The Devil’s Edge

23

Even more than the neighbouring villages of Curbar and Froggatt, Riddings was dominated and constrained by its edge. There was nowhere in the village that the edge wasn’t visible, except from inside the houses – and only then in a room where the windows faced away from it.

To Cooper’s eyes, the people here seemed to have tried to keep the world out, in their own way. Maybe at a subconscious level they saw the edge as a form of protection, a psychological barrier. It symbolised their desire for privacy.

Yet the world couldn’t be kept out, could it? You could never escape it, never get away from people altogether. No gates or fences would keep them at bay. The world was right here, in Riddings.

In some villages he knew in Derbyshire, superstition would be taking hold by now. Grandmothers would be trotting out well-worn stories of past supernatural events, and aged regulars in the local pub would be retelling folk tales about hobs and demons, hideous creatures who came down from the moor at night to spread terror and destruction among God-fearing folk.

But the inhabitants of Riddings weren’t the type to give in to superstition. They were more likely to put their faith in burglar alarms and electronic gates. Right at this moment, the residents were probably phoning each other to discuss the employment of private security guards. Their demons would be kept away by a man in a uniform with a two-way radio and a German Shepherd. If they were lucky.

Cooper looked at his phone for the hundredth time that morning. It had become a compulsion since leaving Bridge End Farm. It was far too early for any news, of course. He didn’t even know who he was expecting to call, or what he was hoping to hear. There would be no news yet. All he could do was wait. And waiting, as everyone knew, was the most difficult thing in the world.

He had to try to think about something else. That was the only way.

‘Let’s try to get things into a logical order,’ said Villiers. ‘Focus, remember? If you’re going to be here, Ben, then concentrate your mind.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I’m okay. Let’s do that.’

‘Let’s start with Tuesday night, then – and the Barrons. Why would anyone attack them, if it wasn’t a robbery?’

‘They had fallen out with the Chadwicks. Jake Barron had an unpleasant confrontation with William Chadwick.’

‘And we know Chadwick has a temper, from the incident at his school,’ said Villiers.

‘He admits he was under stress at the time he spoke to Jake.’

‘Absolutely. But the Barrons had also been involved in a long-running dispute with Richard Nowak.’

‘Mr Reasonable.’

‘So he says. That’s not the impression he gives, though.’

‘He has no record of violence,’ pointed out Cooper.

‘True. But there comes a point when anyone might cross the line.’

That was true. Cooper had seen it many times – examples of perfectly ordinary people who had lost perspective and cracked under intolerable pressure. No one was immune. No individual could be sure that they would never find themselves in those circumstances.

‘Their dispute was over the piece of land in Croft Lane. But it had been settled in court.’

Villiers shook her head. ‘Not to Mr Nowak’s satisfaction.’

‘Okay. But the Barrons’ closest neighbours are the Hollands at Fourways, Tyler Kaye at Moorside House, and Russell Edson at Riddings Lodge. Mr Kaye wasn’t even in the country. And no one seems to have anything against the Hollands.’

‘Not that we know of. Not that they’re telling us about.’

‘All right.’ Cooper glanced automatically at his phone, then shoved it deliberately into his pocket. ‘And of course we have Mr Gamble.’

‘Ah yes, Barry Gamble. If I’ve got this right, at the time of the attack Mr Gamble is out nosying around the village, as is his habit. He’s close to Valley View when he hears a suspicious noise. He sees a light on – and because of his previous observations, he knows this is unusual.’

There was a sceptical tone to her voice as she spoke the last sentence, an upward inflection that made it sound more like a question. Cooper realised she had put her finger on a point that had bothered him very early on in the inquiry.

‘He couldn’t possibly have seen the light from the lane. I checked that out. He must already have gone on to the Barrons’ property.’

‘And maybe he was already in their garden when he heard the noise,’ said Villiers. ‘But he doesn’t want to admit that.’

Cooper nodded. ‘I think it’s very probable.’

‘What is Mr Gamble up to, then? Is he a voyeur, a peeping Tom? Hoping for a glimpse of Zoe Barron in a compromising position?’

