Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘But all the other stuff?’ asked Cooper. ‘The cash and jewellery that was taken. None of that was ever found. Sugden couldn’t account for it. And then there’s the damage. The broken furniture, the smashed pictures, the Tabasco sauce on the carpets. You’d think he’d have got some Tabasco on his shoes, at least.’

Fry shrugged. ‘You can’t have everything. He was a bit lucky. But the fibres were enough to establish his presence in the house.’

‘Of course. But now Sugden has been out of prison for three weeks.’

‘I know you think he might have had a grudge against Jenny Weston. But surely she should have a grudge against him , not the other way round?’

‘Some of these people don’t think logically. If he had a really bad time in prison, he might blame her for it, in his own way. We’ve known stranger things.’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ But Fry sounded unconvinced. ‘Wayne Sugden is a petty thief. He doesn’t sound like a killer to me.’

‘It depends what happened to him at Derby. It depends on who he’s been mixing with. They go in as petty villains and they come out like Reggie Kray. It’s called rehabilitation.’

Fry stared at the file in Cooper’s hands as if she was hardly listening. ‘Remind me — how did we manage to get a search warrant in the first place?’

‘The investigating officer had a tip-off,’ said Cooper. ‘A reliable source who placed Sugden in the vicinity of the Weston house and acting suspiciously.’

‘This was someone who knew Sugden by sight?’

‘Apparently.’

‘The usual, I suppose. Some pal he’d fallen out with, who decided to get his own back.’

‘Why do we trust the information we get from these people?’

‘Because they’re often right,’ said Fry. ‘This one was. The search turned up the video recorder. He was guilty, Ben.’

Cooper put down the file, dispirited by the echo of Todd Weenink’s words.

‘I wanted to ask you about Maggie Crew,’ he said.

Fry frowned. ‘What about her?’

‘How badly damaged is she? Psychologically, I mean.’

‘It’s not for me to say. The psychiatric reports say she’s recoverable.’

‘But what are the long-term effects of the trauma? Would she be able to make an identification if we produced a suspect?’

‘That’s what we’re all hoping, isn’t it?’

‘You’re getting to know her pretty well, aren’t you?’

Fry pulled on her jacket. ‘Not as well as I thought.’

‘Why?’ Cooper was surprised. ‘What’s the problem? Are there things she isn’t telling you?’

‘Aren’t there always?’

‘Something in particular?’ he insisted.

Fry sighed. ‘Well, I spoke to her sister in Ireland. The sister mentioned that Maggie had a child, when she was a law student. She had it adopted. But Maggie never told me that.’

‘I see.’

‘All that time I spent telling her about Jenny Weston. I tried to make Jenny real to her. And all the rest of it. . well, I gave it my best shot. But Maggie was never giving me anything in return. Not really.’

Fry adjusted the scabbard for her ASP, sliding it further round the back of her belt, patting her jacket to make sure it wasn’t too obtrusive. She never seemed to go anywhere without her baton any more.

Cooper watched her tighten her belt a notch over her hips to make it more secure. Fry had changed over the last couple of weeks. She had always been a woman with secrets, he knew that. But before, she had been all hard shell on the surface, rejecting any contact. Now, though, there was a faint whisper of a softening in her manner, as though a small breach had been opened up. Cooper didn’t know how or why it had happened, but he prayed he was right, that he could get through to the sharp brain behind her barricades of hostility.

‘Are you not coming to the cattle market this morning?’ asked Fry.

‘No. I’ve got an interview to do. Some youth called Gary Dawson, who’s suddenly remembered that he was on Ringham Moor the day Jenny Weston was killed. There’s just an off-chance he might have seen something. Then I’ve got a couple of other things to do.’

Fry was already heading for the doorway when she stopped and turned. ‘OK, Ben — what are you up to?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you realize I can see straight through you?’

Cooper shuffled uncomfortably.

‘Who are you trying to protect now, Ben? What lost cause have you taken to your bleeding heart?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

She watched him suspiciously. ‘Let me give you a word of advice. Be careful who you associate with, Ben. It could affect your future in a major way.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Fry came closer. ‘Your friend, Detective Constable Weenink, that’s what.’

‘Todd?’

‘I’ve been picking up a few things, and from what I hear, Weenink could be in big trouble. And if you don’t watch out, Ben, he’s going to take you down with him.’

‘He’s all right, Todd, really.’

‘All right? Are you kidding? We all know his brain drops into his testicles every time something female walks past, for a start.’

Cooper laughed. It was the wrong thing to do. Fry took him by the forearm. Her grip was painful, and very quickly his hand began to go numb.

‘Are you involved in something with Weenink, Ben? Tell me.’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’re lying. What’s more, you’re a pathetically bad liar. You’re the worst bloody liar in the police service, and that’s saying something. What have you done?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I see,’ said Fry. Cooper tried not to give her the satisfaction of showing that she was hurting him. ‘But there’s something going on. I know there is. Maybe you haven’t done anything yourself. But you’re so bloody naive, you’ll get yourself dragged in, and that’ll be the end of you. Have you been covering up for him?’

Cooper said nothing.

‘Oh yes, you’re really one of the lads these days, aren’t you, Ben? The loyal colleague.’

‘If somebody needs support — ’

Fry snarled at him. ‘Support? You bloody idiot! For a prat like Weenink!’

Cooper’s eyes were watering from the pain in his arm.

‘If you’re up to something, Ben,’ said Fry, ‘I’ll have your balls for clothes pegs and string ’em up on the same line as your pal Weenink’s. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll bury him. Good and deep.’

‘OK, OK,’ he said. But Fry kept her grip. ‘But there’s one thing, Diane.’

‘What now?’

‘Take a look at the Sugden file again. Do you remember who his defence solicitors were? Quigley, Coleman amp; Crew.’

Fry’s grip tightened even more. ‘You’re suggesting that Maggie Crew was his solicitor?’

‘No, it was one of the firm’s juniors who represented him in court. But don’t you think she might have met him? Don’t you think she would be able to identify him? Do you think she might even have known who Jenny Weston was?’

‘Rubbish.’

Cooper rubbed his arm as Fry stalked off. If he had been hesitating over what to do about Todd Weenink, now he had been pushed into a corner. Cooper could report what Weenink had told him. But now, if he did, it would be just one more victory for Diane Fry.

The previous night, Cooper’s sleep had been disturbed by a scene that played over and over through his mind like a clip from a horror video shot in poor light. There were figures moving slowly in a circle, leaning towards each other, slipping in and out of the mist that hung over Ringham Moor. The figures were dancing. They danced like the Nine Virgins themselves .

First, he recognized Jenny Weston. She was naked from the waist down, kicking high with her legs, her skin ghostly white and bloodless, a red streak running down the front of her blue cycling vest. Behind her came Cal and Stride, stumbling blindly as they felt their way among the birches, their faces frightened and confused. Stride’s trousers were round his ankles, and a bloodstained broom handle wagged like a tail as he shuffled after Cal .