The Devil's Edge (5 page)

‘You think so?’

Fry knew that payrolls had been contracted out to a business services company with a brick and glass office block on the waterside in Lincoln. Sorry – not an office block; a human capital management facility.

‘And, of course, we wait to hear the good news about front-line services. How many sworn officers will
your
force lose?’

It struck Fry that this was the only reason he’d wanted to go for a drink with her, the chance to talk to someone from another force about all his worries. A soulmate, in a way. But she’d hoped for a different kind of conversation.

She took a drink. ‘I’m leaving Derbyshire anyway,’ she said.

‘Oh? Where to?’

‘I thought I might try for EMSOU.’

The East Midlands Special Operations Unit had been set up nearly ten years ago to provide operational support for the Regional Intelligence Unit, helping to tackle serious and organised crime. It had initially covered only Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire. But the chief constables of the region had got together and agreed to expand it from two forces to five. The unit now employed officers and staff from all five areas, but there might be vacancies.

Then Fry remembered that the Home Office funding package for EMSOU and the Regional Intelligence Unit had come to an end this year, leaving Derbyshire and the four other forces responsible for all future funding. Probably not many vacancies then.

And then there were the effects of the recession. According to Human Resources, attrition rates had shown a sharp dip. That meant fewer officers leaving the job, and fewer openings to replace them. Candidates for recruitment to the police service were being told there were no vacancies at the moment due to the ‘economic conditions’.

Normally, candidates who successfully completed a two-day recruitment process and achieved a mark of at least sixty per cent in the National Recruiting Standards test were given a start date to attend their first day of training. But for some time now, such candidates had been told that their applications were going to be rescinded, and there would be no start dates for at least two years.

So a move back to the West Midlands, which had looked so easy a couple of months ago, was becoming a distant hope.

How many years had she been in Derbyshire now? Well, it was too many, anyway. Far too long since that transfer from Birmingham had brought her here, and a return to her old patch was way overdue.

Trouble was, while she waited, she was afraid she was losing her edge. After a while, you began to find yourself accepting second best.

Fry looked at her companion as he drained his drink.

‘Better get back, I suppose.’

5

There were older properties in Riddings, though they only dated from the first decade of the nineteenth century. Not old at all in Derbyshire terms. The Iron Age settlements on the moor above the edge made these cottages on The Green look almost futuristic.

To reach number four Chapel Close, Cooper had to park on The Green, leaving the Toyota angled awkwardly on the verge, right up against the steel posts that prevented him getting any further off the road. He supposed there would be complaints, but in Riddings it couldn’t be helped.

At least Barry Gamble was home now. He looked innocently surprised when he was asked where he’d been, as if he had no idea that anyone would want to speak to him again. He’d done his bit, and that was it. Cooper was amazed how often he had to disillusion people in these circumstances. Surely everyone must know by now that it wasn’t so simple?

‘I’m afraid not, Mr Gamble. There will probably be a lot more questions.’

‘Well, I suppose I’m an important witness.’

‘Absolutely.’

Gamble had bushy eyebrows that made him look as though he was permanently peering through a hedge. He wore a cowboy hat pulled too low, making his ears stick out, and he carried a stout walking stick, though Cooper could see no sign of a limp. When Gamble turned to lead him into the house, Cooper saw tufts of hair sprouting from his ears to match his eyebrows. The crown of the cowboy hat was circled by wooden beads.

‘The Barrons,’ said Gamble. ‘You’ll want to know everything I can tell you about the Barrons.’

‘Well, you and …’

He indicated Mrs Gamble, who sat in a corner of their little sitting room; so far she had hardly said a word. But her husband didn’t even notice the interruption.

‘The Barrons. They’re not really local people,’ he said. ‘I don’t just mean that they aren’t from this area – hardly anyone in Riddings is. But they don’t support local businesses either. They bring everything in from outside. I don’t think that’s right, do you? We should support the place we live in. But
they
do their weekly shop at the big Waitrose store in Sheffield, rather than using the Co-op in Bakewell or somewhere more local. Sometimes
she
goes shopping at nearly nine o’clock at night even.’

Cooper remembered the bottle of wine Zoe Barron had been carrying when she was attacked. He wasn’t sure she would have bought that at Waitrose.

‘She did,’ he said. ‘She won’t be doing it any more.’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry and all that.’

Mrs Gamble sat listening quietly to her husband. She was a worn-looking woman with a mouth that turned down at the corners, taking all the warmth out of her smile and replacing it with a shadow of bitterness. She looked at Cooper with sad eyes, like an abandoned dog in an animal sanctuary hoping that someone would take her to a new home.

Gamble didn’t remain chastened for more than a few seconds. He jumped up and stared through the front window as a car passed slowly along the street towards the Methodist chapel. He grunted as if confirming some suspicion to himself.

‘Caretaker at the chapel.’

‘The Barrons, sir?’ said Cooper, beginning to get irritated.

