He felt the urge to find a brick and toss it through the bookshop window, as if that would destroy the image. The physical action and the sound of glass smashing might make him feel better for one fleeting moment.
But it was worse than that. Cooper knew the really disturbing images were inside his head, and there was nothing he could ever do to smash them.
11
Diane Fry’s flat was in one of the large detached Victorian villas in Grosvenor Avenue, just off Castleton Road. Although the tree-lined street had once been prosperous, almost all the properties were in multiple occupancy now — one-bedroom flats, smaller bedsits and some houses where the tenants shared communal facilities.
Cooper knew this as a student area, mostly for young people studying at the High Peak College campus. He had no idea why Fry had chosen to live here when she came to Derbyshire. And he had even less understanding of her reasons for staying in Grosvenor Avenue when she could so easily have afforded somewhere better on her detective sergeant’s salary.
But that might have been because he’d never asked her about her reasons. Or he’d never asked her properly. There was a lot about Diane Fry he didn’t understand, but she only shared information about herself on a need-to-know basis. At least that meant he wasn’t the only person who didn’t understand her. Nobody at West Street did. The only person he’d ever met who might have a bit more insight was Diane’s sister, Angie. Cooper reassured himself with that fact.
A couple of the other tenants were just leaving the house as he parked outside the gate. They didn’t look like students, though. They were a bit too old and bundled up in old clothes as if off to a night shift at a job where they didn’t expect to stay clean. When he said hello to them, they answered readily enough, in accents that sounded East European. Of course, Grosvenor Avenue wasn’t just student territory any more. The High Peak College students were competing for cheap accommodation with migrant workers from countries in the European Union.
He remembered something Fry had said to him years ago, when he moved out of Bridge End Farm into his own little flat on Welbeck Street. ‘A cheap rent just means something really grotty that nobody else wants,’ she’d said. But number 8 Welbeck Street was a lot better than this.
Cooper rang the bell set among half a dozen others by the front door and it was opened almost immediately.
‘Hello, Diane.’
‘Hi. Come in.’
She left him to close the door and set off up the stairs. She was dressed in unfaded denim jeans and a sparkling white shirt, like someone who’d decided to dress casually but found she didn’t have any casual clothes. He’d rarely seen her when she wasn’t wearing black suit trousers, aiming for the smart professional look. Yet this look suited her. It somehow managed to soften her edges. Her fair hair had grown a little longer too, and it masked the hard lines of her face, which in the past she’d always seemed keen to emphasise. Whatever had caused the change in her appearance, he was glad of it. Though he knew better than to comment on it. Fry never took compliments well.
‘Aren’t you supposed to say “thank you for coming” or something like that?’ said Cooper, though he was speaking to Fry’s retreating back.
‘Oh, yes. Thanks, Ben.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he muttered as he followed her up the stairs. ‘Always a pleasure.’
Fry’s flat was on the first floor of the house. It consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom with a shower cubicle, and a tiny kitchen area. As soon as he entered, Cooper noticed that it had been redecorated since the last time he was here. He recalled striped wallpaper in a faded shade of brown and a carpet in washed-out blues, pinks and yellows, a pattern that looked as though it had been designed to hide substances spilled on it. The redecoration had done wonders. Fresh paintwork in cleaner, bright colours and a new carpet on the floor. Was Fry responsible for this? Or had the landlords insisted? That seemed much more likely. They would be looking to attract replacement tenants now.
Fry’s own possessions seemed to be scanty, judging by the cardboard boxes around the flat. They would barely fill the back of a small van. Surely there must be some books, music, a few prized objects she’d collected over the years. Okay, perhaps not souvenirs of the Peak District. But, well … something. He suspected these boxes contained clothes, bedding and not much else.
‘Have you moved some stuff already?’ he asked.
‘A bit,’ she said.
‘Do you want these boxes moving?’
‘No, I’m taking those myself. I can get three or four in the boot of my Peugeot each trip. It’s just this table and the bookshelves. Oh, and the TV is mine.’
Cooper nodded. ‘No problem.’
So there were bookshelves, but that didn’t mean there had been books. In fact, he couldn’t imagine what sort of books Diane Fry might read in her leisure time. Blackstone’s Police Manuals Volumes 1–4. That would be about the shape of it.
‘The shelves will have to be dismantled,’ he said.
‘Oh.’
‘It’s easy enough. Just a few screws to take out.’
Fry frowned and looked around her. ‘I don’t think I have a-’
‘I’ve got a set of screwdrivers in the Toyota,’ said Cooper.
‘Brilliant.’
He watched her for a moment as she folded towels into a plastic carrier, her slim hands working quickly and precisely, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up above wrists that looked too fragile to have any strength. A strand of hair had fallen over her face and she had a faint sheen of sweat on her temple. She gave the job of packing as much concentration as she did any other task and she didn’t seem to notice his observation. He’d ceased to exist again just in that moment.
It was so typical of this woman. For Fry, a person was either useful to her or just a nuisance. And she could switch them from one to another in the blink of an eye. Cooper wished he had the ability to tune people out the way she did. But he just couldn’t do it. Right now he was aware of almost nothing else but Diane’s presence so close to him in the cramped sitting room. Yet she seemed to have forgotten his existence for a moment. It was strange that he didn’t resent this more. Instead, it made him feel sorry for her.
‘I’ll put the TV in the car, then I’ll bring the tools back up with me, shall I?’
She looked up. ‘That’ll be great, Ben.’
So he unplugged the TV set and carried it downstairs. Luckily, Fry wasn’t the type to go for a massive sixty-five-inch widescreen. This one would fit in the back of the Toyota without difficulty. And he could carry it on his own too. Not that he had much choice.
He found the little toolbox, covered the TV set with a coat and locked the car carefully. When he returned to the flat, Fry was sitting down looking unnaturally relaxed. And she’d made him a coffee.
‘I thought we’d take a break,’ she said. ‘Have a seat.’
Cooper did as he was told, but with trepidation. Looking at Fry’s jeans and shirt, it struck him for the first time that she’d dressed specially for the occasion — and that wasn’t just for the packing. There was something else she’d planned.
Fry leaned forward. ‘So…’ she said.
‘So?’ Cooper repeated.
He had a sudden dread that Fry was going to start asking him personal questions. And not just any old questions, but the full cross-examination — all the same questions that people had asked him over and over again in the months after Liz was killed.
And he was right. But it was such an odd thing. Within a few minutes of Fry broaching the subject, he found himself telling her exactly what it had been like. He spilled it all out — the plans he and Liz had been making, what the wedding was going to be like, their dreams for the future, the possibility of having children very soon.
And then that afternoon at the Light House pub, when he and Carol Villiers had been examining the cellar while Liz searched for forensic evidence in one of the bedrooms upstairs. And there was the fire.