One Last Breath

‘Yes, ten o’clock to eleven. She made a joke about working off the excesses of the weekend. She liked a bottle of wine now and then, I think.’

Cooper looked at the entries for the previous two days. Lunch with her sister on Saturday. A dinner party with some friends on Sunday night.

‘And did Mrs Lowe seem her normal self?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Did she seem worried about anything? Did she mention anything that was bothering her?’

‘I didn’t talk to her that much, but she seemed perfectly happy. Just as usual. Wait a minute, though …’

‘Yes?’

The phone was silent for a moment. Cooper could hear a series of strange noises in the background, and imagined the running and stretching and pedalling that must be going on while they spoke. The thought of it made him feel tired.

‘There was a man who was due out of prison about now,’ said the trainer. ‘Is that right? Somebody that Rebecca knew very well.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Did Mrs Lowe tell you that?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Oh.’

‘Somebody else must have mentioned it. An old murder case, wasn’t it? Or maybe it’s just a bit of gossip. I might be able to remember his name, if you give me a minute.’

‘Never mind. I expect it was Quinn.’

‘That’s it! So is it right? Is he out?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

As Cooper put the phone down, he was handed a photograph. It was a recent shot of Rebecca Lowe, the one they’d be issuing with the press releases. She was dressed for the outdoors, in a green body warmer and jeans, and she had a dog at her heels – a small thing with a plumed tail and a screwed-up face. Rebecca had rather a narrow face, with lines around her eyes but enviable cheekbones. Her hair was blonde, though surely it must be dyed at forty-nine.

The trainer at the fitness club was right – Rebecca Lowe looked in good condition. But seen off two husbands? It looked as though one of them had come back again.

For a while, Cooper found himself waiting for someone to tell him what to do next. A major murder enquiry was a rigid bureaucracy, with clearly defined responsibilities and not much chance for anyone to work outside the system. As a divisional detective, he’d be allocated to the Outside Enquiry Team. Somebody had to do the physical part of the investigation, even if the SIO opted for HOLMES.

Of course, Cooper regretted that he’d have to let Amy and Josie down and skip the visit to the caverns. But they would understand – they always did.

Finally, he saw Diane Fry walking between the desks in the CID room.

‘You’re supposed to be on a rest day, aren’t you, Ben?’ she said.

‘Yes, but –’

‘You might as well take what’s left of it off.’

‘Don’t you need me?’ said Cooper, hearing his own voice rising a pitch in surprise. And sensing, perhaps, that sinking feeling of disappointment.

‘Not today. It looks like a self-solver. We just need to get some leads on where Mansell Quinn is and catch up with him.’

‘Are you sure, Diane?’

‘That’s what they’re saying further up.’

‘Well, I don’t mind, because I’ve got things planned. It just doesn’t feel right, that’s all.’

Fry shrugged. ‘We just do what we’re told, don’t we?’

It felt strange to Cooper to be leaving the office and going home when a major enquiry might be about to start. But, if he stayed, he’d become eligible for overtime. Somebody was making tough budget decisions in an office upstairs, gambling on an early conclusion.

Before Cooper could escape from the building, DI Hitchens put his head round the door and caught his eye.

‘DC Cooper.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Have you got a few minutes? Just before you go.’

Hitchens inclined his head to his office, and Cooper followed him in.

‘Shut the door.’

Hitchens looked serious – more serious than Cooper could remember seeing him for a long time, not since the DI had failed his interview for a chief inspector’s job. He also seemed a little uncomfortable, hesitating at his desk as if about to sit down, but then remaining where he was at the window. Apart from the football ground, there was nothing for him to look at outside, only the roofs of houses in the streets that ran downhill towards the centre of Edendale.

Cooper waited until the DI pulled his thoughts together.

‘I thought I’d tell you this privately first, Ben,’ he said, ‘rather than during a team briefing.’

Now it was Cooper who was starting to feel uneasy. He could sense bad news coming. Was he going to be reprimanded for something? Had he committed a serious enough offence to face a disciplinary enquiry – or worse? Cooper swallowed. He knew that he had. But time had passed, and he’d become convinced that he was safe. There was only one person who might have shopped him.

He studied the DI’s face to try to gauge how serious it was. Hitchens hadn’t even bothered to use the positive-negative-positive technique that was taught to managers. He ought to have praised Cooper for something first before he tackled the difficult subject, so as not to destroy his morale. Maybe that meant it was something else. A transfer, perhaps. Cooper had a few years of his tenure in CID to go yet, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t dispense with his services sooner.

‘It’s the Mansell Quinn case,’ said Hitchens, taking Cooper by surprise. ‘I mean, the murder of Carol Proctor.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘It’s funny that you should be the one to raise the point about the professionals involved in the case being at risk. I’m thinking about the police officers particularly.’

‘You were one of the officers involved, sir.’

‘Yes, I was, Cooper.’

‘But how does that affect me? Is there something you want me to do?’

Hitchens smiled.

‘You think I might be asking you to protect me? That’s very good of you, Ben. But I’ll take my chances.’