‘Oh, yes. I talked to some of the builders working on their extension,’ said Gamble. ‘Just passing the time, you know. They said the Barrons were really fussy, wanted everything just so. They imported all kinds of fancy things, and still they were constantly complaining.’

He shook his head sadly, as if despairing at the ways of the world.

‘You’ve been inside the house, I suppose?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Have you seen their furnishings? Italian. It’s all Italian. They had a man over from Rome. Guido, he was called.’

‘You even interrogated the Italian designer?’

‘Interrogated? What do you mean? That’s
your
job.’

‘So what would you call it?’

‘I just talk to people. I call it making conversation.’

‘So do people know each other well in Riddings?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s not a village in the way I used to think of it,’ said Gamble. ‘I grew up in Bradwell, just across the bridge from Town Gate.’

‘Not far from me, then.’

‘Aye.’ Gamble peered at Cooper more closely, suddenly resembling a startled sheep. ‘I think I might have known …’

‘My father, I expect. Yes.’

‘That’s it. Well … like I was saying, that was a proper village, the sort of place where you know everyone, because folk join in. You know them because your parents knew their parents, and so on.’

‘I understand.’

‘Here, it’s not like that. You can see it just by looking at the place. These newcomers, they know how to keep their privacy all right. So you get the walls, the cameras, the long drives, the locked gates. All of that stuff.’ Gamble smirked again. ‘And when you look at those things, you’ve got to wonder, haven’t you?’

‘Wonder what?’

‘Well … you wonder what it is they’ve got to be so private about.’

‘I see.’

Cooper thought for a moment that Gamble was going to wink at him. Instead he leaned closer, with a sly grin and a lift of one bushy eyebrow. Then he nodded in the general direction of Valley View and Moorside House.

‘What secrets have these people got? What is it they’re trying so hard to hide?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Cooper. ‘I have no idea. But perhaps you do?’

‘Ah,’ said Gamble, delightedly. ‘Now we’re really on the same wavelength. You know what the Bible says.
There is a God in Heaven that revealeth all secrets
.’

‘Are you a churchgoer?’

‘Yes, I am. But none of
them
ever go to chapel. That would be the day.’

‘You’re a Methodist, then?’

‘Certainly. Someone has to be. There aren’t many of us left.’

‘Mr Gamble,’ said Cooper. Then, seeing that he wasn’t getting the man’s attention because of some sound outside the house, he repeated it more loudly. ‘Mr Gamble!’

Gamble jumped. ‘Yes? What? Have I told you enough? Have you got the information you need?’

‘Not at all.’

Cooper glanced at the man’s wife, who seemed to shrug helplessly, using only her eyes. He wondered if it would be possible to get the chance to speak to her on her own. And, if he did, whether she would cling to his leg, whimpering pitifully.

‘Tell me again what you saw last night.’

‘I did all that.’

‘A preliminary statement. We’ll need more, I’m afraid.’

‘I didn’t see much, not really. Not until I looked through the window.’

‘You’d heard a noise, is that right?’

‘Yes, a thump or a crash. Perhaps both, I’m not sure now.’

Cooper stifled a sigh. Somebody who already couldn’t be sure the day after an incident probably wasn’t going to make a great witness in court.

‘Tell me exactly where you were when you heard the noise.’

‘It was dark,’ said Gamble.

‘So?’

‘I was in the lane.’

His answers had become suddenly terse. Cooper wished he had someone else with him for this interview. Becky Hurst, preferably. Someone to watch for reactions and absorb impressions, to chip in with an unexpected question. A partner he could discuss the visit with afterwards. But right now he couldn’t spare Becky or any of the other members of his team. There were too many people to speak to, and too many doors to knock on. The first twenty-four hours were so crucial.

‘Which lane do you mean?’ said Cooper. ‘Curbar Lane?’

‘No, at the back.’

‘There’s a small lane running up to Riddings Lodge. Do you mean that one?’

‘Yes, it goes as far as Lane End, the Nowaks’ place. We call it Croft Lane.’

‘Croft Lane? Is that where you were?’

Gamble nodded. ‘Thereabouts.’

Cooper gritted his teeth.
Thereabouts
wasn’t good enough.

‘We’re going to have to take you back there and let you show us the exact spot,’ he said.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes.’

‘There was a tree,’ said Gamble. ‘I was standing near a tree. But it was dark, you see.’

‘And what were you doing near this tree?’

‘Just … standing. I’d been out for a walk.’

‘And you heard …?’

‘A thump or a crash.’

‘Which?’

‘A thumping crash. A crashing thump. I don’t know. Both.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I looked towards the house. The Barrons’ place, Valley View. That was where the noise seemed to come from.’

Cooper leaned forward, deliberately pressuring Gamble to come up with an answer. ‘And what did you see?’

‘I saw a light on.’

‘Where?’

‘In the kitchen.’

‘Was that where the noise came from?’

‘It seemed so to me.’