‘Possibly. But I think it’s more he’s just obsessively nosy. He seems to have appointed himself as a one-man unofficial Neighbourhood Watch. Except he’s keeping surveillance on the local residents, instead of watching out for potential intruders as he would have us think.’

‘He spends an awful lot of time trying to keep an eye on what his neighbours are doing.’

‘He gets around the village quite a bit. He claims to be watching out for intruders and so on. It sounds like a reasonable excuse just now. But Gamble knows these tracks around here better than anybody. I bet if we mapped them in detail, it might be surprising how many properties they border.’

‘Well, he’s the man who would know about any disputes between his neighbours, if anyone does.’

‘Right.’

Cooper thought about the neighbouring families in Riddings. They were all here in the village – all those nightmare neighbours that people talked about. The noisy ones who played loud music or left their dogs barking all day, the aggressively territorial ones who argued over boundaries, the obsessively nosy ones who watched every movement you made, the lazy or inconsiderate ones who brought down the value of your property. All human life was here, in its own way. The amount of money some of these individuals possessed made no difference, except on the surface. Underneath, they were still just animals, marking their territory and screaming at intruders.

Villiers was in full flow now. Cooper could see that she was trying to distract him, to occupy his full attention with her precise rundown of events in Riddings. And he had to admit that she was succeeding. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten what might be happening at Bridge End, or in an interview room at West Street. He fingered his phone in his pocket, then abandoned it again as she continued.

‘So,’ said Villiers, ‘whatever the reason he’s there, our Mr Gamble pulls his cowboy hat down over his ears and bravely goes up to the house to see if there’s anything wrong. He looks through the kitchen window…’

She paused, and frowned.

‘Yes?’ said Cooper.

‘Why didn’t he knock on the door?’

‘Good question. I’d say he didn’t want the Barrons to know he was there, wouldn’t you?’

‘Do you think there might have been bad blood between them and Mr Gamble too?’

‘Almost certainly. They must have been aware of him hanging around. And with the children in the house… well, parents get wary. Protective.’

Cooper swallowed. It was bound to happen that small things would remind him directly of his brother’s situation. There were obvious parallels between the attack on the Barrons and the incident at Bridge End last night. The difference was that in the first case the householders had become the victims of violence. Matt had not let that happen.

Villiers was watching him carefully. She didn’t miss much.

‘We’re thinking that if Mr Gamble had made a nuisance of himself previously, he might have been nervous of encountering Jake Barron. Yes, I see that. But when he looked through the window and saw Zoe’s body, he still didn’t knock on the door, did he?’

‘He told the officers who responded to his 999 call that he was frightened the attackers might still be on the premises,’ said Cooper.

‘Mmm. That’s reasonable, I suppose.’

‘Well, he couldn’t have known who’d attacked her. It might have been her husband, for all he knew.’

‘Perhaps.’

Cooper was interested to hear the doubt in her voice again.

‘And then there’s the call itself,’ she said.

‘He claimed he couldn’t get a mobile phone signal at Valley View. That’s quite feasible in this area. But I suppose it’s equally likely that he wanted to get away from the scene, for his own safety.’

‘Because the attackers might still have been around, yes. But it still seems a bit odd to me that he would run to Riddings Lodge.’

‘I guess he went there to use a landline to make the 999 call, as he said – or else he was seeking safety and ran to one of the nearest properties.’

‘Mmm. He would have run to Russell Edson for protection, you think?’

‘He wouldn’t be my choice,’ admitted Cooper. ‘But he must have known that Tyler Kaye wasn’t in residence. So it was a rock or a hard place. There was nowhere else to go.’

Villiers smiled. ‘You’re making a good job of justifying his actions.’

‘Just trying to put myself in his place.’

‘Very good. And who else was out and about that night, apart from Mr Gamble?’

‘The Chadwicks were up on Riddings Edge, watching for the Perseid meteor shower. The Hollands had been balsam bashing and called in at the Bridge Inn for a few drinks on the way back. The Edsons had been out for dinner at Bauers restaurant.’

‘But they were back home when the attack took place.’

‘Obviously.’

