‘And then there was the child,’ she was saying. ‘The Bowers’ daughter.’
‘Lacey,’ said Cooper.
‘She was very young at the time her mother went missing. About eight years old?’
‘That’s right.’
‘We couldn’t interview her obviously. Not at that age. Initially she was spoken to with her father present, but she was very uncommunicative. She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen her mother, or anything she’d said. I suppose it was all too overwhelming for her. Too frightening and confusing, all those questions from strangers. She seemed very close to her father — she never let go of him, was clinging to him constantly for reassurance whenever I saw her. After the arrest, young Lacey went to stay with an aunt.’
‘Annette’s sister, Frances Swann.’
Branagh nodded. ‘I felt very bad about tearing her away from her father, but the evidence...’
‘Yes, it was the right decision.’
‘Thank you. I’ve wondered, of course. I’ve had ten years to wonder about it, whether all I did in that moment was to make a terrible situation even worse for a small child. Her mother had gone missing, and now her father was being taken away from her. I felt I must appear to be the big, bad ogre in her eyes. I hope she’s forgiven me. I’d be interested to hear how she’s grown up.’
‘She’s on my list to speak to, obviously.’
Superintendent Branagh’s face had set into a grim expression as she talked about the Bower case. Cooper could see that the memory of it made her... not regretful exactly, but angry.
‘When the victim hasn’t been found,’ she said, ‘one of the temptations for the killer is to claim themselves to have seen their victim alive. But Reece Bower didn’t need to lie. Someone else did that job for him.’
‘He was a very lucky man.’
‘Either that, or he was innocent,’ said Cooper. ‘I suppose there’s always that possibility.’
Branagh’s expression didn’t change. She continued to stare grimly at Cooper.
‘But you don’t think so,’ he said.
‘No, I don’t.’
Branagh sighed. ‘Between you and me, I see this as a chance to make amends, to explore missed opportunities,’ she said. ‘We may be able to put things right.’
‘And it’s long overdue after ten years,’ said Cooper.
He’d heard the uncertainty in the superintendent’s voice. She had a lot of trust in him, but she knew she couldn’t order him to pursue the lines of inquiry she’d missed all those years ago. When it came down to it, the decision was his. Branagh recognised that.
‘Will you do this for me, Ben?’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll do what I can.’
She sounded relieved now.
‘There will be questions asked, no doubt. I’ll back you as much as I can. Let me know if you have any problems.’
‘I’ll get straight on to it.’
Cooper stood up to leave.
‘DI Cooper...’ she said as he reached the door.
‘Ma’am?’
‘When will you be seeing Detective Sergeant Fry?’
Cooper stared at her in surprise.
‘Why would I want to see her?’
‘Well... no particular reason.’
He knew that Detective Superintendent Branagh didn’t say things like that for no particular reason.
‘I’m puzzled that you should mention her, ma’am. She’s been working with EMSOU’s Major Crime Unit for some time now.’
‘I know that, of course. But I always thought you worked together really well.’ She waved a hand to dismiss his protests. ‘Oh, I know you’re very different, and you didn’t always get on. But you were a good team. You got results.’
Cooper didn’t know how to reply. It wasn’t how he’d seen their relationship. But it might look different from the outside.
‘I don’t mean that you can’t get results on your own,’ said Branagh. ‘Of course not. I have absolute faith in you to make the right decisions, Ben.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Cooper. ‘I’ll try to do that.’
13
Ben Cooper knew a sergeant at Chesterfield. He didn’t see him very often, and they’d arranged to meet in the restroom for a coffee before he went back to Edendale. And when Cooper walked into the room, there she was. Diane Fry. Superintendent Branagh must have known perfectly well she was here. Fry had probably checked in with her on her arrival.
Fry spotted him straightaway. She was sitting at a table on her own, clutching a cup. He couldn’t tell from her expression whether she was surprised to see him, or pleased, or horrified, or anything in between. There was hardly a flicker of emotion on her face as she coolly met his gaze.
Cooper got himself a drink, took a deep breath, and walked over to her table.
‘Diane,’ he said.
‘Ben. Hello.’
‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine.’
It was typical of her not to ask how he was in return. He was never sure if it was because she wasn’t interested, or she’d never learned how to be polite. It was probably both.
Some people never seemed happy with life, and you could see it in their faces. Diane Fry had that look. 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.
After a moment, Fry waved at an empty chair.
‘Sit down, if you want,’ she said.
Cooper sat, and took a drink of his coffee.
‘So what are you doing here?’ he said. ‘Where are you working?’
‘A place called Shirebrook in Nottinghamshire.’
‘No, it’s in Derbyshire,’ said Cooper.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, it’s just this side of the border. It’s part of North Division.’
‘Borders don’t matter that much in EMSOU,’ said Fry.
Cooper thought that didn’t excuse her ignorance, but he let it go.
‘Strange place, Shirebrook,’ said Fry.
‘I can agree with you on that. I remember it from when it was a small coal-mining town. Everybody worked at the pit. The place got pretty run down, I suppose, but it was one of those towns that had a strong sense of community.’
Fry looked at him for a second, as if trying to find something more in his words.
‘It isn’t like that now,’ she said.
‘Oh, I know. The coal mine closed in 1993. A distribution centre was built on the pit site after it was cleared.’
She looked around the room, as if assessing the officers at the other tables. As usual, she didn’t look as though she approved of any of them.
‘EMSOU have an operation under way in Shirebrook,’ she said.
Cooper nodded. ‘I think I saw an email.’
‘The situation is very tense.’
‘Is EMSOU responsible for community cohesion now?’ he asked.
‘Everybody’s responsible for community cohesion,’ said Fry. ‘Aren’t they?’
Cooper knew it was true, of course. In many ways, it was the number-one policing priority, ahead of solving crime. Good relations between communities prevented crime from happening in the first place. Certainly serious hate crimes, the type of violent offences Fry and her colleagues at EMSOU were concerned with. When tensions simmered beneath the surface, they could break out into violence at any time. The statistics showed a worrying increase in hate crime after the result of the EU Referendum, and in some areas the situation had refused to settle back to normal. In places like Shirebrook, with its large migrant population, tensions often weren’t even below the surface, but openly on display.