‘So you went to investigate.’

‘Exactly. Neighbourly concern. Anyone would do the same.’

‘And when you investigated, you saw …?’

‘I looked through the window and realised there was something wrong.’

‘Wait. Before you looked through the window …?’

‘I didn’t see anything. No one around. It was dark, though, like I said. There might have been people in the garden, among the trees, watching me. I thought I was quite brave, actually.’

Cooper had to admit that was true. In those circumstances, Mr Gamble could have been putting himself at risk. He started to feel a bit guilty about questioning him so closely.

‘What do you know about the Barrons?’ he said.

‘Well, everyone knows they have plenty of money,’ said Gamble, visibly relaxing. ‘Rolling in it, they are. You should see the stuff the children get. Mobile phones, those iPod things. New trainers every week. We have grandchildren, and they don’t get anything like that. It doesn’t make them any less happy. And they’ll grow up knowing the value of money. The Barrons’ kids are just ruined.’

‘Was it generally believed that the Barrons had valuable items in the house?’

‘Obviously. The builders knew it, the neighbours knew it, anyone coming to the house knew. They never tried to make any secret of how rich they were. Far from it. She told me once how much the taps in their bathroom had cost. It was enough to buy me a new car.’

‘I wasn’t really thinking of bath taps. Antiques, maybe. Or a lot of cash in the house?’

Gamble looked at Cooper thoughtfully, giving him his full attention for the first time.

‘Well, if you’re asking me, I’d say yes. People like that don’t make their money by paying income tax, do they? I wouldn’t be surprised to find a cupboard stuffed with cash. And I bet they wouldn’t keep quiet about it, either.’

‘What about the Barrons’ neighbours?’

‘Well, you’ve got the Hollands on one side, at Fourways. They’re mostly harmless. Spend their time walking and picking flowers, or some such. There’s the Kaye bloke at Moorside. He arrived in the village like the Queen visiting the natives. He’s never spoken to me yet, the stuck-up bugger. I never got inside the gate either.’

‘Interesting. And the Chadwicks? They’re nearest to you, but you haven’t mentioned them yet.’

Gamble’s lips tightened. For once, he seemed to be reluctant to answer.

‘Mr Chadwick is a teacher, I believe.’

Still Gamble was silent. His expression suggested that he was searching his memory for something to say. Something that would give the right impression, perhaps. Finally Mrs Gamble offered some information.

‘The Chadwicks are having a party tomorrow night,’ she said. ‘Their daughter has just got her A level results.’

‘A stars,’ burst out Gamble. ‘She was screeching about it to her friends on her mobile phone all day long. A stars. They all get A stars these days. It doesn’t mean a thing. In my day, you were lucky to get a few O levels.’

‘Well, perhaps not everyone …’

‘The bloody Chadwicks think their child is an intellectual and artistic miracle, of course. Gifted at everything. A genius, but perfectly normal at the same time.’

‘And Mr Edson at Riddings Lodge?’

‘Oh, the lottery winner. We don’t see much of him.’

‘Lottery winner?’

‘So they say. Won millions on the rollover, he did. Bought Riddings Lodge and some place in Tuscany. Took on a housekeeper and moved his mother in to live a life of luxury. You see him swanning about in a brand-new Jag, or sometimes a vintage MG in the summer.’

‘Oh, I think I might have met him.’

‘Lucky you.’

Cooper thought of the man who had stopped his car in the village earlier to offer a piece of his mind.

‘It’s about time I had a word with him, I think. On his own territory.’

Gamble was wearing brown corduroy trousers that were getting rather baggy at the knees. When he stepped outside to follow Cooper to the gate, he pulled on a dark grey fleece over his faded checked shirt.

At the gate, he gazed up and down the street, his protruding ears almost flapping, the beads on his cowboy hat rattling quietly. He was like a Native American scout, scenting buffalo.

Cooper moved closer to Gamble. He noticed that the sleeves of his fleece were covered with small burrs and thorns that had snagged in the wool. He thought of suggesting that a woollen fleece wasn’t the best garment to wear when squeezing through hedges or climbing fences. But he decided against it.

Cooper drove the Toyota up the hill and turned up the small lane that ran past the back of Fourways. He was immediately faced with ‘Private Road’ signs and warnings that there was no public right of way. He slowed the car almost to a crawl as he reached a blind bend between high hedges. You wouldn’t want to meet something coming the other way.

At the end, a driveway went off to the left towards Lane End. On his right, he was facing a set of gates.

These gates weren’t just black wrought iron like the others he’d seen. They were decorated with gold highlights, and had gilt finials and scrollwork. It was as if they had pretensions to be the entrance to Buckingham Palace. They exuded an air of having gone one better than their neighbours. There would have been no doubt in Cooper’s mind who lived behind them, even if the name of the house hadn’t been prominently displayed. Riddings Lodge.

Cooper pressed a button on the entry phone and waited for an answer.