‘Looking for a new job, are you?’Fry had said when he mentioned the name. ‘Thinking of joining the private detective business?’ And Cooper had made some facetious remark in response.

Now, as he looked at Gavin Murfin, Cooper hardly needed to ask the same question. But he asked it anyway. He knew it was expected of him.

‘Thinking of joining the private detective business, Gavin?’

‘Well, actually…’

‘No, seriously? I can hardly believe it.’

‘It’s good money,’ said Murfin defensively. The words came out automatically, as if he’d been rehearsing his justifications all week. Perhaps for longer than that. ‘They say I’ve got valuable experience. I’ll be a big asset to the firm. And, you know … it’ll keep me occupied.’

‘But it might not keep you out of trouble,’ said Cooper.

‘You know me, Ben. I’m Mr Squeaky Clean. It’s because I always avoid trouble.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Cooper was thinking of Diane Fry’s violent reaction to EVE’s role in that murder inquiry. They’d gathered information that had helped to locate a victim. And even after the news broke that she’d been killed, they didn’t come forward.

‘Discreet and confidential,’ said Cooper. ‘No questions asked.’

‘That’s the motto,’ said Murfin.

‘I wish you luck in your new career, then, Gavin.’

‘Thanks.’

But Fry’s voice still echoed in Cooper’s head. I’d string them up and break every bone in their bodies.

Maybe the doom-mongers were going to be proved right. Gavin Murfin wasn’t the first copper to go into the private sector. Perhaps one day they would all be privatised, willingly or not.

Jason Shaw had been interviewed repeatedly that day. His defiant attitude was either part of the overall plan or it might be due to a realisation that his case was hopeless, whatever his duty solicitor had said to him in their consultation.

For a start Shaw hadn’t taken the trouble to clean the shotgun he used before putting it back in its cabinet at Bowden. His instinct to put the weapon safely out of sight had outweighed the more logical calculation that a forensic examination would show that the gun had recently been fired and would be able to match the shot removed from the earl’s body and traces of wadding found at the crime scene to the cartridges in Shaw’s possession.

Worse, he’d even left cartridge cases at the scene with his prints on them. That was the disadvantage of doing your shooting in the woods at night. Once you’d dropped your cartridge cases, it took much too long to find them again, especially if you were anxious to get clear of the area.

There was even a shoe mark in the grass, preserved by the soft ground and the morning dew, with a spatter of the earl’s blood lying in the impression. The forensic evidence was piling up and Fry felt confident there was more to come yet. The case against Shaw was going to be watertight.

‘Well,’ he said, when he was pressed on his motivation, ‘it was purely a family matter.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Fry.

Shaw glared at his questioners across the interview-room table.

‘You know the way it is. Generation after generation, the Manbys spent hundreds of years exploiting the people of this area. One death makes up for a thousand sins.’

In the CID room at E Division headquarters they’d spent the day on paperwork. There were mountains of it. Reports to write, statements to take, interviews to conclude with Poppy Mellor and Jason Shaw, and with Rob Beresford and Sally Naden too. Reviews of the evidence, discussions with the Crown Prosecution Service. It could all go on for a while yet.

At the end of the day Ben Cooper had been called to Detective Superintendent Branagh’s office. She looked tired. But then, they were all tired.

‘You know we’re losing DC Murfin?’ she said.

‘Yes, ma’am, he’s told me.’

‘It was expected, of course.’

She didn’t sound as though she was too disappointed either. Within a short space of time Gavin’s existence would be wiped from the memory of E Division. But Cooper had a feeling he hadn’t heard the last of Murfin yet.

‘But it may not be your problem,’ said Branagh.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘There’s always some good news,’ she said.

At the end of the day, still feeling dazed, Cooper pulled on his jacket and felt in his pocket for his car keys.

‘Damn,’ he said.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I forgot my car was in for a service.’

He checked his watch. It was much too late to collect it from the garage now. They would have closed over an hour ago.

‘Oh, well, it can wait until tomorrow,’ said Cooper. ‘I can walk home. It’s not far.’

‘Have you seen the weather?’

When it was dark and the lights were on in the CID room, he could see nothing outside. Even without the blinds drawn, the windows only threw back their own exhausted reflections. The weather could be doing anything and he would have no idea until he left the building.

‘Is it raining?’ he said.

‘Chucking it down, mate. And blowing a gale with it. It’s shocking out there.’

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said Fry. ‘I pass that way.’

The offer came out of the blue. Gavin Murfin’s mouth fell open like a cudding sheep. Cooper was shocked and he hesitated before replying, searching his mind for an ulterior motive. He couldn’t think of one and realised he was hesitating too long for politeness. So he had no option but to accept her offer.

‘Thanks, Diane, that would be great,’ he said.

‘No problem.’

She picked up her car keys and they left the office together to drive through the streets of Edendale.

43

It was so difficult to know what to talk about in the car with Diane Fry. She had so little in the way of small talk. But Cooper knew he had to make conversation, because he was getting a lift, was on the receiving end of a favour. So he asked her about the outcome of her interviews with Jason Shaw.

‘For some reason Shaw became more extreme in his intentions after Sandra Blair’s death,’ said Fry, when she’d outlined the results.

‘Well, don’t you think he was in love with her?’ said Cooper.

Fry looked at him. ‘That’s what he said. I didn’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, he’s not that sort of person.’

‘Are you kidding? Anybody is capable of love, no matter what else they do in their lives. Yes, even people who commit murder can be in love. You understand that, don’t you, Diane?’

She didn’t answer directly, but gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. ‘That still doesn’t explain his reaction,’ she said.

‘It was jealousy, I think,’ said Cooper.

‘Who of?’

‘Poppy Mellor perhaps. Oh, not in that way. But Sandra and Poppy were enjoying themselves too much. It was as simple as that. Jason didn’t see it as fun. With Sandra gone, he only had two options – to give up or take it to the extreme. And he wasn’t a man who would just give up.’

Fry looked as though she were struggling to understand the emotional complexities of ordinary human beings. She concentrated on the traffic as they headed out of the town centre and over the bridge towards Welbeck Street.

‘I dare say you’re right,’ she said in the end.

‘So in a way, you see,’ continued Cooper, ‘the earl paid the price for Sandra Blair’s death, not for his development plans at Bowden, or even for the quarry scheme. He became the target for one individual’s thwarted passion, an unfocused rage.’

He watched Fry trying to digest the interpretation. He knew it wouldn’t fit with any of her logical constructs. In fact, in Diane Fry’s world, motive could be pretty much dispensed with, once you’d collected enough evidence to prove your case. Guilt was important in the criminal justice system, not reasons. The system represented by Fry didn’t want to know why people did things. It was much too hard to understand, impossible to write down on a report form. It was too human.