Villiers held up a finger. She had a bright, animated expression on her face, like a primary school teacher trying to enliven a class of sleepy children.

‘What else do we know about Tuesday?’ she said. ‘Around the time of the attack on the Barrons?’

‘A party of walkers saw someone in the phone box, a few yards from Valley View.’

‘That’s right.’ Villiers looked round. ‘Well, it’s a place to start.’

The phone box in the centre of the village was one of the old red ones designed by Gilbert Scott. As a result of a decline in their use, they were preserved in many areas for purely decorative purposes. Cooper crossed The Green to peer through the windows. Yes, totally empty. Stripped of its phone, coin box, information panel, everything. No one used public phone boxes any more. They were heritage.

‘Who would be standing in the phone box, then?’ said Villiers. ‘Not some visitor who thought there was going to be a phone in it. They’d be straight out again.’

‘Of course.’

‘Could someone have been sheltering? Was it raining?’

‘No, it was fine. It had been for days.’

‘But all the residents of Riddings must know there’s no phone in that box any more, so…’

‘Right. The only reason anyone would stand in the box pretending to make a call was to prevent the walkers from seeing his face. He didn’t want anyone to be able to describe him later on. If he hunched over as if he was making a call, all they would see would be his back.’

She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t mean it was someone local, though.’

‘I think it was. I think it was the person who was on the Barrons’ property that night. Someone who lives in Riddings.’

‘But why would he do that? The walkers would have had no idea who he was. Besides, if he lives here, he had every reason to be on the road.’

‘It might seem that way to someone else, from the outside. But when you’re feeling so conscious of what you’ve just done, you don’t want anyone to see your face. You imagine that your guilt will be written clearly in your expression. The desire is to get away and hide from the world.’

‘How do you know what goes on in someone’s mind in those circumstances?’

‘I’ve talked to people,’ said Cooper. ‘I’ve asked them. Ordinary people, not those hardened to killing. The ones who didn’t expect it to happen, and weren’t prepared for it. It’s not difficult to understand, if you have enough imagination.’

‘So who, then?’

Cooper didn’t answer her question directly. He was thinking it through in his own mind.

‘I mentioned it to Mrs Gamble. She knew straight away that there was no phone in the box, but she didn’t say anything about it. Why?’

Villiers nodded. ‘Because she guessed who it might have been.’

‘Yes.’

‘Her husband, you mean.’

‘More than likely.’

‘What’s the strength on Gamble? Have we got a case?’

‘Not one the CPS will run with.’

Cooper ran his mind over the things he hadn’t done. There were so many, it would make a long list.

‘Did we ever get forensic results from Gamble’s clothes?’ he said.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘The report ought to have arrived by now.’

Villiers pulled out her phone. ‘I’ll call Gavin and get him to check.’

Cooper looked up at Riddings Edge. The hillside up to the edge looked almost impassable. It was too steep, and too scattered with huge lumps of rock, some of them half-worked millstones. A long strip of birch woodland clung to the upper slopes. Birch was a pioneer species – the first tree to colonise bare ground like the lower slopes below Riddings Edge.

He didn’t know how long he’d been staring, but he suddenly realised that Villiers had been speaking to him.

‘Oh. Sorry – what did you say?’

She looked at him strangely. Was that a hint of pity? Or just friendly concern?

‘Gavin has just gone through the forensics report for me. The fragments of gravel stuck in the soles of Mr Gamble’s boots match the gravel on the Barrons’ drive. Some of the vegetation that had attached itself to his jacket was from a blackthorn bush similar to the one growing against the Barrons’ back wall.’

‘Blackthorn? Ouch. The spikes on those things are lethal.’

‘And lots of other stuff. Pine needles, thistle seeds, rhododendron twigs…’

Cooper nodded, absorbed in a thought of his own.

‘I wonder what’s in there,’ he said.

‘In where?’

He looked at her with a smile. ‘Let’s see if we can take a look.’

‘No, it’s Barry’s shed,’ said Mrs Gamble. ‘I never go in there. Every man needs a shed, so they say.’

