Yes, she was ignorant, and incapable of guessing his real intentions. But still she couldn’t resist her conviction – that something dark and bad was in his heart.
Cooper broke eye contact and pulled his old waxed coat round his shoulders as he began to move away.
‘Ben,’ she blurted, ‘remember, won’t you…?’
‘What?’
‘Remember – whatever happens, we’re still the good guys.’
Cooper stared at her, his mouth twisted oddly as if he was about to break into a laugh.
‘No, Diane,’ he said. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t think we were ever that.’
‘But what are you going to do, Ben? Surely there’s nothing you can do.’
But Cooper didn’t reply. He turned and walked away without another word.
And, in the end, that was what bothered Fry most of all.
After the unexpected meeting with Diane Fry, Cooper walked for a while in the rain, until he was so wet that he felt washed clean. It was lucky he knew how to pull himself together and make an effort when he encountered other people. He didn’t want anyone thinking he’d gone completely off the rails. He could always make sure he was properly dressed, clean shaven, attentive and capable of making intelligent conversation.
It was important to keep up the facade, though he wasn’t sure why. He just knew that if he’d started to doubt the reasons for it he would have given up entirely by now, and that he couldn’t do.
So he’d made sure Diane Fry (and Carol Villiers) saw him just as he’d always been, a Ben Cooper no different for the experience he’d gone through, just someone recovering slowly from a physical injury, dealing day by day with grief, the trauma of loss. They had to believe that he was getting over it. He’d be back to normal soon.
When Cooper had gone, Fry looked round and saw Carol Villiers. Fry didn’t want to be the one to speak first, so she waited, wondering whether Villiers could bring herself to be disloyal to her old friend and DS. It was a difficult judgement to make, but there could only be one conclusion, even if you didn’t admit it out loud.
Finally, Villiers shook her head. ‘Poor Ben,’ she said. ‘He’s lost it.’
‘I’ve never seen him like that before,’ said Fry, relieved.
‘Nor me. What can we do?’
‘Perhaps he just needs time.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, he’s had the counselling, the medical attention,’ said Fry. ‘He’s on extended leave. Some people just take longer to get over these things.’
There was a small silence, which stretched out just long enough for Fry to start feeling uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps,’ said Villiers again.
As she left St John’s Street, Fry noticed there was a call on her phone, and saw from the display that it was Becky Hurst. She opened her car door and got in out of the rain before she answered it.
‘I went to check out the paintballing centre,’ said Hurst. ‘They remembered Glen Turner pretty well.’
‘Why?’ asked Fry. ‘Because of his injuries?’
‘Well, sort of. His injuries were where it all started. But they remember him most of all because he was planning to sue them.’
23
Becky Hurst had brought back a copy of the solicitor’s letter the paintballing centre had received. It carried the heading of a well-known legal practice in Edendale, Richmond Jones. Fry had dealt with them often enough, but only the partners specialising in criminal law. They were a favourite choice for defendants in local magistrates’ courts, because they had a reputation for being able to get you off a minor charge, no matter how guilty you were. Many police officers had returned angry and frustrated from court proceedings after listening to a Richmond Jones solicitor arguing the innocence of some notorious lowlife.
But this was a civil case, the threat of private action for personal injury compensation. That would be a different partner. The letter was signed simply with the company name ‘Richmond Jones’, which surely wasn’t actually a signature at all, since it wasn’t the identity of an individual. But at the top, under the heading, was a phone number and the information that the partner dealing with the case was Mr K. Chadburn.
Most of the solicitors in Edendale had offices in or around the Market Square. Diane Fry even knew why this was. Ben Cooper had once explained to her that it dated to the time when people from the surrounding area came into town only once a week, on market day. It was a major journey for them, and they wanted to do all their business in one trip – buy their vegetables, go to the butcher’s, stock up with paint and nails at the ironmonger’s, and visit the solicitor’s to sort out their wills.