‘You’d better add looking up the investigating officers to your list of tasks, Paul,’ he said.
Hitchens looked more uncomfortable than ever. ‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t need anyone to look them up.’
Kessen smiled at him. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell us why, DI Hitchens. I think some of us here don’t know.’
‘Well, one of those officers,’ said Hitchens, ‘was me.’
Rebecca Lowe might have lived alone, but she had an active enough life. Analysing her diary, address books and other material that had been taken from her house, the incident room staff had already begun to piece together her movements, her regular activities and closest contacts. Later, her phone records would be gone through, her letters and bank statements read in the hope of tracing connections that might point to a motive, a suspect, or a possible witness.
Along with the forensic examination and the postmortem, it was all part of the routine that had to be observed to demonstrate that things were being done properly. But everyone knew that a separate operation was going on at the same time – the effort to find the man already identified as the prime suspect: Mansell Quinn.
Ben Cooper found himself with an interview to do almost immediately. At least once a week, Rebecca Lowe had attended a gym located on an industrial estate in Edendale. Her sister Dawn said that she’d been talking about joining a new fitness centre at Hathersage instead, because it was nearer. But changing your gym was a bit like converting from one religion to another. You risked being told that everything you’d done so far in your life was wrong. Perhaps Rebecca had been a bit set in her ways, after all. She’d stayed at the Edendale gym.
‘One of our more mature ladies,’ said the trainer at Valley Fitness. ‘But she was in better shape than most. In fact, she could outlast a lot of the younger women on the bikes. Also, she wasn’t afraid to try new things. She’d put her name down for a trial Pilates class.’
‘Did she ever talk about her ex-husband?’
‘Wait a minute – he died, didn’t he?’
‘Sorry, I mean the husband before that.’
‘An earlier ex? No, I didn’t know she had one. She’d lived a bit then, had she, Rebecca? Seen off two husbands, but still kept herself in condition? Well, good for her.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Monday morning. She always comes in for a session on Monday morning. Never misses.’
That checked with the photocopy Cooper had of a page from Rebecca Lowe’s week-to-view diary.
‘And she was definitely there yesterday morning?’
‘Yes, ten o’clock to eleven. She made a joke about working off the excesses of the weekend. She liked a bottle of wine now and then, I think.’
Cooper looked at the entries for the previous two days. Lunch with her sister on Saturday. A dinner party with some friends on Sunday night.
‘And did Mrs Lowe seem her normal self?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Did she seem worried about anything? Did she mention anything that was bothering her?’
‘I didn’t talk to her that much, but she seemed perfectly happy. Just as usual. Wait a minute, though …’
‘Yes?’
The phone was silent for a moment. Cooper could hear a series of strange noises in the background, and imagined the running and stretching and pedalling that must be going on while they spoke. The thought of it made him feel tired.
‘There was a man who was due out of prison about now,’ said the trainer. ‘Is that right? Somebody that Rebecca knew very well.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Did Mrs Lowe tell you that?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Oh.’
‘Somebody else must have mentioned it. An old murder case, wasn’t it? Or maybe it’s just a bit of gossip. I might be able to remember his name, if you give me a minute.’
‘Never mind. I expect it was Quinn.’
‘That’s it! So is it right? Is he out?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
As Cooper put the phone down, he was handed a photograph. It was a recent shot of Rebecca Lowe, the one they’d be issuing with the press releases. She was dressed for the outdoors, in a green body warmer and jeans, and she had a dog at her heels – a small thing with a plumed tail and a screwed-up face. Rebecca had rather a narrow face, with lines around her eyes but enviable cheekbones. Her hair was blonde, though surely it must be dyed at forty-nine.
The trainer at the fitness club was right – Rebecca Lowe looked in good condition. But seen off two husbands? It looked as though one of them had come back again.
For a while, Cooper found himself waiting for someone to tell him what to do next. A major murder enquiry was a rigid bureaucracy, with clearly defined responsibilities and not much chance for anyone to work outside the system. As a divisional detective, he’d be allocated to the Outside Enquiry Team. Somebody had to do the physical part of the investigation, even if the SIO opted for HOLMES.
Of course, Cooper regretted that he’d have to let Amy and Josie down and skip the visit to the caverns. But they would understand – they always did.
Finally, he saw Diane Fry walking between the desks in the CID room.
‘You’re supposed to be on a rest day, aren’t you, Ben?’ she said.
‘Yes, but –’
‘You might as well take what’s left of it off.’
‘Don’t you need me?’ said Cooper, hearing his own voice rising a pitch in surprise. And sensing, perhaps, that sinking feeling of disappointment.
‘Not today. It looks like a self-solver. We just need to get some leads on where Mansell Quinn is and catch up with him.’
‘Are you sure, Diane?’
‘That’s what they’re saying further up.’
‘Well, I don’t mind, because I’ve got things planned. It just doesn’t feel right, that’s all.’
Fry shrugged. ‘We just do what we’re told, don’t we?’
It felt strange to Cooper to be leaving the office and going home when a major enquiry might be about to start. But, if he stayed, he’d become eligible for overtime. Somebody was making tough budget decisions in an office upstairs, gambling on an early conclusion.
Before Cooper could escape from the building, DI Hitchens put his head round the door and caught his eye.
‘DC
