LITMIR.BIZ

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occupied with me, dear. I can be demanding when I’m aroused.’

      ‘And why bother with the lamb when you can have the old ewe, eh?’

      Charlotte bared her perfect teeth in a snarl, then changed her mind and turned the snarl into a mirthless laugh.

      ‘Very good, dear. I wouldn’t have thought you were so good with the farming metaphors.’

      Fry was disappointed that she could not crack the woman’s facade. If only she could get through the provocative, brittle exterior, she might expose a soft, vulnerable core that would yield something to the probing.

      ‘Did you know about Laura’s boyfriend, Simeon Holmes?’

      ‘No, I didn’t.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘Until your people managed to track him down. I suppose there’s no doubt they had a thing together?’

      ‘None at all.’

      ‘She was obviously a bit of a chip off the old block, wasn’t she? She kept her bit on the side quiet, though. Laura usually told me her secrets, but not that one.’

      ‘Perhaps she thought you would consider him unsuitable. He’s from one of the council estates in Edendale, rides a motorbike.’

      ‘Unsuitable? Not me.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Well, I was shagging the gardener, dear.’

      Fry gritted her teeth. Charlotte stubbed out her cigarette and began to stir restlessly. The ashtray was already full of stubs, and the air was pungent with stale smoke that mingled with an expensive scent.

      ‘I hope I’m not shocking you,’ said Charlotte. ‘I know some of you people can be very puritanical. But Graham and I have always had that sort of marriage. It is rather an accepted thing among our circle of friends.’

      ‘You mentioned other lovers, Mrs Vernon. I need to ask you for some names.’

      ‘Really? How many years would you like me to go back?’

      ‘Just the last few months, shall we say?’

      ‘Are our police looking at jealousy as a motive then? How original.’

      ‘Names?’

      ‘All right. There have been one or two of my husband’s business colleagues. Just the odd occasion, you know. Nothing heavy.’

      She gave Fry three names, only one of which meant anything.

      ‘Andrew Milner?’

      ‘He works for Graham.’

      ‘I know who he is.’

      Fry stared at the woman, wondering if she was really the distraught mother who had appeared in previous reports. Perhaps she was on some drug that the doctor had given her. But she could think of nothing that would completely change a woman’s personality to this. Charlotte studied her expression and laughed her cold laugh again.

      ‘Oh yes, I’m not too fussy when I’m in the mood.’

      ‘And have you been in the mood much since Laura was killed? Does the thought of your daughter being attacked and murdered make you feel randy?’

      Charlotte’s face seemed to blur and quiver, and her eyes swelled alarmingly. Her limbs trembled and her shoulders slumped into an unnatural position. It was as if the woman had disintegrated suddenly into a broken doll.

      ‘I go to that place every night, you know,’ she said.

      ‘What place?’ asked Fry, startled at the unexpected change.

      ‘I go at night, when no one’s around. Graham hates it. I take flowers for her.’

      ‘You go where?’

      ‘That place down there. The place where Laura died.’ She looked up pleadingly. ‘I take her roses and carnations from the garden. Are they the right things to take?’

      

      Back at E Division, Ben Cooper made his way wearily up to the incident room, where just two computer operators were at their terminals and the office manager, DI Baxter, was stacking away some files. Cooper checked through the action sheets, but could find nothing allocated to him.

      ‘I’m back on duty now, sir.’

      ‘Nothing for you, Cooper,’ said Baxter. ‘Some of the teams are being reallocated. Your DI wants you back in the CID room. You’ve to report to DS Rennie.’

      ‘Oh, shit.’

      ‘Sorry, son.’

      Baxter seemed about to reprimand Cooper for his outburst, conscious of the computer operator’s eyes on him. But he looked at Cooper’s face and changed his mind, not being one to kick a man when he was obviously down.

      ‘Mr Tailby thinks forensics –’

      ‘Yeah, I know. Thanks.’

      Cooper stamped back downstairs. A DC was on the phone in the CID room and Rennie was holding a report in the air, staring at it with an expression of admiration. He noticed Cooper come in and waved a hand casually.

      ‘Ben. Welcome back to the real world.’

      Cooper kicked the chair away from his desk and thumped the pile of paper that had been sitting there since Monday.

      ‘What’s all this stuff?’

      ‘Hey, calm down. We don’t want any prima donna tantrums just because you’re not with the big boys on the murder enquiries any more.’

      ‘Yeah, right. Car crime. They want something doing about car crime, yeah? So what’s new?’

      ‘This is,’ said Rennie, waving the report. ‘Here, take a look.’

      The report landed on Cooper’s desk. It bore the heading of the National Criminal Intelligence Service. ‘What’s this?’

      ‘New ideas on detecting car crime. It’s good stuff. The super is very impressed. It was the new lass’s idea.’

      ‘Not Diane Fry?’

      ‘That’s her. Not bad for a lass, I reckon.’

      ‘And where is she? Is she already out working on this?’

      ‘Not her,’ said Rennie. ‘She’s still on the Vernon enquiry.’

      

      Fry phoned Vernon Finance, but was put through to a particularly unhelpful and protective secretary who told her that Andrew Milner was out of the office all afternoon. She eventually persuaded the secretary to give her his mobile number, and ate a tuna sandwich while she dialled. When he answered, Milner was clearly on the road somewhere. There was heavy traffic noise in the background, and he was shouting, as people did when they were using the hands-free adaptor in a car.

      ‘Who did you say you were? Hold on, I’m just turning on to the A57.’

      When she got it through to him who she was, he went very quiet for a moment. Perhaps it was just the signal being broken up by the high ridges of Stanage Edge and the Hallam Moors.

      ‘Give me a second, and I’ll pull into a layby,’ he said.

      Fry talked to Andrew Milner for several minutes, trying to catch the tone of the man’s replies against the thundering slipstream of passing lorries and the intermittent fading of his cellphone signal. She thought he sounded nervous and defensive, but he stuck to a firm line on the suggestion of any relationship with his employer’s wife. It was ridiculous, it was nonsense. Charlotte Vernon obviously wasn’t well.

      Eventually, Fry let him go when he pleaded that he was late for an important meeting. She felt sure that he was hiding something, but couldn’t pin down what it was. She needed some more information before she could know the right questions to ask. Time to talk to Andrew Milner’s wife.

      

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