Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

‘It helps to keep the brain active, right? The imagination.’

‘Yes, I think so.

She put the book back on the table. Cooper noticed that she had lost his page.

‘It seems a funny thing to be doing in a pub, though,’ she said. ‘Anti-social.’

‘I don’t do it all the time. Only when I want to be left alone for a while.’

She laughed. ‘And now I’ve come along and interrupted your relaxation. That’s not very fair, is it?’

She gazed at him, as if expecting him to take some deeper meaning from her words. Cooper sighed. He was going to have to take a course in communication skills. Everything was going straight over his head these days.

‘The world isn’t fair,’ he said. ‘We just have to hope it’s unfair in our favour occasionally.’

‘Is that the best we can hope for?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘It hardly seems worth bothering.’

‘But there are other things in life, apart from fairness. So think about the things that you can get hold of.’

‘Like what?’

‘Love?’

‘You what?’ said Angie.

‘Well, maybe.’

‘You’re crazy, do you know that? Love!’

‘It was only a suggestion. Think about it.’

‘I can’t believe you, Ben Cooper. Are you for real? I’ve never met anybody so naïve.’

‘You know, it’s funny,’ said Cooper. ‘But you sound just like somebody else I know.’

Angie laughed again. ‘Right. And what have you decided, Ben?’

Cooper thought about Diane Fry. She’d been the bane of his life for months. Yet she’d tried to help him, even when he could see she was having difficulties dealing with the Renshaws. Could he lay the extra stress on her about her sister? In a way, this was keeping her together and focused; while she had hope, she could cope. Angie wanted him to take her hope away.

‘I can’t do it,’ he said.

‘You can’t? Of course you can.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t take Diane’s hope away.’

‘I heard you were her friend.’

‘Yes, you said.’

Angie looked disappointed in him. If that was the way she felt, she should join the queue.

‘Well, what sort of friend are you? You know it would be the best thing for her, to forget all about me.’

Cooper felt himself weakening. ‘Diane wouldn’t listen to me, anyway. Not without any proof.’

‘Of course,’ said Angie. ‘I thought you would say that. And that’s why I came.’

She reached inside her coat and pulled out an envelope, which she handed to Cooper.

‘What’s this?’

‘Open it and see.’

There was nothing written on the outside of the envelope. Cooper glanced around uncomfortably. A police officer being handed a plain brown envelope in a pub wouldn’t look too good. But the customers of the Hanging Gate had lost interest in him and Angie. Some football highlights were being shown on the TV screen.

He opened the flap of the envelope and slid out the contents.

‘How did you get these?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does matter,’ said Cooper angrily. ‘How did you get them?’

‘Let’s just say I have the right sort of contacts.’

‘Criminal contacts, obviously.’

‘You stick to your friends, and I’ll stick to mine.’

He was holding a death certificate. It recorded the death in Chapeltown, Sheffield, of Angela Jane Fry, aged thirty. It was dated just over a year ago.

‘And presumably this isn’t your real address,’ said Cooper.

Angie laughed. ‘That isn’t even my name now. I changed it some time ago.’

‘Diane would go straight to this address and make enquiries.’

She shrugged. ‘Good luck to her. The house was used as a squat, but the owners evicted everyone months ago.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re doing this.’

‘From what I hear of Diane, she’s persistent. She needs something like this to stop her. She needs convincing.’

‘Where have you been hearing things about Diane?’

‘She’s been pretty active in Sheffield, believe me. She’s been making a big nuisance of herself, and there are a lot of people who don’t like it.’

Cooper nodded. For once, he did believe her.

‘It’s making life difficult for me,’ said Angie. ‘And for some of my friends. I need her to stop.’

‘What friends? Anyone I know?’

‘Not very likely, is it?’

‘Well, someone told you about me and how to find me.’

‘Like I said, everyone knows you, Ben. You’re just going to have to live with it.’

‘Do you think I won’t be able to find out who it was?’

‘Is it that important?’ said Angie.

‘Well, yes, actually.’

She shrugged, took a drink of her tonic water and pulled a face. Then she pretended to take an interest in the football on TV.

‘Who’s playing?’

‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Cooper.

Unfortunately, Angie was right, There were too many possible sources where she could have obtained information about him. On both sides of the law. That didn’t stop him itching to find out, though. He would love to give somebody hassle for leaking his address.

Cooper looked at the death certificate. It was a very good forgery, and he would certainly have been convinced by it. Angie must have some interesting contacts. But the odd thing was that, though she said she wanted Diane to stop trying to trace her, she was asking an awful lot of questions about her sister. Cooper was starting to feel that she really wanted to know all about Diane, but at second hand. Despite her façade, she was frightened of having to face her little sister.

‘I know I’m taking a big gamble trusting you,’ said Angie. ‘But I know you’re her friend. Do you realize how rare that is? I couldn’t find any others. But I do trust you. If you don’t do this, you won’t just be letting me down. You’ll be letting Diane down. She needs to get over all this and put it behind her, for her own sake. I think you know that, Ben.’

Cooper met her eyes. They were disconcertingly familiar — the same eyes that he had to look at when Diane was angry with him. But they were too familiar — they should have looked more different from Diane’s. He had seen plenty of smackheads in Edendale, and they were blank-faced and skinny, with discoloured teeth. There was a place on the Cavendish Estate where the kids went to inject themselves every night, and the council came round every morning to pick up the needles. Those smackheads had dead eyes, not like these.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. ‘That’s all I’m going to say.’

‘Cool. Thanks for the drink, anyway.’

Cooper waited until Angie had left the Hanging Gate. He watched her walk past the window of the pub, heading towards the Market Square. Then he slipped his book into his pocket, nodded at the landlord and stepped out of the door. He paused on the step with his hand to his head as if to brush his hair into place, and was able to see the figure of Angie Fry as she disappeared into the High Street. He could tell by the way she was walking that she had no idea that she might be followed. She had trusted him too much, in the end.

He found a cap in his pocket and put it on as he crossed the street and walked in the direction Angie was following. He turned the corner of the High Street, and stopped.

A couple of hundred yards further on, there was a line of cars parked on the side of the street, close under the front wall of the old technical institute, which had been converted into offices. The lights came on in one of the cars as Angie reached it, and she opened the passenger door. Cooper stopped behind the last car in the line and bent his head, pretending to be fastening his shoelace on the rear bumper. He had a clear view as the car ahead manoeuvred to leave its parking space. He could see it was a dark blue BMW and, as it pulled out in the traffic, he saw its registration number.