Dancing With the Virgins (30 page)

*

On the way to Ringham Edge, they had to slow down
as they came up behind a tractor towing a trailer stacked
high with bales of straw. Golden flakes spiralled off the
load and drifted across the windscreen of the car.

‘
When we get to the farm, I think we should make a
point of trying to see all the Leach family,' said Cooper.
'What's the purpose of that?'

‘
There's something wrong there.'

‘
We've had no reports of anything wrong.
’

Cooper glanced at her face, thinking again how thin
she was becoming. It made her look gaunt and haunted
rather than tough and angular, as she had been when
she arrived a few months ago from West Midlands.
Fry's hair was shorter, too, as if she had taken scissors to
it and hacked off a couple of inches in a bored moment
.

There was one other thing that Cooper noticed about
Diane Fry, though. She never mentioned his father now,
not since that first time they had met. Sergeant Joe Cooper meant nothing to her
.

He wondered what Fry did these days when she went
off duty. He wondered what she would be doing
tonight, after work. But, for once, Cooper found that
his imagination failed him completely
.

He had already agreed to go out for a drink with
Todd Weenink that night. Weenink called it 'a session',
which meant he intended to drink a lot of beer. Cooper
wasn't really looking forward to it. He would miss a rehearsal for the police male voice choir, and it was getting to their busiest time of year, when they per
formed at community halls and old people's homes in
the area. Besides, he had seen how morose and aggress
ive his colleague could become under the influence of
alcohol
.

But they were partners, and Cooper understood that
these occasions were necessary, a kind of bonding. He
thought Weenink had no one else to talk to since his
marriage had ended. His relationships with women were probably not noted for their conversation. 'A session', he sensed, was code for Weenink needing
someone to talk to, an admission that he was feeling
lonely. That was why Cooper couldn't refuse
.

*

In the crew yard at Ringham Edge Farm, Warren Leach
spoke to his sons in a voice thick with suppressed anger.
'Bring that beast down here,' he said
.

The boys stood open-mouthed; Dougie was close to
tears. They both knew about the death of animals. They
had both seen the huge pit that the excavator had dug
behind the barn a while ago, and had heard the shots
as the ewes were dispatched one by one. Afterwards,
they had crept out of the house to stand in horrified
fascination on the edge of the newly turned earth. They
had tried to imagine the lifeless bodies of the sheep
below their feet; they had pictured them lying on their
backs with their eyes blank and their thin legs stiff and pointing upwards, and the wet soil thick in their fleeces
and in their mouths.

‘
No. Please, Dad,' said Will
.

Leach lost his temper at the pleading tone, driven beyond patience.

‘
Am I talking to that wall? Now shift your arses and
get that beast down here! Do as I say! If I have to say
it again, I'll be saying it with this belt.
’

Will pulled Dougie's arm and dragged him reluc
tantly away. Leach dug into an old canvas satchel and
checked the captive bolt pistol that Keith Teasdale had
given him. The steel casing of the gun was heavy and
solid in his hand.

‘
Bloody animal,' he muttered to the gun. 'Draining money from me like water. Not any more.
’

There was no one in the yard to hear him. He was
thinking of the day they had bought the calf at Edendale
cattle market. It had been Yvonne herself who had
picked it out, and it had been her idea to buy it for the
boys. It had been a fine young animal, too, and would
have made a handsome heifer. But for weeks, Leach
had found he couldn't bear to see the calf. Its eyes rolled
at him accusingly, like the eyes of another bloody mar
tyr; its coat gleamed with the gloss of an extravagance
that he couldn't afford
.

Now he couldn't even stand the thought that the ani
mal was on the premises. He couldn't concentrate on
any of the pressing problems that were piling up on
him because of the time he spent dwelling on the calf. It had to be disposed of before he could work out how
to get the farm and his life out of the mess they were
in. It had to go. It was standing in his way.

‘
We'll sort this out once and for all,' he said, and snapped a cartridge into the gun
.

Finally, the boys dragged the calf, protesting, on a rope halter into the yard.

‘
Dad -'

‘
Just shut up. Just bloody shut up!
’

He snatched the halter from Will's hand and led the
calf a few feet away. The boys stood fixed to the spot,
unable to take their eyes away. Dougie winced and put
his hand to his mouth to stifle a cry as his father lashed
out with a boot to take the calf's front legs from under
neath it. The animal folded up on to its knees in the dirt with a frightened gasp. As it struggled to regain
its feet, Leach stood astride its neck to pin it down and
grasped its halter firmly in his left hand. Then he pulled
the gun from his pocket and centred the barrel against
the top of the calf's skull, in the centre of its forehead
.

