Blind to the Bones. Stephen Booth

gone a bit nutty, I’m afraid. And she doesn’t realize it. We call it the Daft Old Biddy syndrome around here. DOBs, they are. Daft Old Biddies and Daft Old Blokes. We get plenty of them phoning the station. The control-room staff are like saints.’

      ‘I could use a few saints,’ said Fry. ‘All I have is Gavin Murfin.’

      The man with the walking stick recognized a sympathetic listener when he saw one. He had news of crimes to pass on to Ben Cooper every week, even though he could have no idea that Cooper was a police officer. Most of his stories were culled from the newspapers, and were therefore inaccurate. But, occasionally, he had one of his own from the Edendale neighbourhood of Southwoods, where he lived.

      ‘Do you know, some of the old girls up my way won’t open their doors to anybody now, except Meals on Wheels,’ he said as Cooper tried to squeeze past him by the dairy products. ‘They’re too frightened, see. They had another lot of those blokes round the other day, who pretend to want to check your gas supply for leaks. So some old dear lets them, because she’s worried about being gassed during the night, or her bungalow blowing up. Then one bloke keeps her talking, while the other goes through the house and pinches her purse and stuff.’

      ‘Distraction burglaries,’ said Cooper.

      ‘It’s disgusting. It’s always the old folk they go for, you know.’

      ‘Yes, I know.’

      ‘It’s because they think we’re all stupid. Mind you, some of those old dears are stupid.’

      ‘They target anybody who’s vulnerable,’ said Cooper.

      ‘I’m not vulnerable. They have to show me identification if they want to get in my house. And I phone the council or whatever to check they’re who they say they are. They don’t like it, some of them, but I make them wait.’

      ‘That’s very sensible.’

      ‘And if I ever see one of them make a wrong move, I’ll clobber him with my stick.’

      ‘That’s not so sensible.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, first of all, you might get seriously hurt if they hit you back.’

      ‘I don’t care.’

      ‘And you might find yourself on a charge of assault, if you use unreasonable force.’

      ‘I don’t care about that either.’

      ‘If you have any suspicions, the best thing to do is to call the police.’

      ‘Bollocks. What would they do? They don’t turn up until long after the buggers have gone, and then all they want to do is give you a number to claim on your insurance.’

      Cooper’s mobile phone rang for a third time when he was in the frozen food section, jostling with his fellow shoppers for the pick of the items from the refrigerated cabinets.

      ‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ he said.

      A woman standing nearby, with her trolley nudging his, gave him a funny look. He had noticed her before. He always seemed to encounter her in the frozen food aisles, where their trolleys had a regular rendezvous.

      He answered the phone, and heard another familiar voice.

      ‘Oh, it’s you, Diane.’

      The woman with the trolley chose that moment to lean past him towards the frozen Chinese meals for one.

      ‘Sorry,’ said Cooper as he moved out of the way.

      ‘Ben, is someone there with you?’ said Fry.

      ‘Oh – just someone wanting to get into the freezer.’

      ‘To what?’

      The woman was waving a packet at him. Spicy noodles.

      ‘I find these very good when you live on your own,’ she said, and smiled.

      ‘Oh, thanks.’

      Fry’s voice was as chilly as the air rising from the lid of the freezer cabinet.

      ‘What’s she doing now, Ben? Offering you an ice cube?’

      ‘Some noodles.’

      ‘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