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

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СКАЧАТЬ not your fault. You work for my father, but you’re not like him, are you?’ Daniel walked round the Jaguar. He was carrying a bunch of keys with a remote control device for the door locks and alarm. ‘I was going to borrow Dad’s car, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d rather walk.’

      Andrew watched in astonishment as Daniel tossed the keys into a stone urn standing by the front steps. They vanished into the roots of a small shrub.

      ‘I thought somebody around here ought to say sorry to you,’ said Daniel.

      ‘To me?’

      The young man came closer. ‘Sorry that you got involved. You and your family. I don’t suppose my parents would ever mention it. They don’t care, you see. They don’t see the effect on anyone except themselves.’

      Andrew didn’t know what to say. He clutched his document case closer, searching his reserve of social small talk for a reply. ‘You’re studying at university, aren’t you?’

      Daniel laughed, then looked away, as if suddenly losing interest. ‘I’m at Exeter, doing political science. A different world.’

      ‘Such a dreadful thing to happen,’ said Andrew, exhausting his stock of phrases.

      When the young man spoke again, it was as if he was addressing the blue Jaguar, as if he had forgotten that Andrew Milner was there.

      ‘They had already rung me at Exeter as soon as Laura disappeared, you know. But I just thought she’d gone off with this bloke, the boyfriend, Simeon Holmes. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I thought. I intended to come back home, but only after Mum and Dad had got over the shock of finding out their daughter was a secret nympho.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘I should have come back straightaway. Shouldn’t I? Don’t you think so?’

      ‘It’s not for me to judge. Really –’

      ‘No, not for anybody to judge but me,’ said Daniel bitterly. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’

      He set off to walk down the drive, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders hunched angrily. Andrew watched him until the young man stopped a few yards away and turned back to shout in derision.

      ‘Don’t just stand there, go on in! I’m sure you’ll find my mother available!’

      Andrew shook his head, bewildered, but went on up the steps to ring the bell. Charlotte Vernon answered the door, looking smart in a cashmere sweater and cream slacks. She stared at Andrew for a moment, then broke into astonished laughter that carried a hint of hysteria.

      ‘You! What on earth are you doing here?’

      Andrew flushed, pulling nervously at his tie. His forehead was creased in permanent anxiety. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’ve got some papers that I need Graham to sign.’

      ‘Oh, really? Important papers?’

      He waved a hand helplessly, hardly daring to look at her, conscious of the sweat running down inside his collar. He suddenly remembered the car keys in the urn outside, and wondered how he could mention them.

      ‘Lost for words?’ said Charlotte. ‘You’d better come in, I suppose. But it’ll have to be quick.’

      ‘I’m sorry. Are you going out?’

      ‘We’ve got our big moment of fame.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      She stood close to him, touching his arm, widening her eyes instinctively as she enjoyed his embarrassment.

      ‘Graham and I are doing a television appeal. The police seem to think it will do some good.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’

      Andrew clutched his document case closer to him, so that it covered his groin like a protective talisman. His eyes roved round the hallway, looking towards the doors as if hoping for rescue. He tried to sidle gradually towards where he knew Graham’s office lay.

      ‘I’m sure Graham will be wonderful on TV, aren’t you?’

      ‘Oh yes. He’s very articulate.’

      ‘Articulate. That’s good. Yes, he talks very well, doesn’t he? Very convincing. But what do you think, Andrew?’

      He found himself almost squashed against the wall, close to an antique inlaid cabinet he had always admired. His hand slid across its lid as he groped for support, leaving a sweaty palm print on its polished surface.

      ‘About what happened to Laura, you mean?’

      ‘Yes – that, Andrew.’

      ‘They’ve taken Lee Sherratt in for questioning, haven’t they?’

      Charlotte laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, roughened with cigarette smoke and tinged with hysteria. Then she stopped laughing suddenly and tightened her grip on the sleeve of his jacket.

      ‘Is that the best you can do? Is that what you’re relying on? It won’t be enough, believe me.’

      Andrew Milner felt her eyes leave his face and move away, staring over his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Graham Vernon watching from the door of his study, a sardonic smile on his face. Andrew became horribly aware of Charlotte’s body pressed close against him, her breast squeezing into his arm, her pelvis thrust against his hip.

      ‘Did you want to see me, Andrew?’ asked Graham. ‘Or is Charlotte looking after you?’

      

      Once in his own home, cleaned up and seated in his chair in the front room with his pipe, Harry looked much more approachable than he had among his friends. He had a copy of that morning’s Buxton Advertiser on the table by his chair. On the front page was a colour picture of the well-dressing ceremony at Great Hucklow. This year the villagers had created a picture from flowers on the theme of the millennium – Two Thousand Years Since the Birth of Christ. According to the story, the team had worked through the night to finish the display for the opening ceremony.

      ‘It says here the police are assessing the result of forensic tests,’ said Harry, tapping a story at the bottom of the page. ‘And they expect to make an arrest soon. Is that right?’

      ‘I suppose it must be.’

      ‘Detective Chief Inspector Stewart Tailby, who is leading the enquiry, said: “I remain hopeful.” Is that just a lot of rubbish, or what?’

      ‘I want to ask you about Saturday night,’ said Cooper.

      ‘Oh aye? Any particular Saturday?’

      ‘Last Saturday night. The night we believe Laura Vernon was killed.’

      ‘That Saturday. Well, let’s see. It was warm.’

      Cooper had read the transcript of the initial interview with Harry Dickinson, and he was determined not to let Harry divert him from his questions.

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