He worked the barrel through the hair and adjusted the
angle between the horn buds. He needed a clear path
for the bolt to penetrate the layer of bone and enter the
brain
.

The calf, sensing the uselessness of its struggles, sud
denly relaxed in his grasp, resigned to an inexplicable
end.

‘
It has to be done,' said Leach. 'It can't go on like this
any longer. You've got to understand these things. It's
part of your education.
’

Leach looked up at the boys. But he barely saw their
faces. Instead, he saw a small cloud of dust behind their
heads. It was drifting above the stone wall that bor
dered the lane. Then he became aware of the noise of
an engine, and a second later a red Toyota bounced
through the pothole by the gate and entered the yard.
Leach kept the barrel pressed to the calf's head, finger
ing the trigger. He smiled at the thought of the look
that would be on his visitors' faces, when he pulled the
trigger in front of them
.

Then he recognized Ben Cooper at the wheel of the
Toyota and saw Diane Fry get out of the passenger seat
as the car slid to a halt. She had a clipboard in her hand,
and she didn't seem to notice the boys or the calf as she walked up to Leach
.

Surprised, the farmer let go of the animal. It
scrambled away, leaving him standing straddle-legged,
with the bolt pistol still in his hand.

‘
Mr Warren Leach?' said Fry
.

Leach stared at her, making a tiny, abrupt movement
of his head that she could take for a nod.

‘
Acting Detective Sergeant Fry, Edendale Police.
According to our records, you do not have the required licence entitling you to possess that captive bolt pistol.
’

Leach looked at the gun, baffled.

‘
I must have forgotten to get one.'

‘
We have to apply the rules, I'm afraid, sir.
’

‘
What does that mean?'

‘
You're in possession of an unlicensed weapon.' She held out her hand. 'You'll be given a receipt. Then you
can reclaim the weapon if and when you obtain the appropriate licence.'

‘
I don't believe this. Do you think I'm going to give my gun to you just like that?
’

Fry raised her eyebrows at him. 'Are you refusing to
surrender an unlicensed weapon, sir?
’

Ben Cooper got out of the car and ambled towards
them. He nodded at the farmer. 'Give it up, Mr Leach.
Be sensible.
’

The three of them looked at each other for a minute.
Fry was beginning to get impatient. Cooper could see
her muscles tense. He turned to the boys waiting to one
side with wide eyes.

‘
Better clear off, lads,' he said. 'You really don't want
to see this.'

‘
No,' said Leach. He turned the pistol round and gave
it to Cooper. Fry began to fill in a receipt.

‘
Now, if you've quite finished,' said Leach, 'I've got work to do.'

22

Out of tradition, Ben Cooper and Todd Weenink started their evening at the Wheatsheaf. There were three pubs
that stood close together around the market place, and
three or four more down the side streets that they could
take in without walking more than a few yards. But the
Wheatsheaf had
a
whole range of guest beers on the
bar, strong ales with names like Derbyshire Black and
Old Sheep Dip. Weenink was the one drinking harder
and faster, and he soon reached the stage where he wanted to share his personal insights.

‘
There's just no excitement in the job any more,' he said. 'Every day you come into work and they tell you
to go and detect a burglary or something.'

‘
Several burglaries,' said Cooper.

‘
Six burglaries and four car break-ins. Every
morning.'

‘
And a criminal damage or two, as well.'

‘
That's it. The same day after day. It's mind numbing.
We don't even get a good ram-raid now. Not for ages.'
Weenink had spilled some beer on his leather jacket,
and his sleeve stuck to the table when he moved his arm. Cooper was struggling to keep up with his
consumption. He hadn't seen Weenink drink quite so
hard since his marriage had broken up after less than two years. Weenink's wife had said she hadn't realized
what she was tying herself to. And she hadn't just meant
Todd. She had meant the police service.

‘
Ram-raiding has pretty well been designed out in the town centre,' said Cooper.

‘
Well, it's a shame. They were a bit more exciting than the other crap. All you get now is shoplifting. Where's the fun in that, Ben?
’

*

They moved on to the Red Lion, a comfortable pub
with somebody's choice of seventies pop music piped discreetly into the bar, and a row of computer games.
The landlord knew them both, and they got the first round on the house. It disappeared too quickly for Cooper's peace of mind.

‘
The CCTV cameras have cut out a lot of the other stuff, too,' he said.

‘
Bloody cameras. It's a bit too much like Big Brother,
if you ask me.
’

Cooper was impressed by Weenink's literary know
ledge. He wouldn't have put him down as a George
Orwell fan.
1984
was one of Cooper's favourite novels,
along with
Lord of the Flies
.

Then he frowned. 'We
are
talking about George Orwell, aren't we?'

