The Devil's Edge (24 page)

‘I’ve seen the statistics.’

Fry gestured at the farmhouse. ‘If you live in a place like this, in the countryside, you have to be aware that you’re a potential target. Especially if there are portable things like power tools and generators lying around in outbuildings.’

Within the past few months, E Division had taken part in Operation Solstice, aimed at tackling the theft of high-end four-wheel-drive vehicles from farm premises. A total of twenty Land Rover Defenders alone had been reported stolen in the High Peak and the Derbyshire dales in the first six months of the year. A professional gang had been stealing the vehicles to order, with willing foreign purchasers just waiting for delivery.

Some of this stuff was big business. Organised crime. Not just the kind of petty theft that officers from D Division might imagine.

‘These farmers, they have some kind of Neighbourhood Watch scheme, don’t they?’ said Mackenzie.

‘Farm Watch.’

‘That’s it. Still, this isn’t about crime prevention, not any more. We’re dealing with a point of law here. Did you happen to read that up while you were looking through the reports?’

Fry bristled at the insinuation that she wasn’t familiar with the law.

‘The Criminal Law Act 1967 provides that a person may use such force as is reasonable in the circumstances in the prevention of crime,’ she said.

‘Almost word perfect. But it’s up to the courts to decide what can be considered reasonable force. Not us. Right?’

She didn’t reply, and Mackenzie looked at her sharply.

‘Right?’

‘Of course, sir.’

Fry knew that the Court of Appeal had set precedents that governed the modern law on belief:
A person may use such force as is reasonable in the circumstances as he believes them to be
. To gain an acquittal, the defendant must have believed, rightly or wrongly, that an attack was imminent. A man about to be attacked didn’t have to wait for his assailant to strike the first blow or fire the first shot. Circumstances might justify a preemptive strike. Even if you sought out the confrontation that provoked the aggression. The crucial factor was that you were defending yourself.

But in this case, the victim had been shot in the back. An open-and-shut case? Or was it more complicated than that?

‘And then we have the IP,’ said Mackenzie.

‘The injured party is Graham Smith, from Chesterfield. Previous convictions for burglary and theft.’

‘We got a call from the hospital a few minutes ago. I’m told Mr Smith has just come out of theatre from five hours of surgery to have pellets removed.’

‘He hasn’t been interviewed yet,’ said Fry.

‘No, but FOAs spoke to his son, who was with him at the time.’

‘Craig Smith, aged seventeen. He has a slight leg wound, but is otherwise uninjured.’

Mackenzie nodded. ‘Craig claims that he and his father were hunting rabbits on the farm.’

‘They didn’t have guns with them, did they?’

‘No.’

‘Or dogs?’

‘No.’

‘They weren’t hunting rabbits, then.’

‘You sound very sure of that, DS Fry.’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

Mackenzie smiled. ‘Let’s see what the evidence tells us, shall we?’

Although there was a suspect in custody and not much doubt about his involvement, the standard forensic procedures were being put into place. Shotgun pellets were being collected, tweezered out of wooden fence posts where necessary. Unburned powder was being sought, so that chemical analysis could indicate the manufacturer of the ammunition and possibly match the box of shells found in the gun cabinet in the farmhouse.

Scenes-of-crime had already observed from an initial examination that there were no discarded cartridge cases, nor any sign of a wad, the plastic insert that sat on top of the powder charge and contained the lead pellets. The wad was fired from the gun and cushioned the pellets as they went up the barrel, keeping them in a tight, uniform mass until they left the muzzle. As the shot pattern expanded, the wad peeled back and fell to the ground.

‘Our ballistics expert says the wad usually falls within a radius of fifteen to twenty-five feet of the muzzle,’ said Mackenzie, surveying the farmyard. ‘So the discovery of a wad would have given a general indication of the position of the shooter. If a shooter isn’t familiar with shotgun shells, they might pick up a discarded shell casing but not realise they should also look for the wad.’

He looked at Fry for a response.

‘Yes?’

‘It seems this shooter has left neither.’

