Blood on the Tongue (Ben Cooper & Diane Fry) by Stephen Booth

thought crossed his mind that Morrissey might let him read the files if he asked her, Cooper dismissed the notion as mere escapism. There was more than enough for him to do right now. Just because something interested him, it didn't mean it was his job to look into it.
    As Cooper held open the security door for the visitors to leave, Morrissey turned to look at him. Her gaze was direct and disconcerting. He felt as though she were seeing him fully, reading everything about him from his face and his manner, in a way that people rarely did. Cooper self-consciously straightened his shoulders and felt the beginnings of a flush rising in his neck.
    'And what did you think?' she said. 'Wouldn't you want to know what happened?'
    'It's not my job to take a view on the subject,' said Cooper. 'I just do what I'm told.'
    She stared at him, with a small, sceptical smile. He hadn't been sure before, but now he could see that her eyes were pale grey. Cooper felt uncomfortable, unable to move from his position until Morrissey and Baine had passed through the door. But Baine was hanging back, watching them patiently. Morrissey held her gaze for a moment longer.
    'That's a shame,' she said.
    Cooper felt as though he'd been summed up and found wanting. He watched Morrissey walk briskly across the reception area, looking like a smart business executive with her black suit and briefcase. Frank Baine stopped in the doorway.
    'Take my business card,' he said. 'In case I can help.'
    Cooper took the card almost absent-mindedly. 'Thanks.'
    Then Baine leaned towards him, nodding slyly towards the disappearing figure.
    'And remember – there's no stopping a woman when her passion is roused,' he said.
    *    *    *    *
     
    Eden Valley Books was in Nick i' th' Tor, one of the cobbled passages running between Edendale market square and the Eyre Street area. The bookshop was a high, narrow building that looked as though it had been jammed between two much wider ones as an afterthought, or a mere space-filler – something to use up all the leftover oddments of stone when the builders had finished work on the Yorkshire Bank next door. But it was three storeys high, with books on the first two floors, and from the tiny windows set into the gabled roof, it looked as though there were attic rooms, too. Cooper recalled there was even a cellar that ran under the street, full of more books.
    There were bookshops in Edendale that were more modern, but Cooper had browsed in Eden Valley Books many times, and he was hopeful he'd find what he wanted here, even during the half-hour he could spare during his lunch break. The owner, Lawrence Daley, seemed to specialize in gathering together obscure books on esoteric subjects.
    The concept of a window display hadn't reached Eden Valley Books yet. All Cooper could see through the streaked glass were the ends of some wooden bookshelves plastered with fliers advertising local events which had taken place several months ago. A concert by a folk group, a psychic evening at the community centre, an autumn fair in aid of the Cats Protection League.
    The snow in Nick i' th' Tor was rapidly turning to slush, and water ran down the cobbles into the square. The front door of the bookshop was narrow, and it stuck in the frame when he tried to open it, so that he had to lean his weight against it before it gave way. It reminded him more of a defensive bastion than of an entrance – especially when a warning bell jangled above his head, causing a nervous stirring somewhere inside the shop.
    Immediately, Cooper was surrounded by books. They were crammed on to shelves right in the doorway, so that he couldn't get past without brushing against them. Further in, the tiny rooms had been stuffed with books from floor to ceiling. They were piled on the floor and on the bare wooden stairs, and no doubt they filled the upper rooms as well. On a table, Cooper saw a set of Enid Blyton's Famous Five stories and a 1935 almanac with