The Devil’s Edge

8

Thursday

The CID room at Edendale was full this morning. As full as it ever was, anyway. Ben Cooper looked around the room, and smiled. The team had a more settled look than it had done for a long time. It was strange to be thinking that, with everything else that was going on at the moment – the cost-cutting and uncertainties, the feeling of walking on a tightrope day by day, not knowing whether your job would still exist next month, or even the division you worked in. But it was true. Somehow, a shadow had been lifted.

Cooper was particularly pleased with the two youngsters, Luke Irvine and Becky Hurst, who were settled in and doing well. A steady lad, Irvine. He reminded Cooper a bit of himself when he was a few years younger. Fair enough, Irvine wasn’t Derbyshire through and through. He came from a Yorkshire mining family, with Scottish blood a generation or two back. But he would do, as they said round here.

Dependable as Irvine might be, it was Becky Hurst who was proving to be the best of the new recruits to Edendale CID. She was like a little terrier, keeping at a task until she produced a result, no matter what the assignment. She seemed to have no ego problems, no reluctance about doing the less glamorous jobs. That was a drawback with some of the more ambitious young officers, the ones who thought they were too good for the routine stuff, but not Hurst. Cooper had to check himself sometimes, to make sure he was resisting the temptation to let Becky do all the legwork. She deserved better than that.

This was what his mother had dreamed of for him, the promotion to sergeant. For her, it had been the culmination of an ambition. Her son had achieved the same rank as his father. Young Ben had finally come up to the standard set by Sergeant Joe Cooper, the great local hero. He remembered the moment he’d lied to her as she lay in her hospital bed. He’d told her he’d been promoted, when in fact he had just learnt that he’d lost out to the newcomer, Diane Fry. One of the most difficult moments of his life, the decision to tell his mother what she so much wanted to hear, instead of the truth.

And now the promotion had finally come, it was too late. Isabel Cooper had died before her hopes could be realised. He couldn’t go home and tell her the news. The lie he had told would have to stay a lie. Too late. They were the saddest two words in the English language.

More bodies trickled in as the time for the morning briefing approached. There wasn’t a room anywhere in the building that had enough chairs, so officers would be perched on desks, leaning against walls. It looked a bit chaotic, but somehow it added an air of activity and urgency. It was as if they were all too busy to sit down, but had just paused for a moment, eager to get on with their important tasks.

The E Division headquarters were said to have won an architectural design award once. But that was back in the 1950s, practically beyond living memory. The building in West Street was ageing badly now, with a constant need for maintenance, an inefficient heating system, and water coming through the flat roofs in the winter. No amount of redecoration could take away the institutional feel of the corridors on the upper floors. A lot of money would have to be spent on providing a new headquarters building – money that just wasn’t available now, of course.

Last year, the loss of A Division in a cost-cutting restructure had really thrown a spanner in the works and focused the minds of the management team. The territory that had once formed a separate Basic Command Unit in the south-east of the county had now been divided up between C and D Divisions. Who knew how long E Division would last, when it had started to look so alphabetically surplus to requirements?

Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh was Senior Investigating Officer on the Riddings murder. A major inquiry was anticipated. That was because there were no obvious suspects, and no apparent leads that might produce one in a short time frame. A HOLMES incident room was being activated next door right now, the technicians and HOLMES operators arriving to set up the system. From now on, the pattern of the operation would be governed step by step as laid down in the protocols for the Home Office’s Large Major Enquiry System. A collator would arrive from headquarters, and a specialist DS to task teams of detectives.

Besides, the division was already facing a constant barrage of criticism, and everyone was aware of it.

‘These villages are quiet, peaceful communities,’ said Branagh, opening the morning’s briefing. ‘We can’t allow violent incidents like these to make people living in this area feel unsafe. It’s our job to keep them safe, and to make sure they feel safe. One way we’re going to do that is with a visible police presence. Our uniformed colleagues will ensure there are patrol cars, and officers on the street.’

