The Devil’s Edge bcadf-11

by Stephen Booth

  ‘Well, that’s just a little hobby of mine. Not what I do to make a living.’

  ‘Especially when you don’t charge for your services, but volunteer to do it for nothing.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I wonder what you have in your past, Mr Edson.’

  ‘I’m CRB checked, you know. I couldn’t work as a children’s entertainer if I wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, we’re aware of that. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. We’re here to discuss two murders. Those of Jake and Zoe Barron.’

  As the interview went on, David Edson’s facade began to crumble. Cooper was glad to see it. His attitude was all show, after all. Just like his father’s.

  In the end, Edson ignored his solicitor’s urgent advice, and blurted out the one thing that was most important for him to say.

  ‘I thought that killing them would make me feel better. But it didn’t.’

  Carol Villiers was the first to congratulate Cooper. The rest of the CID team milled around in celebratory mood, their paperwork forgotten for a while.

  ‘You were right on that one, Carol,’ said Cooper. ‘What infuriated the Edsons most was seeing the Barrons still spending money when they were about to lose everything. But David was the most infuriated. He was filled with rage. He blamed Jake Barron for his father’s situation.’

  ‘That’s a bit like a jealous lover, too, when you think about it,’ said Villiers.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, instead of blaming his father, he blamed the object of his father’s obsession. He took the view that Barron was ruining his life, and his future prospects.’

  Cooper nodded. ‘Yes, Barron was draining off all the money that should have come his way. David had built all his expectations on that money.’

  ‘So it was David who hired Summers, knowing that the job would be blamed on the Savages.’

  ‘Yes. And there was never any intention to steal anything, just to grab a couple of things to make it look like a burglary. They went through a gap in the fence to get to and from Valley View, then up the track to dispose of the haul. They spent the night in Edson’s garage, then drove their van out next morning.’

  ‘Meanwhile, his father and grandmother calmly went off to have dinner at Bauers,’ said Villiers.

  ‘It must have been quite a shock for Russell to find Barry Gamble turning up on his doorstep that night. Gamble had figured it out. He wasn’t stupid. He knew all about people. And why wouldn’t he, when he spent so much of his time watching them?’

  ‘He’d been spying on the Edsons, then.’

  ‘Of course. Though he probably wouldn’t have called it that.’

  ‘How did you know what Gamble had been doing, Ben?’

  ‘In the first place, from one of his souvenirs,’ said Cooper. ‘A monkey puzzle cone. They grow on trees like the one in the garden at Riddings Lodge. That has to be where he picked it up. Mr Edson told me himself that there isn’t another tree of that species for miles. Why do you think Gamble ran to Riddings Lodge first when he discovered Zoe Barron’s body?’

  ‘Because he knew Edson was responsible?’

  ‘Well, not until he saw the light on. And not the light in the Barrons’ kitchen; I mean the light in Edson’s garage. The photographs confirmed it, of course. He’d snapped Edson with his son, David.’

  ‘No one even mentioned that David Edson was in the village,’ said Villiers. ‘In fact, no one mentioned him at all. That was suspicious in itself, looking back.’

  ‘One person mentioned him,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Oh? Who?’

  ‘His grandmother, Glenys. I thought she was talking about Russell. And Edson let me go away with that impression. But she wasn’t. When she spoke about children trying to bleed the life out of you, she meant David. She knew David was trying to drain off all the money for himself.’

  For Edson, it had been a last desperate stand, as if he could protect what he’d owned by fighting with his neighbours. But he was aiming at the wrong target. Like so many people, he was his own worst enemy.

  Cooper had never got the chance to talk more to Russell Edson about how the chalk traces came to be in his car. Of course Russell wasn’t a climber himself. But Cooper had wanted to say: We could ask your son, perhaps. Because he is a rock climber, isn’t he, Mr Edson?

  ‘Some time ago, David Edson was climbing on Riddings Edge with a friend when he fell from the face and struck his head on the rock.’

  ‘He was the climber who did a highball off Hell’s Reach and nearly died?’ said Villiers.

  ‘Yes. It was a close-run thing. He lost consciousness and went into a fit. He was stabilised by paramedics and a doctor from the mountain rescue team, then airlifted to Nottingham to be treated in the neurological unit at Queen’s Medical Centre.’

  ‘But he recovered.’

  ‘Yes. Later on, he gave a big donation to the mountain rescue people. And he went back to rock climbing.’

