he felt waves of growing irritation that she had not yet taken the trouble to get dressed. Somehow, her nakedness seemed emblematic of the stripping away of an important veneer from their lives, a lowering of standards that he feared could symbolize the gradual disintegration of the family.

‘He can’t do this,’ said Graham. ‘We can’t let him.’

‘And how do you intend to stop him?’ asked Charlotte. ‘He hasn’t felt the need to listen to you for years.’

‘I thought … You could speak to him, couldn’t you, Charlie?’

‘He might listen to me,’ she agreed.

‘Well then. Catch him before he goes out.’

‘I didn’t say I would do it.’

‘Why on earth not?’

Charlotte considered, reaching for the glass that never seemed to be far away these days.

‘It would help him to get it off his chest.’

‘It might help him, but it wouldn’t do me any good!’

‘Or the business?’

‘Well, obviously. I can’t afford things like this, this sort of damage to my reputation. You know, Charlie, it’s critical.’

‘And what about me?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Would it be good for me? That’s what I’m wondering. Would it change you, Graham? Would it change things between us? To get it all out into the open, I wonder?’

‘Charlie – do you want things to change?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘For God’s sake, what do you want? I turned a blind eye to what you were doing, didn’t I?’

‘A blind eye? Is that what you call it?’

‘Well? Didn’t I?’

‘Yes, I suppose you did. And you thought that was what I wanted, did you? Really?’

Graham sighed with exasperation. ‘I never will understand you.’

Charlotte was back on the cigarettes and Bacardi with a vengeance, having come out of the artificially calm state induced by the doctor’s sedatives. Everywhere in the house there were ashtrays filled with butts, which were only emptied three times a week when Sheila Kelk came to clean. Graham hoped that Mrs Kelk hadn’t been frightened off by Daniel. But then, on second thoughts, she was far too nosey to stay away just now.

He looked at his wife’s hair and glimpsed the darkness at the roots. She looked tired, despite the amount of sleeping she had done under sedation. When she looked at him now, it was with open hostility and distrust. The death of their daughter had come between them like a wedge.

‘Has anybody been here while I was out of the way?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Has anyone been to the house?’

‘Policemen. You know they want to search the garden? A fingertip search, they call it. God knows what they expect to find there.’

‘Apart from those policemen. Apart from Daniel. Has anybody been that I didn’t see?’

‘Mrs Kelk, of course.’

‘Not Frances Wingate.’

‘No, Charlie.’

‘Not Edward Randle.’

‘No. I told them all not to come. All our friends. It’s what you said you wanted. I asked them to stay away until you felt like seeing people.’

‘So Frances hasn’t been.’

‘I’ve told you.’

‘And no one else.’

‘No.’

Charlotte lit another cigarette, pouting her lips to suck on it and narrowing her eyes.

‘I don’t know why I ever trusted you,’ she said.

‘Why do we have to do this now, Charlie?’

‘While I’ve been lying there,’ she said, ‘I’ve been thinking. You’re not completely unconscious, you know, when you’re sedated. Your mind keeps working. And without any distractions, you seem to see things more clearly. All the memories came back to me. All the memories of Laura.’

She walked to the cabinet, and her groping fingers found the empty frame again among the photographs.

‘When will they let us have the photo of her back?’

‘I’ll ask,’ said Graham.

‘I need to get back whatever I can of her.’

‘I understand.’

Charlotte turned towards him, tears glittering in her eyes, anger twisting her mouth into an ugly shape.

‘I blame you, you know, Graham. Do you realize that? When I think about … everything. All this. I’ve lost my little girl, and now they’re taking away my memories of her. How could you let it happen?’

Graham moved to put his arms round her when he saw the tears, but she pushed him away roughly.

‘Keep away from me. How can you think about it at a time like this? You’re an animal.’

‘I wasn’t, Charlie. I wasn’t.’

‘Laura told me everything,’ she insisted desperately. ‘She didn’t keep secrets from me.’

The phone was ringing. Graham moved to answer, then changed his mind and left it. The answering machine switched in. It would be another client, anxiously wondering what was happening. When would Graham be back in operation? When could they expect him to be at their beck and call again? He didn’t resent them. Their businesses had to go on, even if Vernon’s didn’t. Graham thought for a moment of passing everything on to Andrew Milner, letting him take all the responsibility permanently. But he dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He would be back in harness soon enough – surely it wouldn’t take the police too long to sort things out, to come up with someone they could charge. As long as he could stop Daniel from stirring up trouble.

‘We have to hold together somehow, Charlie. Will you talk to Daniel?’

She raised her head, dabbing at her eyes. They both listened for the sounds of their son, heavy-footed on the stairs, getting ready to go out. But she answered with another question.