They were at the back of 4 Chapel Close, standing in the small garden, so different from the acres of grounds surrounding some of the other properties in Riddings. Almost half the space was taken up by the wooden shed, with only enough room left for a patch of grass and a single flower bed.

‘And I suppose he’s out of your way when he’s in there,’ said Cooper.

She smiled. ‘Yes, that’s true. I can’t deny it’s a relief sometimes. We’ve been married quite a long time.’

‘But you don’t have any contact with him when he goes out to the shed,’ said Villiers. ‘You can’t see him from the house, can you?’

‘No. In fact often I don’t really know where he is. I just like to think he’s in his shed.’

Cooper looked at the padlock holding the hasp. ‘Do you know where the key is, at least?’

‘No.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Are you sure?’

She sagged a little, unable to withstand even the slightest pressure.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘There’s a spare. Barry doesn’t even know it exists.’

When she had fetched the key and the padlock was opened, Cooper stepped into the shed, hesitating as his eyes met the darkness inside.

‘There’s a light switch to your left,’ said Mrs Gamble.

‘Thank you.’

‘So this is his den, is it?’ asked Villiers.

‘I suppose you might call it that.’

On the shelves of the back room were an incredible variety of items. Polished stones, fossils, lumps of weather-worn wood, cones, feathers. And sitting in pride of place, like an evil presence, was a sheep skull. Its bones were bleached white, its jaws and grinning teeth still intact.

Cooper had seen many skulls from dead sheep. They lay around the fields, were often left perched on walls or gate posts. Sheep were suicidal creatures, after all. They died in the most unlikely of places. But their teeth tended to fall out, their jaws became dislocated, they crumbled in time. They were rarely as intact as this one.

‘What is all this stuff?’

‘His collection.’

‘A collection of what? This is just junk.’

‘Souvenirs. Mementos. Little things he’s picked up on his travels.’

‘His travels?’

‘His walks, I mean. Around Riddings, mostly. He calls them his patrols. I know some people think Barry is a bit odd. But it keeps him out of mischief.’

‘Oh, does it?’

One other item caught Cooper’s attention. It was a rough pentagram shaped out of twigs. He’d seen this sort of thing left at stone circles, like the one on Stoke Flat. There were often other tributes left, too – flowers, candles, a few old coins. Of course, it was a hangover from a more superstitious era, but it suited the atmosphere of the place. When travellers crossed these moors before the erection of guide stoops, they were living in a different age – a time of darkness and fear, a world of witches and gargoyles. Any token or charm that might help was worth trying.

Speaking of gargoyles… He turned back to the doorway.

‘Mrs Gamble, where is your husband?’

‘Do you think she knows more than she’s telling?’ asked Villiers, as they drove away from Chapel Close.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Cooper. ‘But so does everyone else around here. That’s always the way of it. No one wants to tell you more than is absolutely necessary.’

‘I suppose it’s human nature. If someone wants to tell you everything, you can bet there’s something wrong with them.’

‘That’s right. The nutter who sits down next to you in the pub. He’s the only person who ever wants to tell you everything about himself.’

They found Barry Gamble right where his wife had suggested. He was taking photographs of the edge from a children’s play area behind the village. To Cooper’s eye, it seemed that he was trying to get just the right juxtaposition of sheer rock face in the background with an empty swing in the foreground. He couldn’t quite think what that was supposed to symbolise.

‘Oh, what now?’ said Gamble when he saw them.

‘Mr Gamble, we had the traces on your clothes analysed, you know.’

‘Well, I supposed that was what you must be doing. I didn’t think you just wanted to try them on for size.’

‘It’s obvious from those traces that you must have been on every property in this part of Riddings. Without the permission or knowledge of the owners, I would imagine.’

‘No one sees me.’

‘Do you really think so? Even after Thursday night, when you were seen by those kids hanging around their party at The Cottage?’

Gamble shuffled in embarrassment. ‘Yes, well that was unfortunate. But usually…’

‘Unfortunate? You could get yourself into a lot of trouble.’

‘Think about your wife,’ added Villiers. ‘What did she have to say to you after Thursday night?’