It was funny, reflected Cooper, how a visible police presence seemed to be the answer to so many issues. Were the public really so reassured by the sight of a uniform, even when the officer inside clearly wasn’t catching any criminals? Well, that seemed to be the current wisdom. He supposed detectives would be put back into uniform before too long. Plain clothes were contrary to the spirit of high-visibility policing, after all. He was rarely a visible police presence, until he pulled out his warrant card.

‘There’s a big confidence issue here, in more ways than one,’ Branagh was saying. ‘You all know that we face upheavals, and the possibility of some restructuring. So we have to demonstrate that Derbyshire Constabulary are up to the job of dealing with a major inquiry. In particular, we have to prove that we here in E Division are as capable as anyone of policing our own area. I don’t have to spell that out for you any further. I’m sure you all understand what’s at stake. It could be your entire future. All of our futures. I’m relying on you all to show exactly what you can do.’

‘No pressure, then,’ whispered Murfin to Cooper. ‘Should be a doddle.’

‘Shush, Gavin.’

‘Oh, sorry, boss.’

Cooper wondered how many of the other officers in the room were feeling the same excitement that he was. The older hands, like Gavin Murfin, put on an air of world-weary resignation, as if to suggest they’d seen it all before. Been there, done that. Nothing new in the world for those who were approaching their thirty. But he bet they still had that feeling deep inside, that guilty thrill of a high-profile murder case.

‘I don’t care how secluded the houses on Curbar Lane are,’ said Branagh. ‘The neighbours in the village must have seen something. It’s just not conceivable that our suspects could have reconnoitred their target in advance, then come in and gone out again – all without anyone seeing them or noticing any suspicious activity, even a strange vehicle. We need to canvass all the neighbours. And I mean all of them. It’s not a big village. We have the manpower available, and we’re going to get round every household, however long it takes. They’re not getting away from this one without leaving some traces. A sighting. Something.’

‘What about the neighbours we’ve already talked to, ma’am?’ asked Luke Irvine.

‘We visit them again. Make them account for where they were, and who they saw. We can piece this together bit by bit. Even negative information could be useful.’

‘Right.’

‘And bear this in mind,’ said Branagh grimly. ‘The pattern of events suggests that they’ll be back. Unless we bring this inquiry to a swift conclusion, we can expect the perpetrators to strike again. Where, we can’t predict. When, it’s impossible to say. One thing I’m sure of, though – time isn’t on our side. So get your teams up to speed, pick up your tasks from the incident room, and let’s get out there finding some leads.’

DI Hitchens took over and outlined the facts known so far. Zoe Barron had apparently been attacked by an intruder or intruders who had entered the house from the back door shortly after ten o’clock, when it had only been dark for an hour so. The door had been locked, but the deadbolts had not been closed, and none of the security alarms were active. The lock alone had not been strong enough to resist a determined assault.

‘Mrs Barron was in the kitchen, so she encountered the suspects first. She was attacked with a heavy metal object, something like an iron pipe,’ said Hitchens. ‘She was struck with some force and suffered a fracture to the skull. So far as we can tell, there was no resistance from her, no scuffle or physical contact. Just the one blow, inflicted before she had time to react or escape. Preliminary post-mortem report shows that she died of head trauma from a blunt object.’

‘So if they didn’t make contact with her, there would be no traces for forensics,’ said someone.

‘Only one kind,’ said Hitchens grimly. ‘The suspect who struck the blow would almost certainly have Mrs Barron’s blood on him. Or at least on his clothes.’

‘How do we know there was more than one suspect?’

‘We’re making a reasonable assumption, based on the fate of the husband, Jake Barron.’

Photographs of both the Barrons were stuck on the whiteboard behind the DI.

‘At the time of the attack, Mr Barron was in the sitting room, watching TV. He must have heard the noise made by the intruders entering the house. We assume that his wife screamed or called out. Yet he seems to have been struck down before he could move more than a few paces towards the kitchen. He hadn’t even reached the door of the sitting room when he suffered a similar blow, again with a metal object.’

Cooper tried to imagine the scene inside Valley View, and the speed with which events must have happened. There was always that moment of shock, when the body and brain were frozen, and refused to respond. Fear drove all logical thought from the mind and paralysed the muscles.