Fry didn’t bother to point out that some of the ballistics information was unnecessary. It wasn’t the first incident she’d dealt with involving the use of a shotgun. She knew that spent plastic casings were printed with the name of the manufacturer, along with details of pellet size and load, powder charge and gauge. Also, when a firing pin hit the metal primer to detonate a charge, the impression it left was unique. It could be used to identify the specific weapon, like matching a fingerprint.

All of this scouring for evidence at the scene might seem unnecessary in the circumstances. But nothing would be missed in this case. Every t would be crossed, every forensic detail covered.

Fry looked round. At least Ben Cooper had gone. Someone had finally managed to persuade him to leave. That was a relief. Cooper had the irritating habit of seeing a good side in everyone. It was a weakness when you were part of the criminal justice system. In this situation, it was a positive liability.

Ben Cooper had showered, shaved and changed at his flat in Edendale. He fed the cat, took two paracetamols, and drank three cups of coffee. It didn’t make him feel much better.

When he climbed into his car, he looked slowly around Welbeck Street for a few minutes before turning the ignition key. He still felt dazed, and strangely detached from reality. The feeling was a bit like waking up with a hangover. His head ached and his thoughts were fuzzy. He couldn’t quite be sure whether what he’d been doing last night was real, or part of some awful nightmare.

His car radio was tuned to Peak FM. When he switched it on, he was just in time to hear the local news bulletin.

A man is under arrest after two people suffered shotgun wounds at isolated farm premises near Edendale.

The incident happened at just after midnight today. A forty-two-year-old man and a seventeen-year-old youth received injuries and both were taken to hospital. The youth was discharged after treatment to a leg wound, but the man is detained with injuries to his back and shoulder.

A local man is in custody and will be questioned by the police during the day. Inquiries are ongoing to determine the circumstances around the incident, and anyone who has any information that would help the police …

Cooper switched off the radio. He didn’t want to hear any more. Please, no interviews with the victims’ family, the nosy neighbours, or the spurious pundits who were always dragged out to discuss a subject they knew nothing about.

He turned things over and over in his head. What should he do? Who could he turn to? He knew he needed to talk to someone about Matt, and tell them things they might not know, before the situation went too far. Before there was no going back.

Obviously, Diane Fry was the last person he wanted to speak to, especially about a situation like this. He shouldn’t actually speak to any officer involved in the inquiry. He ought to go through his own DI, and hope that information would filter through.

Meanwhile, there was still the family to consider. Kate was still at her sister’s with the girls. So at least he wouldn’t have to face that prospect yet – the accusing stares and the even more unnerving silences. Because he was completely sure that Amy and Josie would blame him for what had happened to Matt. After all, it was the police who had taken their father away. And Uncle Ben was the police. Simple.

The trouble was, he could sympathise with that view. At times like these, it was helpful to choose simple logic when deciding who to blame. Everyone would be taking sides, one way or another. All convinced they were right, and refusing to accept any contrary argument – even if they knew nothing about the case. A simple black or white. If only everything in life was so clear-cut.

A couple of neighbours had agreed to look after the livestock at Bridge End for the time being. There were plenty of farmers who owed Matt a favour. And there was no doubt which side of the argument they fell on. Any one of them would have done the same, they said. Simple.

Cooper pictured Bridge End Farm full of strangers, picking over the lives of his family. He imagined Diane Fry, who knew more about him and his family than was really good in the circumstances. He tried to remember what he might have told her over the past few years, whether he’d been too honest.

Yes, Diane Fry was the last person he wanted to speak to.

Cooper picked up his phone and dialled.

‘Diane? It’s me. Yes, I know. But don’t hang up, please.’

Fry was standing by the back door of the farmhouse when Cooper rang. Even without his name coming up on her screen, she would have recognised his mobile number straight away. They had called each so often when they worked together.

She hesitated with her finger over the reject call button. He shouldn’t be phoning her, not now. He shouldn’t be trying to influence the inquiry. Proper procedures had to be followed, a complete forensic examination of the scene and interviews with witnesses. She mustn’t let Cooper try to put preconceptions in her mind.