‘There isn’t anything that I don’t know, is there, Graham?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘About Laura. I need to know exactly what happened, and why. Are there things that you’re keeping from me?’

Graham saw that something important depended on his answer. Should he tell the truth, or was it a lie that his wife wanted to hear? He thought of the sort of information that Tailby and his team might already be collecting – details that could shatter even Charlotte’s illusions about their daughter. The direction of Tailby’s questions about Lee Sherratt, and even about Daniel, had made that possibility clear. And who would Charlotte blame for that? She said she no longer trusted him. But what she thought of him might mean the difference now between holding together and everything falling apart. The truth or a lie? A crucial decision, but to hesitate would be fatal.

‘They haven’t told me anything,’ he said.

Charlotte finished drying her eyes, pushed back her hair and stubbed out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray among a pile of old stubs.

‘I’ll catch Danny now, shall I?’

‘Good girl,’ said Graham.

Cooper tapped Fry on the shoulder as the meeting broke up. ‘Are you in a rush to get home?’

‘Well … no.’

‘I wondered if you fancied a game of squash. I could do with a game to wind down, and you said you were into sport.’

Fry considered for a moment. Ben Cooper was not her ideal choice of a companion, for squash or anything else. On the other hand, it would be vastly preferable to another early night in front of the wobbly old TV with her own thoughts. Besides, she was confident she could beat him. That thought made her mind up for her.

‘Can we get a game at short notice?’ she asked.

‘I can,’ said Cooper, grinning. ‘Just let me make one phone call. We’ll get a court at the rugby club on a Tuesday night, no problem.’

‘Fine, then. Oh, I’ll need to call at the flat to get my racquet and kit.’

‘I’ve got mine in the car, but I’ll follow you home and we can go together. OK?’

‘All right, yes. Thanks.’

‘It seems strange to be going off duty with the enquiry at this stage, though. No money for overtime. Can you believe it?’

‘They think they’ve got it sewn up, once Lee Sherratt’s in custody.’

‘That’s what I think, too. They’re relying totally on forensic evidence. It seems to be some sort of holy grail these days.’

‘Forensics don’t lie, Ben. Only people lie.’

‘And it costs too much to keep a manpower-intensive enquiry going for days and weeks on end. I know, I’ve heard all that.’

‘It’s true. We have to live in the real world.’

‘It worries me that the only suggestion of any motivation for Lee Sherratt is what the girl’s father says about him. That’s not enough, surely.’

‘Enough for Mr Tailby to build a case on, providing the forensics back him up.’

Cooper shook his head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘Feel right? That again.’

‘OK, point taken.’

‘Feelings don’t come into it.’

‘At one time,’ said Cooper, ‘it was money that didn’t come into it.’

‘That sounds to me like your famous father speaking.’ She saw Cooper flush, and knew she was right. ‘A proper Dixon of Dock Green, isn’t he, your dad? Why don’t you explain to him one day that it’s not the 1950s any more? Things have moved on in the last fifty years. If he walked down the street in his uniform in a lot of places in this country today, he’d get his head kicked in before he could say, “Evening all”.’

Cooper went completely rigid, and his face suffused with blood. He breathed deeply two or three times before he managed to get himself under control. His hands were shaking as he pushed the papers he was holding into a file.

‘I’ll see you down in the car park,’ he said, in a voice thick with emotion.

As he walked away, Fry immediately began to regret agreeing to play squash with him. It had only been some sudden burst of comradeship, all too easy to give in to in the police service. There was always a feeling that it was ‘us against them’ in the closed environment of a police station. But then she shrugged, knowing that it would only be for one evening. She would have no problem keeping Ben Cooper at arm’s-length.

‘All right, Diane?’ asked DI Hitchens, approaching her from behind and standing close to her shoulder.

‘I’m fine.’

‘What are you doing when you go off duty?’

‘I’m playing squash with Ben Cooper. Apparently.’

‘Really? Good luck then.’

‘And I’m going to thrash him too.’

‘Are you? So you’re a squash expert as well, then?’

‘Not really, just averagely good. But I’m fit, and I’ll have him begging for mercy on that court. Old Ben looks like a real softy to me.’

‘Ben? I don’t think so. He’s a bit of a chip off the old block really. Soft on the surface, but tough as old boots underneath, like his dad.’

‘So you’re a fan of Sergeant Cooper’s too, are you, sir?’

‘We all are in this station. How could we be anything else?’

‘And what exactly has he done to earn this adulation?’

‘If you want to know about Sergeant Joe Cooper,’ said Hitchens, ‘I suggest you stop off downstairs in reception for a few minutes. You’ll find his memorial on the wall near the front counter. It’s about two years since he was killed.’