A determined and ruthless assailant knew to take advantage of that. They would aim to get in quick and close down the resistance. It was only if you hesitated that things began to go wrong. Amateurs often messed things up at that point. They were reluctant to use violence except as a last resort, and tried to control the situation without it.

But these weren’t amateurs. They had hit hard and fast, shown no mercy and no hesitation. They had given their victims no time to react or raise the alarm, no chance of offering the slightest resistance.

‘The children,’ said Hitchens. ‘Obviously, once we were on the scene, one of our main concerns was for the children. The Barrons have a son and two daughters. The oldest, Melissa, is aged thirteen. At the time of the attack, they were all in their separate bedrooms upstairs. Valley View is a large property, and the bedrooms are in another part of the house, well away from the kitchen and sitting room where the assaults on their parents took place. One of the children told Social Services that it was quite normal for them to call their parents on their mobile phones rather than go downstairs to speak to them.’

A small, restless mutter went through the gathered officers, many of them parents themselves. They were constantly bombarded with advice on talking to their children, monitoring their activities, spending quality time together. Here was a family that seemed to spend its time in separate parts of the house, children isolated from their parents. There was a danger of losing sympathy for these victims.

The DI tried to override the wave of mutterings.

‘In any case,’ he said, ‘the youngest child, Fay, was already asleep, while the two oldest, Melissa and Joshua, were engaged in activities that would have drowned out any extraneous noise. An iPod and a computer game respectively. It seems the boy also had the TV on. As a result, they weren’t even aware of what had happened to their parents until the FOAs and paramedics arrived.’

This was taking insulation from the real world to extremes, Cooper thought. Your mother was killed and your father seriously injured in a violent assault right there in your own house, and you were unaware of it. At least one of the children might have been in some fantasy world they preferred to the real one. When the emergency services arrived at the house, it would have seemed like an extension of the fantasy, a TV drama brought right into the home. Cooper wondered how the children had reacted when they discovered what had happened to their parents. It was a shocking way for reality to intrude. The worst possible way. How long would it take for it to sink in for these kids?

‘Because the children didn’t hear much,’ said Hitchens, ‘we can’t be sure how long the offenders spent inside the house. The only thing we can be fairly confident about is that they didn’t go upstairs. In the downstairs rooms we can find no fingerprints that don’t belong to family members. It’s almost certain they wore gloves. If not, they were incredibly careful. And this was never planned as a slow, careful operation. They went in fast, and we can assume that they wanted to get out fast, too. So they wouldn’t have wanted to be worrying about leaving prints or DNA traces.’

‘What is missing?’

‘Mrs Barron’s purse, which was in her bag, and her mobile phone – which might have been left on a table, either in the kitchen or the sitting room, we’re not sure.’

‘It’s not much of a haul for such a risky enterprise.’

‘You can say that again. A couple of hundred pounds at most. They seem to have made no attempt to take anything else – neither jewellery or watches from their victims, nor anything kept in a drawer or cupboard. There was very little disturbance, not of the kind you might expect in a rapid search of the premises.’

That was an understatement, too. Cooper remembered the pristine state of the rooms at Valley View. They hardly looked as though they were lived in, let alone just been the scene of a burglary. He would have expected belongings scattered around, furniture overturned, the contents of drawers tipped out. But none of that was evident. It was what had made the blood, and the body of Zoe Barron, seem so incongruous.

‘Is there a safe somewhere in the house?’

‘The children don’t know, and the rest of the family say not. We’ve got Jake Barron’s father and his wife’s sister at the house to take a look. The whole family wanted to come, but we managed to divert them. We don’t need a crowd.’

‘Check with the company who installed the security systems anyway. Jake Barron might not have told anyone, not even his family.’

‘The forensic examination will continue for some time,’ said Hitchens. ‘But as of this moment, we can only be sure of the suspects entering one part of the house – the kitchen, via the decking and the utility room, and the sitting room, with a short length of passage in between. If they went into any other area of the house, there is no evidence of it so far. So all we have are some shoe marks, and those aren’t too clear. A few faint impressions on the tiles in the kitchen, where Mrs Barron was attacked. Nothing in the sitting room, except for small deposits of soil from the garden. The carpet has retained no footwear impressions. The weather was dry, so there are no muddy prints.’

