Free Secrets of Death by Stephen Booth Page B

Fry.
    Callaghan laughed at her tone. ‘We’re next to a retail park, if you hadn’t noticed. Furniture Village, Home Sense, Mothercare …’
    ‘Oh, thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.’
    He sat across the table from her, his back to themarina. His shoulders seemed to block out the sunlight.
    ‘You’re restless, I expect,’ he said. ‘You don’t like being away from the job, do you, Diane?’
    ‘Not at a critical point in an inquiry, no.’
    ‘So you’d rather be in the office than taking your rest day.’
    Fry sipped her cappuccino. ‘I suppose so.’
    Callaghan had ordered a southern fried chicken baguette, and his cappuccino was topped with cinnamon. The aromas mingled with the scent of his deodorant. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower after his workout.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything?’ he said, waving a piece of baguette.
    ‘No, I’m fine.’
    Fry watched another narrowboat go by, a small dog perched on the bow as its owner cautiously negotiated the turn. Across the water, at the entrance to the marina, was a sign for the chandlery. She had never known what kind of items they sold in a chandlery. She wondered if it was worth paying a visit just to find out, since she had nothing else to do. But it might feel a bit too much like shopping.
    Callaghan was watching her curiously, as if trying to read her thoughts.
    ‘How do you think the boss is getting on?’ he said. ‘Will it be good news for us when we go back in?’
    ‘I doubt it,’ said Fry.
    ‘So what are you thinking about? I’m sure it’s something do with the Roger Farrell case.’
    He was right, of course. She had been turning overthe details in her mind ever since she’d escaped from the apartment in Wilford.
    ‘Yes, it is.’
    ‘You’re worried that Farrell might have picked someone else up in the last day or two. I only mentioned it as a possibility. It’s not very likely, you know.’
    ‘It isn’t that,’ said Fry.
    ‘So what?’
    ‘Well, it’s those witness reports we’ve had,’ she said. ‘Someone asking questions around the Forest Road area.’
    ‘Questions about Farrell.’
    ‘Exactly. I’m thinking we ought to be looking into that a lot more seriously than we are. I’m going to press Mr Mackenzie on it tomorrow.’
    ‘I’ll back you up, Diane. You know that.’
    ‘Thanks, Jamie.’
    He finished his baguette and wiped his fingers on a napkin. ‘It’s a pleasure. Is that all it was?’
    ‘No.’
    Fry hadn’t really acknowledged it to herself, but there was more to her worries than that. She was becoming increasingly anxious about the possibility that Roger Farrell had somehow slipped through their fingers at the last moment.
    ‘I’m wondering if whoever was asking those questions might have something to do with Farrell avoiding our attempts to arrest him.’
    ‘They might have helped him to skip town, you mean?’
    ‘No, not that,’ she said. ‘It occurs to me that they might not be helping him at all.’
    Callaghansquinted at her, as if the sun was now directly in his eyes.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I’m wondering,’ said Fry, ‘if they might have arranged for him to disappear completely. And for ever.’

8
    BenCooper had made a major decision in his life. It was probably one of the biggest steps he would ever take. It tied him down for many years to come, putting him under an obligation to people he would rather not have been forced to deal with. But sometimes you had to take this sort of step. It was all part of moving on, facing facts.
    He’d bought himself a house.
    The village of Foolow was barely a stone’s throw from where he’d grown up at Bridge End Farm. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Of course he liked to go back and visit often, to see his brother and sister-in-law, and his nieces, who were getting taller by the day. On the other hand, he had a sneaking anxiety that it might be a sign of weakness, that he’d allowed himself to be drawn back