‘That’s what they call it when you’ve been to college, I guess.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

Weenink stared at the muddy remains of his coffee. ‘To tell the truth, I reckon she was bored with blokes already by then. Doing it with me, it was kind of a last try sort of thing. “Never done it with a copper before – it might be different.” I was a bit surprised at first; I thought she was good for a few more nights. But then I realized why she had dumped me so quick – it was because she’d already got herself a girlfriend. That was a bit of a blow to the old pride for a while, I must admit.’

Cooper stared at Weenink. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Ben, I made it my business to know.’

‘Do you mean to say that Ros Daniels was Jenny’s lover after all?’

‘I never heard Jenny mention her. But it’s pretty damn certain, I reckon.’

‘Todd, you’ve got to say something.’

‘You must be joking. My mouth is shut tight.’

Weenink turned his stare on Cooper. But for once there was something missing in the stare; there was a shadow in his eyes, a doubt that dissipated the menace and exposed a naked appeal that contradicted the tone of his voice.

‘And what about you, Ben?’ he said. ‘Going to throw me to the lions, or what?’

Cooper’s eyes were drawn back to May. She straightened her dress and patted that strange, pale hair whose colour he couldn’t name. Frank had emerged from the kitchen and was wiping a knife on his apron as he studied the two police officers. Cooper knew he would have to report what had been said. Surely Todd Weenink would understand that. But where did that leave the concept of loyalty to a colleague? Or the reluctance in his heart to see one more person destroyed?

In a flash of insight, he had the answer. May’s hair was the colour of pasta.

Back at the station, Ben Cooper managed to find Diane Fry in the CID room.

‘Some proper arrests at last, then,’ said Fry, rubbing her hands. ‘We should have done it before.’

‘Diane, have you looked at the file on the burglary at the Westons’ cottage?’

‘Of course. It was a fairly routine case.’

Cooper knew she was right. The crime report was adequate, nothing startling, though it had generated the usual morass of paperwork. It wasn’t surprising that senior officers couldn’t be bothered wading through it all. The important thing was that the enquiry had been successful, and a conviction had resulted. Wayne Sugden had a record of similar offences, and even the Edendale magistrates had finally lost patience and given him a twelve-month sentence. The difference was that Sugden had pleaded not guilty to this one.