Hitchens was starting to sound a bit desperate now. His tone of voice quietened the restlessness as officers realised the magnitude of the task ahead of them. At this stage, the hopes would be of some early suspects, and a bit of help from forensics. Or at least a sighting of a suspicious vehicle.

‘Also, we have yet to establish the route the attackers took to approach the house,’ he said. ‘Forensic examinations will be going on for some time, given the size of the property. So it would be very helpful to us if we could get an angle from someone who saw or heard anything in Riddings last night. Anything. It would at least give us a line of inquiry to follow.’

‘Can we establish a definite connection with the earlier assaults, sir?’

That was Becky Hurst. A good question. So far, it had been an assumption in everyone’s minds.

Hitchens shook his head reluctantly. ‘Nothing specific enough to rely on in court. Only a similarity in the choice of target – a high-value property in the eastern edges.’

‘Within striking distance of Sheffield.’

Cooper turned round, but couldn’t see who had said that.

Hitchens ignored the comment. ‘And, of course, the MO is comparable to the previous incidents. The difference is that a higher level of violence was used. It’s a standard pattern of escalation when suspects of this nature are able to continue their activities over a period of time.’

That was an uncomfortable fact, too. If the Savages had been apprehended after any of the first four incidents, the attack in Riddings would never have happened. Zoe Barron would still be alive, and her husband wouldn’t be critically ill in hospital. Three children wouldn’t be facing the loss of their parents.

If the same attackers were responsible, anyway. Cooper was still waiting to hear the evidence for that.

‘Meanwhile,’ said Hitchens, ‘all the available information from the earlier incidents will be referenced by the HOLMES databases to establish any firm links. As you all know, we don’t have descriptions of the offenders, except that they’re male. In previous incidents they wore masks. In this latest assault, we have no one who is capable of telling us what they saw. It could be that they became concerned about being identified. That might actually help us, if we can find out what led to that concern.’

‘You mean they might have been seen earlier? Maybe in Riddings?’

‘It’s a possibility. DS Cooper’s team have been interviewing the Barrons’ immediate neighbours. Want to give us an idea of the lie of the land, Ben?’

Cooper stood up. This was the part of the briefing he’d been preparing for. A map of Riddings had been projected on to a monitor so that the whole room could see it. The names of properties and householders had been written in.

‘This is Curbar Lane, where our inquiry is centred. The Barrons live here, at Valley View. As you can see, the grounds are quite extensive. No neighbouring property overlooks the house, or the drive. If you were going to choose a location where you wouldn’t be seen by the neighbours, this is certainly it.’

He consulted his notes, making sure he was absolutely accurate. It would be bad to get confused at this stage.

‘Just along Curbar Lane, we have the Hollands at Fourways,’ he said. ‘Martin and Sarah. He’s a retired commercial lawyer. No connection with the Barrons, so far as we can tell. Then here we have the Chadwicks at The Cottage. Last night, they were out on Riddings Edge.’

‘In the dark, Sergeant?’

‘Watching for shooting stars,’ said Cooper. ‘It was supposed to be one of the best nights for observing the Perseid meteor shower.’

There was a bit of laughter. For some reason, it made Cooper feel more relaxed.

‘The Chadwicks’ property is shown on the map as Nether Croft, but they renamed it. William Chadwick is a head teacher, currently on suspension following an incident with a pupil.’

‘Which school?’

‘Black Brook High.’

‘In Sheffield.’

That was the same voice, the person who’d mentioned Sheffield before. Cooper could see him at the back now – a detective he didn’t know, probably drafted in from C Division. He looked like a veteran, one of Gavin Murfin’s generation, with an expression that suggested he’d seen it all before.

‘Yes, Black Brook High School is in Sheffield,’ said Cooper. ‘In the Fulwood area, to the west of the city. Only eight miles from Riddings, if it’s relevant.’

‘Well, we don’t know what’s relevant, do we?’

Cooper wondered if he’d encountered the detective before, maybe rubbed him up the wrong way somehow. But it was more likely that he was this way with anyone. There always had to be the awkward squad.

