Cooper felt a jolt of excitement so completely unexpected that he thought for a moment he’d been electrocuted. He put his cup down in its saucer with an unnecessary clatter. He’d suddenly seemed to have lost proper co-ordination.
‘Prospect Assurance?’ he said.
Villiers brightened visibly at the tone of his response. ‘Yes. Have you heard of it?’
‘Oh … I think they have offices in Edendale.’
‘Yes, they do.’
Villiers’ coffee arrived, and Cooper took a moment to steady himself. His hand was shaking again, and he hid it under the table where he hoped she wouldn’t see.
‘So what happened to him?’ he asked.
‘Mr Turner was found dead in a shallow stream. Well, the stream wasn’t quite so shallow as it normally would be…’
‘Because of all the rain,’ said Cooper.
‘Yes.’
She gave him that look again.
‘Don’t say “good” again, Carol. I’m not a dog to be patted on the head every time I fetch a ball.’
Villiers had the grace to flush a little. Not that it didn’t suit her. It took the edge off that hard exterior she’d come back to Derbyshire with, the tough shell of a woman who’d seen active service overseas and had gone through an unsuccessful marriage at the same time. It made her a bit more like the Carol Parry he remembered from their school days. It was a transition he’d been hoping to see signs of for months now. He wondered if she’d decide to revert to her maiden name at some point.
‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ she said. ‘You’re right, of course. It’s just the way that everybody’s been talking about you recently, it got into my head. I suppose it might have made me sound a bit, well…’
‘Patronising,’ said Cooper.
She smiled. ‘Yes, patronising.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said.
And it genuinely was all right. He didn’t mind at all. The fact that she’d apologised straight away made Cooper feel warm towards her. He couldn’t imagine Diane Fry sitting there and saying sorry to him without hesitation … Not in a million years.
‘So. A flooded stream. And a dead victim called, let’s see … Glen Turner?’
Villiers laughed. ‘Are you taking notes?’
‘No.’ Cooper shook his head slowly. ‘Just listening to you, Carol.’
She took a drink of her coffee, reluctant to meet his eye for a moment. ‘He was lying dead on his back in the water. He’d been there for a number of hours before he was found by a council gully-emptying crew. His body was diverting the flow of water into the road.’
‘He drowned?’
‘Not sure. Cause of death so far unconfirmed.’
Cooper frowned. ‘There are several questions springing to mind.’
‘Well, I won’t say “good” – but I’ll admit that’s definitely what I like to hear.’
Thoughtfully, Cooper looked down at his empty coffee cup. Outside the window, the Kugel stone slowly turned and turned, driven by its jets of water. It was a testament to the power of even a small amount of water that it could lift a ton of granite so easily.
‘Was Mr Turner a big man?’ he said.
‘Yes. He formed a pretty good dam.’
‘And his clothes were found, I hope?’
‘Nearby in the woods. All present, including his wallet. Cash, credit cards, driving licence, mobile phone, the lot.’
He guessed from Villiers’ expectant expression that she was waiting for him to say something about robbery being discounted as a motive. But that was obvious enough.
‘Woods,’ he said. ‘Which woods?’
‘Oh. Sparrow Wood. The other side of Wirksworth, near Brassington.’
‘The Forestry Commission woodland?’
‘No, a privately owned section next to it.’
‘Car?’ said Cooper.
‘A Renault Mégane, but it was parked outside a pub about a mile away in Brassington.’
‘His shoes …?’ said Cooper.
‘Yes, mud on them.’
He nodded. ‘And there were no witnesses.’
‘Why do you say that, Ben?’
‘It’s a quiet road. Whatever happened took place at night, probably. And the weather has been bad. I suppose it was raining on the night he was killed. So there would be no one around to see anything. No witnesses.’
‘Only a couple who saw an unidentified man in a four-wheel drive near the woods.’
‘I see.’
Cooper gazed for a few moments at the expanse of water outside the window, where a boat was tacking across the little bay in the rain. Everything looked suddenly blurred and indistinct. Though he tried to concentrate on what had just been said, he found his mind drifting towards a nice pub that he knew, standing close to the western edge of the reservoir with views of the hills on the other side. The Knockerdown Inn. He was pretty sure it was open all day in the summer. There might be a log fire in the bar to dry out in front of. They served fish, chips and mushy peas with their own home-made batter.