  ‘Those white handprints?’ asked Villiers. ‘There was never any explanation…’

  ‘David Edson was back climbing on Riddings Edge that day. I imagine he looked down from one of those spurs of rock on the edge, and saw how easy it would be to get into the grounds of Valley View. You can’t appreciate that from any other point – certainly not from anywhere in the village. You need to get the perspective, you see. You’ve got to achieve that bird’s-eye viewpoint you can only get from the edge. So you might say it was the Devil’s Edge that put the idea into his mind. It presented him with the temptation, just when he was most open to it.’

  ‘That must have been earlier in the day, during daylight.’

  ‘Of course. At the end of his climbing session, David went back down the edge. But instead of returning to his car, he tested out the route on the ground. No doubt he took note of the derelict farm building and the slurry pits, and figured out how he could use them. Then he got as far as the back wall at Valley View, and pulled himself up to look in.’

  ‘And that was when he left the handprints.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cooper looked at the clouds rolling in across the horizon. ‘In a way, he was unlucky. Unlucky that the weather stayed good for a few days. Rain washes the chalk off. Those handprints will be gone now.’

  ‘And he acted really fast, didn’t he? He signed up Adrian Summers as his accomplice and they did it that night.’

  ‘One thing they didn’t reckon with was Barry Gamble,’ said Cooper. ‘He was right on the spot.’

  ‘Nothing like a bit of good surveillance.’

  ‘And then Summers got greedy. Well, he’d been getting away with it for weeks, and he was being built up as a folk hero, some sort of Robin Hood figure. He must have started to believe his own press, and thought he was untouchable. After he’d done the job with Edson, he saw an opportunity and two nights later decided to check out the neighbouring property. The Hollands were never involved in anything. Martin Holland was an incidental death.’

  ‘Collateral damage,’ said Villiers.

  ‘Summers is in custody anyway. They scooped him up in Sheffield, along with another accomplice.’

  ‘So the Savages’ time is over.’

  ‘I wonder, though,’ said Cooper.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whether David Edson ever did recover fully from the head injury he suffered in that fall from the rock face. A good defence lawyer will be able to come up with medical evidence to show that he’s been left with a degree of permanent brain damage – enough to change his personality and impair his judgement. He’ll get manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.’

  ‘Well, that’s the way it goes.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Cooper. ‘That’s exactly how it goes.’

  ‘Russell and David Edson are no one’s idea of folk heroes,’ said Villiers. ‘But they’re not complete monsters either.’

  No, thought Cooper. Who needed monsters and devils, when people had so much evil in them?

&nb
sp; ‘Well, anyway,’ he said, ‘everybody else in Riddings deserves a medal.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For not having murdered Barry Gamble.’

  Villiers laughed. ‘Or any of their neighbours, in fact.’

  ‘Despite the provocation.’

  ‘At least those other monsters are off the streets,’ said Villiers. ‘The Savages, I mean. Now people can live their lives without fear again. No need to worry about being attacked in their own homes in the middle of the night.’

  ‘We always have monsters in our lives,’ said Cooper. ‘But sometimes the monsters are ourselves.’

  It was difficult to understand all the bad things that happened in the world. But you had to make the attempt – it was part of the job. Sometimes, though, the only way was to find the evil inside yourself, and use it.

  Cooper doubted if he would ever go back to the eastern edges with the same feeling about them. The Devil’s Edge had not only provided a backdrop, a barrier, a protection, a perspective. In the end, it had also given him the clues he needed to the secrets of Riddings.

  Diane Fry let herself out of the custody suite on the ground floor, and crossed the walkway to enter the main building. She was oblivious to the weather, or her surroundings – at least, as far as it was possible not to be aware that she was in Derbyshire, in the middle of the Peak District, surrounded by these rural wastelands.

  She was thinking of one thing – DCI Mackenzie’s parting shot, aimed at her as he left Bridge End Farm. A real farm girl, aren’t you?

  She wondered why she didn’t feel more resentful. Helping Cooper’s family had lost her an opportunity to transfer to the city. Okay, Derby might not be the biggest metropolis in the world, but at least it would have been a route out of this backwater. Somehow even that had gone wrong.

  She walked back into the CID room, looking around hesitantly as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was. She approached Cooper’s desk.

  ‘Your brother is just being processed out of the custody suite,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d want to know straight away.’

  ‘Great. I’ll take him home.’

  ‘Oh, okay. I’m sure that will be fine, Ben.’