‘At the back, we have Mr and Mrs Nowak at Lane End, and a Mr Russell Edson at Riddings Lodge. The Nowaks’ property can be accessed from The Hill, which is the main road through Riddings. But there’s also a lane here, which leads past the Chadwicks’ gate to Riddings Lodge, then on to Lane End.’

‘Russell Edson is rumoured to be a lottery winner,’ chipped in Murfin.

‘I hate him already,’ said the voice at the back.

‘The one immediate neighbour we haven’t spoken to is Mr Kaye at Moorside House. That’s the biggest property on Curbar Lane, the other side of the Barrons. There’s a housekeeper in residence, though. She says Mr Kaye is in Florida.’

‘It’s all right for some.’

‘But he’s due back in the country later this week, so we might get a chance to speak to him. I doubt he’ll be able to tell us much if he hasn’t been around.’

‘Tyler K,’ said Irvine.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘That’s his professional name. He started off as a rapper and DJ on the club scene in Sheffield. Then he opened his own club and went into promotion and management. I heard he has five or six clubs now. Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham. He’s done really well for himself, considering he was just some kid off the Manor Estate.’

‘Could he have criminal connections?’

‘Well, I don’t think you can assume that,’ said Irvine defensively.

‘It’s possible, though. Likely, even. We’ll do some checking.’

‘He wasn’t even in the country.’

‘That’s the best sort of alibi. It’s a question of known associates.’

Irvine went quiet and slumped in his chair, casting a frustrated glance at Becky Hurst. He looked sorry to have spoken.

‘As you can see, those properties cover all the possible approaches to Valley View, with one exception. If our suspects approached along Curbar Lane, they would either have to pass Fourways, which would mean coming through the centre of the village, or they would have to come from the direction of Curbar, past Moorside House. The back of the property borders on to the garden of Riddings Lodge, with The Cottage and Lane End directly across this lane. From any one of these directions, the suspects must have known they were likely to pass witnesses.’

‘And the one exception?’

‘It’s obvious.’ Cooper pointed to the eastern boundary of the Barrons’ property. ‘On this side, there are no neighbours. There isn’t anybody. On this side, there is nothing. It leads only to the edge.’

DNA and trace evidence had gone to the lab. Normally, results would take a week, but the extra expense had been approved to make them a rush job, so they might expect something within forty-eight hours or so.

Fingerprints ought to be back tomorrow, even with a complete search of the national database. It was good to have a shortlist of suspects to compare prints against, but there was no list in this case, not even a shortlist of one.

‘It’ll be the husband,’ said Murfin as the briefing came to an end. ‘You’ll see, it’s always the husband.’

‘The husband is in hospital with serious head injuries,’ pointed out Cooper.

‘That’s a minor quibble.’

‘You don’t believe in the Savages, then?’

Murfin snorted. ‘There are plenty of savages out there. Some of them work in this building. Have you seen that custody sergeant?’

‘Are you with us on this, Gavin? Because it has to be everyone pulling together.’

Murfin looked startled. ‘Of course. I was only kidding.’

‘Yeah, okay.’

Murfin was still regarding him curiously.

‘What?’

‘I’ve never noticed before,’ said Murfin.

‘What are you on about?’

‘Since you got to be DS, I’ve never noticed how much you’re starting to sound like Diane Fry.’

The divisional CID teams would get the legwork, of course. As expected, Cooper was put in charge of house-to-house in Riddings. The SIO wanted a detailed map of the village showing all the properties near the Barrons, every lane, every footpath and every rabbit track. The attackers must have approached and left by some route, however obscure. And with a bit of luck, someone might have seen them.

‘If they knew the area, they must have been in the village before,’ said Cooper, as Irvine came over to join them. ‘An earlier visit to get an idea of the layout, the routes in and out. Make sure you ask about the last few weeks. Any strangers acting in a suspicious manner, or asking questions. They might have posed as inquisitive hikers, or as potential house buyers looking to move into the village. You know the sort of thing, some trick to get information out of the residents.’

‘The thing is,’ said Irvine, ‘you can get a lot of what you need online these days. All they had to do was log in to Google Street View. And there are plenty of aerial maps on the internet.’