‘She told me I was too old for this nonsense. This nonsense. I ask you. Besides, I’m not the one showing my age. I said, Take a look in the mirror, Monica. That’s no spring chicken you see.’

Villiers looked up from her notes. ‘And how did she take that comment?’

Gamble grimaced. ‘Oh, she didn’t take it well. She didn’t take any of it very well at all.’

‘I think you must be very familiar with all the lanes and tracks in this area,’ said Cooper.

‘Yes, I am. I can’t deny that.’

‘Even some that no one else is aware of?’

Gamble fidgeted with his hat, worrying at the beads around the brim. Cooper felt an urge to grab it off his head and hurl it across the garden. But that would be silly and childish, not the actions of a responsible police officer. He might get someone else to do it instead.

‘There are a couple of old trackways that have been there for hundreds of years,’ said Gamble. ‘Worn away and sunk into the ground. None of these people round here either know or care about them.’

‘I might want you to show them to me some time soon,’ said Cooper.

‘I can do that. I suppose you’ll be around.’

‘You can bet on that.’

‘So, what do you know of any feuds or disputes between residents in Riddings?’ asked Villiers cheerfully.

Gamble’s eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, well. How long have you got?’

He began to reel off details. Gamble might seem a bit vague about some things, but his brain was like a well-organised filing cabinet when it came to the activities of his neighbours. He knew all about the court case between Nowak and the Barrons, about the confrontation between William Chadwick and Jake Barron over the dog, and about Richard Nowak’s complaints against Mrs Slattery. He had observed every last second of the argument between Nowak and Alan Slattery at the show on Saturday.

Unfortunately, his litany ran out before he’d told Cooper anything he didn’t already know.

When he’d finished, Gamble smiled at them with satisfaction.

‘I’m glad to help,’ he said.

‘What about the Hollands?’ asked Cooper.

He shrugged. ‘They keep themselves to themselves, pretty much.’

‘You missed out on Thursday night, then,’ said Villiers.

‘What?’

‘When the Hollands had an intruder at Fourways.’

‘You know where I was that night.’

‘Yes, we do.’

Cooper studied him thoughtfully, reflecting that if it hadn’t been for the teenagers and their pursuit of him on Thursday, Gamble might actually have been on hand to witness the incident at Fourways. It certainly wasn’t like him to have missed something. What a pity he hadn’t been there to tell the story.

‘And Mr Edson?’

Gamble sniffed, and tugged at the brim of his hat.

‘Him? No chance. Can’t get near the bugger.’

‘So that’s it,’ said Cooper when they left Gamble to his own devices and the attentions of his wife.

‘Not quite,’ said Villiers. ‘There’s your message.’

‘What?’

‘ Sheffeild Rode. And the surveyor’s mark. You had an idea that you’d seen it somewhere.’

‘Of course.’

Cooper looked up at the Devils’ Edge, shading his eyes against the brightness of the sky. Had he just seen something drop over the edge? He couldn’t be sure what it was. A climber? A bird? He had no idea.

He scanned the face of the rock, trying to pick out a movement. But there was nothing. Whatever he’d seen was gone now, either vanished into a crack in the stone or lying motionless and too well camouflaged.

With a shrug, he went back to the car. The Devil’s Edge was full of illusions. He mustn’t let his imagination lead him astray. There was far too much tendency for that to happen already.

‘You’ve got your boots, then?’ said Villiers.

‘Always.’

Her phone buzzed. ‘Hold on a second.’

Cooper watched her face closely as she took the call, seeing her expression change. The animation faded, and was replaced by concern and despondency.

‘It’s Gavin. There’s been a call from the hospital,’ she said.

‘The hospital? That means bad news,’ said Cooper.

‘Yes.’

He closed his eyes in pain, as all the emotions of the past twenty-four hours rushed back into his mind. The man who’d been shot by Matt last night must have died from his injuries. It was the worst possible news. It meant that Matt might face a charge of manslaughter, at the very least. Or the case could become a murder inquiry. It raised the stakes to a whole different level.

‘Yes, it’s Jake Barron,’ said Villiers. ‘They’ve turned his life-support machine off. He never regained consciousness.’