  ‘Thanks…’ he began.

  But Fry held up a hand, placed it between them like a shield.

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said. ‘Really. No need at all.’

  A few minutes later, Cooper waited while his brother shook hands with Fry. That was something he’d never expected to see. But nothing was the same now. His family had come pretty close to the edge themselves.

  Matt walked down with him to the car park and got into the passenger seat of the Toyota. Ben said nothing, and his brother looked at him as he fastened his seat belt.

  ‘I was just saying thank you,’ he said. ‘She did a good job. That other bloke from Derby knew nothing. If it had been left up to him, I reckon I’d be spending the next ten years of my life in a prison cell.’

  ‘Yes, it’s fine.’

  ‘Because they kept you out of it, didn’t they, Ben? You weren’t allowed anywhere near the investigation. That’s what they told me. Conflict of interest and all that.’

  ‘That’s right, yes. Conflict of interest.’

  ‘Because if you had got involved, it might have prejudiced the outcome. The Crown Prosecution Service could have gone ahead with charges just to show there was no favouritism to the family of a police officer. That’s what they told me.’

  ‘Yes, that can be a problem.’

  Matt shook his head in despair. ‘It’s all been such a nightmare from the start. It’s appalling, the state the countryside has come to.’

  Ben thought of Riddings, and how different it was from the way he’d always imagined a village should be. He supposed a place like that was a particular form of twenty-first-century Britain. It still retained the superficial appearance of a village, right down to the horse trough and the smell of manure. But the horse trough was a relic of the past, just like the empty phone box.

  It was sad to see a village where farming had so thoroughly disappeared. In fact, it couldn’t really be called a village at all, could it? It was just a facade, a surface veneer of nostalgia. It was probably a symptom of things to come, a time when thriving rural communities would be a distant memory. A trace of a field pattern and an abandoned slurry pit on Big Moor.

  He read the latest text from Liz on his phone. R u ok? Then he switched on the CD player, needing to fill the car with sound. In Riddings, he’d picked up a favourite Show of Hands album called Roots . Just the right thing to remind him that he was still in the countryside, not some outer suburb of Sheffield. Now, when he restarted it, the fourth track came on: ‘Country Life’. The vocals were Steve Knightley at his angriest on the hypocrisy of attitudes to the countryside. Cooper had chosen it because he remembered that it contained a verse inspired by the devastating foot and mouth outbreak:

  Picture postcard hills on fire Cattle burning in funeral pyres Out to graze they look so sweet We hate the blood, but we want the meat

  But the lines that struck him now came at the end of the first chorus. They seemed amazingly appropriate:

  One man’s family pays the price For another man’s vision of country life

  Ben thought of Zoe and Jake Barron, and Martin Holland, and of Barry Gamble. Even of Russell and David Edson, and poor old Glenys, all the other people who’d been affected by the events in Riddings. Every one of them had clung to their own vision of country life. In some cases, it was a vision of escape, or a yearning for peace and quiet. In others, it was a chance to act like the country squire.

  The coffin of our English dream Lies out on the village green

  He started the Toyota, and drove slowly towards the exit. Before he reached the barrier, he saw Fry’s black Peugeot a few yards ahead, standing at the kerb on West Street. He wondered what she was doing, just sitting there in her car. What was she waiting for?

  And then he saw the answer. Carol Villiers ran down the steps from the double doors at the front entrance. Without a glance towards the car park, she went up to Fry’s Peugeot, opened the passenger door and got in. Fry turned her head and said something. Again, that private communication between them, a moment that he wasn’t allowed to share. What were they talking about? Where were they going? When had they arranged this meeting?

  It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. He felt a sharp stab of anxiety, an uneasy sense that something was going on he didn’t know about. And perhaps he would never find out what it was.

  Although the barrier was up to let him drive out, Ben sat quite still, holding his breath, making no attempt to leave the car park as the Peugeot drove away down West Street.

  ‘So it’s good that you didn’t get involved,’ Matt was saying. ‘You left it up to Detective Sergeant Fry, without any interference. I’m glad you felt you could trust her.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ben, as he watched Fry’s car disappear into Edendale. ‘That’s very important, isn’t it? Trust.’

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-7be214-4fcd-3949-5882-4e7a-2884-253709

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 22.08.2011

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software

  Document authors :

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)

  http://www.fb2epub.net

  https://code.google.com/p/f
b2epub/