Already Dead(87)
‘Well, maybe…’
‘It’s an old trick. I’m surprised you fell for it.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing Villiers’ face go faintly pink. At least she’d think twice before she was such a sucker again.
Cooper studied Diane Fry as she stamped about giving orders. It was hard seeing people change in front of your eyes. But it was even harder trying to remember who they used to be. The new person supplanted the old one and displaced their memory.
But Fry still had that look. He’d seen it in her the first time they’d met, years ago on her transfer to Derbyshire. It was a look that suggested the whole world was a terrible place. Everyone must know how awful it was. So, if you smiled too much, you must be an idiot. Too stupid to see how bad everything was. Stupid enough to be happy. She never saw any blue sky, only grey.
When she came back again, he was still standing there, just outside the outer cordon. She hadn’t told him to go away, and she didn’t seem able to resist drifting towards him again, as if she wanted to ask him something but couldn’t find the right opportunity.
‘You know,’ said Cooper. ‘I drive around sometimes, late at night. I just stay in the car for hours, not really knowing where I am, or where I’m going.’
Fry looked uncomfortable, as if he’d just confessed to some sexual perversion.
‘Why?’ she said.
‘Just for the pleasure of driving, being on empty roads. The feeling that I’m getting right away from all the places I know.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps you don’t understand.’
‘Can’t say I do.’
Cooper decided not to tell her any more. If she didn’t grasp that part, she wouldn’t be able to understand the rest of it.
‘Diane, did it not occur to you to wonder why anyone would choose Sparrow Wood for this murder?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. But without a suspect to ask…’
‘Yet the answer is obvious, without asking the question,’ said Cooper. ‘It was convenience. They chose it because it was handy.’
Fry waved at the surrounding landscape. ‘Handy for who? No one lives here.’
‘Not many,’ said Cooper. ‘Some do work here, though.’
Fry realised one of the uniformed officers was trying to attract her attention. He had hold of a scruffy man with a dense beard, who wasn’t even attempting to struggle against the grip on his arm.
‘Who is this?’ said Fry.
‘We found him dossing in one of the caves, Sarge.’
‘They’re nice and dry,’ said the man. ‘You wouldn’t expect me to sleep rough in this weather.’
‘A cave isn’t sleeping rough?’
‘It’s all relative, isn’t it?’
‘What do they call you?’ asked Fry.
‘Spikey.’
‘That’s your name?’
‘You asked what they called me. They call me Spikey.’
‘Can you produce any ID?’ asked the officer holding his arm.
Spikey laughed at him. ‘Do I look as though I’m carrying my driving licence and credit cards?’
‘We need your name and address so we can check you out.’
‘My name’s John Clarke, known as Spikey to my mates. Not that I have many friends. People don’t drop in for tea much any more.’
‘John Clarke. Is that with an “e”?’
‘If you like.’ The officer let go of his sleeve, and Clarke watched him write the name down. ‘Now put “no fixed abode”. I love that word “abode”. You only ever get it in police reports, like “proceeding” and “persons unknown”.’
‘Have you been the subject of many police reports?’ asked Fry.
Clarke had a mischievous grin behind his beard. She caught a glimpse of yellowed teeth.
‘That’s for you to find out,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’ll be getting your man here on the radio.’
Fry nodded, and the officer walked away to get a PNC check.
‘Of course, we have no proof of what your name really is,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re not carrying any ID, Mr Clarke.’
‘Spikey,’ he said.
‘I thought that was how your mates know you.’
‘Aren’t you my mate? I thought the police were supposed to be our friends. You know, protecting your community and all that.’
‘What do you live on here? What do you eat?’
‘Fresh lamb and mutton,’ said Clarke. ‘There’s lots of it about. You just have to catch it.’
‘Sheep?’
‘Aye. I’m bypassing the grasping farmers and taking animals direct from the wild.’