An aerial view was of limited use, though. It might show you the layout of buildings and where driveways ran. But it didn’t tell you anything about the lie of the land, whether you would be hidden from view by those trees, what windows were on this side of the house, whether there was a dip in the terrain to conceal your approach, or would you be marching downhill in full view of the whole world?

So what about Street View? But that only showed the public roads. And in Riddings, the view of many of the properties was hidden from the Google camera van. If Cooper was a burglar, he thought, he wasn’t sure he would get what he needed from it.

‘If we can pin down where everyone was and what they saw,’ he said, ‘we might get an angle on the route the attackers took. In and out. We’ve got the approximate times.’

‘They must have used a vehicle, surely,’ said Irvine.

‘If they did, it wasn’t on the Barrons’ property. The gates were closed, and they can only be opened from inside. There’s a lane running along the back here, though. It borders on part of the Barrons’ property. It’s only a track really, but it would be possible to get a vehicle up there.’

‘Who else in the village knew the Barrons?’ asked Irvine.

‘Uniforms are doing a trawl right now,’ said Murfin. ‘But my guess is that it’ll be a short list.’

‘What about this Barry Gamble? First on the scene, and all that. He has to come into the frame. Did he have a justification for being at Valley View?’

‘We’ll be talking to him again today, Luke,’ said Cooper.

Zoe Barron’s sister was on TV, being interviewed on behalf of the family. It was a routine that seemed to be demanded by the media after any personal tragedy.

‘She was a good mother, and a good wife. A very bright, loving woman. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she hadn’t disturbed those intruders, she would still be alive and with us today.’

‘Did she disturb them?’ said Cooper afterwards. ‘Is that the way it went?’

Murfin shrugged. ‘They came in across the decking and through the back door into the utility room.’

‘Yes, they came into the kitchen, where Zoe was already standing. They came to her, not the other way round. Something about that doesn’t feel right. And, as I asked before, what’s missing?’

‘A motive,’ said Murfin. ‘That’s what’s missing.’

‘Not to mention a clear idea of how they got in and out,’ added Irvine.

‘Right. All we have on that are the views of the loony tendency.’

There were certainly plenty of theories being floated around, if you followed the news sites on the internet, or simply did a Google search. After the attack on Valley View, some members of the public suggested the attackers must have abseiled down the rock face like the SAS. Others claimed they flew in by hang-glider launched from the edge. They didn’t bother to explain what had happened to the glider after it had landed in the Barrons’ garden.

The thought of Google made Cooper remember the biblical reference carved into the stone below Curbar Gap. He didn’t need to find someone with a Bible, of course. Google could come up with it for him in an instant.

He typed in Isaiah 1:18, and the quotation appeared:

Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

Wool? He was puzzling over the simile when DI Hitchens appeared by his desk.

‘Ben, you’ve got a new addition to your team,’ said Hitchens.

‘Oh?’

‘She’s just on her way up from reception.’

Cooper had been waiting for a new recruit ever since he’d become DS. He’d been starting to think that it would be a long wait. Cost-cutting meant that staff wouldn’t be replaced. ‘Natural wastage’ it was called. Nobody had said anything, but he knew how these things were done. Now it seemed that he’d been wrong.

Murfin grinned at him and tapped the side of his nose.

‘Gavin, do you know something?’ asked Cooper.

‘My lips are sealed.’

‘Mr Hitchens said she. Tell me it’s not Diane Fry come back to join us.’

Murfin’s laugh was more of a hysterical bark, too high-pitched and nervous for genuine amusement.

‘Oh God. Shoot me now if it is.’

Hitchens came back into the room.

‘Ben, this is your new colleague, DC Villiers.’

Cooper stood up, ready to hold out a hand in greeting. But he froze when he saw who was with Hitchens, walking calmly into the CID room with a smile. She was a bit older, leaner, more tanned than when he’d last seen her. And there was something else different, an air of confidence, a firm angle to her jaw and a self-assurance in the way she held her head. Her pale hair was pulled back from her face now. But he recognised her immediately.

‘Carol,’ he said.

‘Hello, Ben. It’s been a long time.’