‘
Never heard of either of him,' said Weenink, and
belched. 'Is he from another division? I suppose you've
met him at Police Federation meetings, or something.'
Cooper took another sip of beer. So Todd Weenink
only read the TV pages in the
Eden Valley Times,
after
all
.

*

The third pub was the Station Hotel. They were heading
downmarket now. There was no piped music here, no
TV screens or bar meals — only a pool table and salt-and
vinegar crisps, and a jukebox full of heavy metal CDs.
The customers all seemed to be wearing old Iron
Maiden T-shirts. A woman walked past towards the bar
in a pair of leather trousers.

‘
Eat my pants, look at the arse on that,' said Weenink.
'Don't say that. It's disgusting.
’

Over the next beer, Weenink studied Cooper with exaggerated care.

‘
You're a fucking poofter, you are, Ben. Do you know
that? A fucking poofter. But I love you. You're my mate.'
They nodded at each other, bleary-eyed. There was
no need for words, really. The beer fumes drew them together in a warm, sentimental embrace
.

Weenink took out a packet of cigarettes and offered
Cooper one. Cooper took it. He hadn't smoked since he
was sixteen years old. He looked at it for a minute. Weenink tried to give him a light, but Cooper shook
his head and laid the cigarette carefully on his beer mat,
lining it up alongside his glass. This particular mat had
a picture of a female pop singer on it. Cooper laughed
and laughed. It looked as though she had a cigarette
up her nose.

‘
You know, Ben,' said Weenink after sufficient silence.
'You and me, we won't take any shit from anybody.
’

‘
Right.'

‘
Am I right?'

‘
You're right, Todd.
’

Weenink watched the woman with the leather
trousers walk back across the room and took a drag of
his cigarette. 'What was I saying?'

‘
Let's go somewhere else, shall we?
’

Cooper and Weenink walked out of the pub, across
the street and through Market Square, staggering slightly as their feet slithered on the cobbles.

‘
Here, we can play leapfrog on these,' said Weenink,
swinging on the black cast-iron street furniture, not noticing when he banged his shin on the metal. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the square. A
middle-aged couple getting into their car turned to look
at them. Cooper could almost hear them tutting. For
once, there were no noisy groups of youths in the square
to distract attention.

‘
Come on,' he said
.

Weenink allowed himself to be led away from the square, down the passage by the Somerfield super
market. They came out on the riverside walk under the
nineteenth-century bridge across the River Eden.

‘
Not much life down here,' said Weenink. 'Isn't there
a night club open or something?'

‘
Night club? On a Thursday?'

‘
I need another drink.'

‘
It's closing time.'

‘
But we've missed some pubs out.
’

Weenink slowed down and stared at the river. Dark
shadows lurked just below the surface of the slow-moving water. They were only stones, though. The
water was too shallow here for them to be anything else. You could walk across and barely get your feet wet.

‘
Those ducks are asleep,' said Weenink. 'Let's wake
them up.'

‘
What for?'

‘
It's too quiet.
’

Weenink picked up a handful of gravel and began to throw it at the mallards resting in the reeds with their
beaks under their wings. His actions were totally unco
ordinated, and the stones fell harmlessly into the water
with small plops.

‘
I need something bigger.
’

Cooper looked round, a vague anxiety creeping
through the haze of alcohol. There was little traffic pass
ing over the bridge. The only lights were those that
burned in the supermarket. There were probably staff
on the night shift in there, stacking shelves and taking
deliveries. At any moment, one of them might come outside for a fag break.

‘
Let's move on a bit,' he said.

‘
What for?'

‘
We have to get home.'

‘
I thought we were going to a night club.'

‘
No.'

‘
That's what we want. Have another drink, a bit of
dancing. Let's go to Sheffield. We could go to a casino.
’

‘
You can go on your own.'

‘
Oh, Ben.
’

Cooper wasn't impressed by the sudden wheedling
tone. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to leave
Todd to go anywhere on his own, all the same. Weenink
sat down suddenly on a bench. The wooden slats creaked under his weight.

‘
God, I'm knackered,' he said. 'Totally knackered. I
could just go to sleep right here, Ben.'

‘
Come on, Todd. We've got to keep going.'

‘
Sit down, Ben.
’

Cooper sat reluctantly. He was cold, and he could
feel the first spots of rain. The insulating alcohol was
wearing off already.

‘
Ben,' said Weenink in a suddenly different voice. 'I've done something really stupid.
’

Cooper's heart sank. Not now, please, he thought. Any time except now. He was tired. He had to get home.

‘
Really, really stupid,' said Weenink. 'And I think I'm
going to be found out.
’