Blind to the Bones

‘You’re at the supermarket, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You always do your shopping at the supermarket on Sunday morning, don’t you, Ben?’

‘Yes.’

‘I always knew you were a man of routine, at heart. I bet you buy exactly the same things every week and speak to exactly the same people. Am I right?’

‘Maybe.’

Cooper decided to keep moving as he listened to Fry. He passed the vinegar and the lemon juice, and headed for the household goods section. He needed some disinfectant in case one of the cats made a mess in the conservatory.

‘Have you finished analysing me?’ he said.

‘I’m told you’ve been requested by the Rural Crime Team again.’

‘I’ve just heard myself.’

‘Have you asked for a transfer to the RCT?’

‘What makes you think that, Diane?’

‘Well, they’re expanding their operations. They asked for you. I thought maybe you’d been talking to someone.’

‘No, it wasn’t like that.’

‘But you’re the obvious person for them, aren’t you, Ben? You’re the one with the right background. And you know the issues. I reckon somebody with a bit of influence has put a marker on you.’

‘I didn’t apply for a transfer. Look, Diane, I’m kind of busy, so if there was nothing urgent –’

‘So you’re not planning to abandon your friends in CID, then?’

Cooper thought that probably hadn’t come out the way Fry had meant it. But he was sure she wouldn’t be surprised when he hesitated.

‘OK, it had crossed my mind,’ he said.

‘You know you should talk to me about these things, Ben. I am your immediate supervisor.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Or am I the reason you want to leave?’ said Fry.

‘No, Diane.’

‘I’d understand, if you told me that was the situation.’

‘I said “no”.’

Cooper started to fidget. The woman with the trolley was watching him with a quizzical look. He gave her an apologetic smile and moved a bit further away.

‘OK,’ said Fry. ‘So long as we’ve got that clear.’

‘Right.’

‘In that case, Ben, you can talk to me about your plans,’ she said. ‘We’ll make an appointment some time, and we’ll discuss it fully. I might have some suggestions about your future career.’

Cooper was silent with amazement.

‘That’s the way it’s done in a properly managed department,’ she said.

‘If you say so, Diane.’

He could hear Fry breathing and rustling some papers. He almost pressed the button to end the conversation, but sensed there was something else she wanted to talk about. Perhaps, even, the real reason for her call.

‘I expect you remember the Emma Renshaw case, Ben?’

‘The missing student?’ he said. ‘It was about two years ago.’

‘That’s right. What was the general opinion at the time? Did everyone think she was dead?’

‘Heck, I don’t know. There was no reason for her to run away from home, as I recollect.’

‘No, none that could be found.’

‘Why are you asking?’

‘Her mobile phone has been found, so we have a new line of enquiry. But most of the background I have is stuff inherited from West Midlands, which makes life a bit difficult.’

‘You also inherit Mr and Mrs Renshaw then,’ said Cooper. ‘I don’t envy you.’

‘Right. How come everybody knows about the Renshaws, except me? Isn’t it practice to keep your colleagues informed around here? Or does everyone think it’s a big joke?’

‘It isn’t my fault, Diane,’ protested Cooper.

Fry was silent for a moment. Cooper found it frustrating talking to her on the phone. He needed to be able to see her face, to try to read what he could from her expression. There was something so taut and thinly stretched about her these days, a tension that was emphasized by her narrow shoulders and lean cheekbones, and the way she had cut her hair even shorter. It meant he always found himself looking for what Fry was thinking in her eyes, rather than listening to her words.

‘I suppose Monday’s out for a meeting?’ she said. ‘You’ll be too busy with the Rural Crime Team.’

‘Sorry.’

‘We’ll make it some other time, then. Oh, and Ben? I’d take your lady friend up on that offer, if I were you.’

Cooper put his phone away and looked over his shoulder. The woman with the trolley winked at him.

The car park in front of the supermarket was full of the sound of smashing glass as couples in estate cars queued up to unload a week’s worth of wine and beer bottles into the recycling bins. Cooper wondered if this routine had replaced Sunday-morning church worship – a few minutes spent in Somerfield’s car park helping to save the planet instead of sitting in a draughty church trying to save their own souls.

The man with the stick had been lurking, ready to take up his conversation where it had left off. Unfortunately, Cooper had completely forgotten what he had been talking about.