Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘Yes?’

‘ You didn’t come forward, though, Simon. You didn’t tell us anything. All that stuff about the Fiddler. What was the point?’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘This youth, he saw Jenny Weston. Who else do you think he might have seen?’

‘I could call for the nurse. You’re not good for my condition.’

‘I thought about you first. Were you there, Simon? And was your friend there too?’

Stride stayed on his side and stared straight ahead.

‘He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’ said Cooper.

‘Nobody ever accepted me for what I am. But Cal did.’

‘I understand,’ said Cooper. ‘But, Simon — did you see Jenny Weston?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘It was something you said once. You said: “I saw her face.” Simon, I think you saw her after she was dead.’

‘Oh.’

Stride shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his face pale.

‘Do you need more painkillers?’

‘No, don’t worry.’

‘It looks uncomfortable.’

‘Yeah. Will you tell me something?’

‘What?’

‘Is this what anal sex is like?’

Cooper blinked. Stride laughed at his expression, and his fingers went to his mouth. Men in the other beds turned to look at them. They were already curious about Stride.

‘No, you wouldn’t know, would you? Anyway, it’d have to be a bloke with a cock as big as a broom handle. Not many of those about.’

‘I’ll ask around a bit,’ said Cooper.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Stride. ‘For your own safety.’

‘Cool.’

Stride looked around for the mineral water. Cooper poured it for him and passed him the glass, to save the young man having to stretch too far.

‘Did you actually see her?’ he said.

Stride looked dreamy again. But if the painkillers were wearing off, he couldn’t blame the medication for his spiritual absence.

‘Did you?’ said Cooper. ‘Did you see her? Jenny Weston?’

But Stride didn’t answer.

‘Or was it the other woman you saw?’ said Cooper. ‘The one with the scars on her face?’

Finally, Stride stirred. ‘No, the first one. Jenny.’

‘You won’t be going very far, will you?’ said Cooper. ‘We’ll want a statement from you.’

‘I’ve already given one. I never saw them properly — it was too dark.’

‘Not about that, Simon. About the murder of Jenny Weston.’

Stride could be sharp enough when he wanted to be. Yet his eyes were closing, and he looked about to drift off to whatever place it was he went to.

‘I don’t know who killed her,’ said Stride. ‘There’s no point in asking me.’

‘Maybe not. But it was you that found the body first, at least,’ said Cooper. ‘Nobody else would have arranged her like that, in the stone circle. I have to tell you that Jenny was no virgin, Simon. And it wasn’t the Fiddler who made her dance. It was you.’

Stride closed his eyes tightly. His face was a ghastly white now, as pale as the underside of one of those obscene fungi that never saw the light.

‘But I don’t believe you killed her either,’ said Cooper. ‘Not you or Cal. Not in a million years. It was you that made Jenny dance, Simon. But you and I both know that it’s someone else who has been playing the tune.’

Diane Fry watched Todd Weenink make his way round the edge of the building, looking for their car. DI Hitchens rolled down the window to speak to him.

‘There’s not much we can do,’ said Hitchens, ‘if the women don’t seem to be committing any offence. They could just be here for the auction, like anybody else. They do let spectators in, apparently.’

‘But they’re not even trying to go inside,’ said Weenink. ‘The town centre PC has spoken to them, but they say they’re just looking at the animals.’

Fry leaned across. ‘What do you think their intentions are, sir?’

‘No idea,’ said Hitchens. ‘All we can do is keep an eye on them.’

‘They’re going to be in the way,’ said Weenink. ‘Do you want to call it off?’

‘Oh no,’ said Hitchens. ‘We can’t do that. We need an arrest.’

‘There is one thing,’ said Weenink. He looked at Diane Fry in the passenger seat. ‘One of the women is known to us.’

‘You recognized her?’

Fry felt a cold sensation. There was an awful inevitability about what Weenink was going to say. He was looking at her when he spoke again, not at the DI.

‘It’s that woman who was attacked the first time. The one who had her face cut.’

‘You mean Maggie,’ said Fry.

‘Yes, her,’ said Weenink. ‘Maggie Crew is with them.’

As Ben Cooper walked through the door of the CID room, the phone was already ringing. It was Cheshire Police at last.

‘Your people are back,’ said the DC in Wilmslow. ‘Mr and Mrs Daniels. They had booked a midweek flight to Ringway, so that was lucky. They’ve been to Hawaii, had a great time and they’ve got wonderful suntans. It makes me sick.’

‘When can they come to make an identification?’

‘They’re on their way. They’ll be with you in a couple of hours.’

‘Have they said anything?’

‘Mainly “Aloha” and “Book him, Danno.”’

The Cheshire DC sounded much too cheerful for Cooper’s liking. Policing must be very different in the affluent towns on the plains between the Pennines and Wales to make him so happy in his work.

‘What about their daughter? Did you ask them when they saw her last?’

‘Yes, but it was months ago. They’re upset about what’s happened to her, but not too surprised, it seems to me. They never expected her to come back home when she left. Rosalind said as much to them, in fact. She said she had things she wanted to do with her life, which didn’t involve them. She also said she was going off to find her real mother.’

Cooper frowned. He thought the DC was making another joke. ‘Sorry? What was that?’

‘She’s not the Daniels’ real daughter, apparently. They adopted Rosalind nineteen years ago. Brought her up as their own and all that. But they finally told her she was adopted when she came of age. And, far from showing any gratitude, she seemed to resent them for it, according to Mrs D. It seems Rosalind decided to opt out of the respectable life they had planned for her and got into bad company. She got involved in all sorts of causes, but animal rights was her latest big thing. She’d been in trouble a few times already for her part in some demos that went too far. Direct action, they call it. Trespass, criminal damage — you know the sort of thing. Like Mrs Daniels says herself, “Blood will out.” I thought that was rather an unfortunate turn of phrase myself.’

‘So Ros Daniels was looking for her real mother?’

‘That’s right. What do you think, mate? Do you reckon she ever found her? It would be something at least, before she got killed.’

The women had gathered in the corner of the cattle market car park. They huddled together in a tight circle of anoraks, bending towards each other conspiratorially, with glances towards the buildings behind them and at the PC waiting by the offices.

For a few minutes, Maggie Crew stood to one side, a little outside the circle, hesitating, as if unsure whether she was part of the group or not. But then the women parted and let her in, and immediately she was absorbed and became one of their number. Under the cover of coats and shoulder bags, there was a surreptitious glint of steel. And Maggie found herself in possession of a knife.

Diane Fry stood with Todd Weenink below the seating of the store ring, where they could see the group in the car park from the shadows. Fry took Maggie’s presence as a personal insult. It was as if the woman were taunting her.