Fry looked up to see where the DCI was. She felt sure he was somewhere in the house, perhaps upstairs checking the view from the bedroom window where Kate Cooper had been. One of his DCs was in the yard, watching the forensic team at work.

She pressed a button. ‘Ben, you shouldn’t be calling. Give me one good reason why I should talk to you.’

‘You won’t understand the evidence,’ he said.

‘Won’t understand? Who do you think you’re talking to?’ Fry saw the DC glance towards her. With an effort, she lowered her voice. ‘Ben, this is wrong.’

Cooper heard the warning tone, but wasn’t deterred. He tried to get the words out as quickly as possible while he had the chance.

‘Did they find any cartridge cases or wads at the scene?’ he said.

‘Not so far.’

‘Foxes were Matt’s main worry. They’re getting overconfident these days since the hunting ban, so he often gets close to them. He would have gone for cartridges with a big load, and big pellets. Something like Express Super Game firing number one shot. It makes for a humane kill.’

‘Express Super Game? Yes, they found an opened box of those in his gun cabinet.’

‘You see? He was never planning to shoot a person. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind.’

‘But if he’s disposed of the cases and the wad …’

‘The only people who leave their cartridge cases on the floor are those who can afford to employ someone else to pick them up. And plastic wads can be lethal to livestock if they fall on grazing land. So Matt would automatically pick up the cartridge case and the wad. I don’t care what else happened, he would have picked them up. Didn’t he tell you that?’

‘He’s been telling his interviewers that he can’t remember. He doesn’t seem to be able to remember much at all, if he’s telling the truth.’

Cooper bit his lip, holding back the automatic response. There was no point in saying that of course his brother was telling the truth. Matt was a man incapable of lying. He wouldn’t know how to start, even to save himself. But the inquiry team had to find that out for themselves. Hearing it from his brother would only prejudice them against the idea. It was all about balance and fairness.

His emotions told him it wasn’t fair at all. But his training told him this was the way it had to be.

‘I’m telling you, Diane, he picked up the cartridge case and the wad. He wouldn’t even have been thinking about it. He would do it instinctively. You’ll find them in his pocket. And another thing …’

‘No, stop.’

‘Matt had been called away to deal with some stray sheep last night, and he hadn’t finished washing the yard. He would have left the job until morning. No choice, really.’

‘It doesn’t …’

‘Think about it, Diane. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.’ As he ended the call, Cooper heard the echo of desperation in his own voice, and wondered what Fry had made of it. Probably she would treat his call with nothing but contempt. But he had to try.

DI Hitchens met him at the top of the stairs in West Street, no doubt having been alerted by someone that Cooper was on his way up.

‘Ben, I know how difficult this must be for you,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to take some time off. Go home and support your family. Everybody will understand.’

Cooper hesitated only for a moment.

‘Thank you, sir. But no. The division is too short-staffed as it is, with everything that’s happening right now.’

‘We’d cope without you for a while. Seriously, Ben.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll stick with the job.’

Hitchens frowned a little now. ‘Okay. Well, it’s your decision. If you’ve got work to clear up, do it. But stay away from your brother’s case.’

‘I—’

The DI held up a hand. ‘I know – you’ll tell me that goes without saying. But I have to say it anyway. It’s important, Ben. Important for everyone concerned, I mean. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand. There is one thing I’d like to ask, sir.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘I’d like permission to interview Sarah Holland again.’

Hitchens opened his mouth to refuse, but hesitated. Cooper knew that if he’d asked Superintendent Branagh, the refusal would have been immediate. But the DI was a different matter. They’d worked together for a long time, and Hitchens had surely learned by now that Cooper’s instincts could often be trusted.

Nevertheless, Cooper kept his fingers crossed out of sight until Hitchens answered.

‘Okay, Ben. In a day or two, yes? And do it sensitively. Who will you take with you?’

‘Carol Villiers.’

The DI nodded. ‘Are you happy with her?’