Ben Cooper and Diane Fry 11 - The Devil’s Edge

by Stephen Booth

  ‘I’ll be around,’ said Gamble.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Villiers was smiling when she returned from escorting Gamble away.

  ‘Lovable eccentrics. You can’t beat ’em.’

  ‘Well, it’s surprising what good sources of information they can make,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Fair enough. Is it Mr Nowak now?’

  ‘In a minute.’

  He remembered Barry Gamble’s account of the way he’d discovered the attack on the Barrons. He had been here in Croft Lane, he’d said. No. What he’d actually said was thereabouts. He was standing near a tree when he’d heard a noise. A thumping crash. He had looked towards the Barrons’ house, Valley View. And what did he see? A light on in the kitchen.

  From Croft Lane, Cooper walked down the garden as far as the hedge, turned and looked at Valley View. He was in no doubt now. There was no way Gamble could have seen the light in the kitchen from here.

  Well, when you were looking for a suspect in a murder investigation, there was always the person who found the body. In this case, Barry Gamble.

  15

  ‘My neighbours? My neighbours? You know what? I wouldn’t lift a finger to help those people. If I saw their house being burgled, I wouldn’t bother to phone the police. In fact, I’d help the thieves load up their swag myself.’

  Cooper was looking at Richard Nowak’s large, powerful hands. They were gripping a glass and a half-empty bottle of whisky. Nowak already smelled of alcohol and his face was flushed.

  ‘We’re thinking about a particular set of neighbours,’ said Cooper. ‘The Barrons.’

  ‘Jake Barron. He’s such an aggressive man. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘He’s still critically ill in hospital, sir. Serious head injuries, following the assault on Tuesday night.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’

  ‘Had you forgotten?’

  ‘I don’t think about the Barrons all the time. Why would I?’

  Nowak put the bottle down on the table in his kitchen and looked at the glass thoughtfully. Perhaps he wasn’t so drunk as he’d appeared at first. It was very early in the day, after all.

  ‘Last time we spoke to you, you talked about how the police might react if you took the law into your own hands.’

  ‘Not me personally. I was speaking theoretically.’

  No one could pronounce those words so clearly if they were drunk. Cooper began to relax. Nowak’s reaction must have been due more to emotion than alcohol.

  ‘We know you were involved in a dispute with the Barrons, sir. It went on for quite a long time, didn’t it?’

  ‘You don’t give in to people like that. Appeasement never works. They just walk all over you, if you let them.’

  Nowak put the glass down as well now. He didn’t even bother to finish the whisky in the bottom of it. His wife, Sonya, appeared behind him, her expression cold. Perhaps it was the sound of her footsteps that had sobered her husband up.

  Through the open door, Cooper glimpsed what looked like a well-stocked bar. If he wanted to, this man could probably go on drinking all day and all night, without leaving the house. Yet he didn’t look like a habitual drunk. He had the appearance of a strong, fit man who had given in to stress.

  ‘I know what my rights are,’ said Nowak. ‘Why shouldn’t I stand up for my rights? This is a free country, they tell me. What’s mine is mine, and I’ll take it. Jake Barron was in the wrong from the start.’

  ‘So you never accepted the court’s decision, sir.’

  ‘No, and I never will.’

  There was silence for a moment. Nowak turned to the window, and pointed in the direction of Riddings Lodge.

  ‘Listen to that awful noise,’ he said. ‘Just listen to it.’

  Outside, a chainsaw was whining in the coppice. Cooper had to admit it was one of the most irritating sounds that you could ever hear. It had a nasty, angry pitch to it, like a huge mutant wasp. If that sort of noise went on all day outside his flat, he’d be climbing the walls. But perhaps it did. He wasn’t at home during the day, so he wouldn’t be aware of it. Here, people were at home. They were all too conscious of what was going on at the edge of their territory.

  ‘They’re cutting trees down,’ said Nowak. ‘Mature, well-established trees, not some bit of birch scrub. I don’t know what they’re thinking of, despoiling the environment like that. It ruins the area for all of us. But there’s no preservation order on that coppice, and the council aren’t interested, so they just do what they like.’

  ‘Does the noise go on for long?’ asked Villiers, frowning.

  ‘All day. Sometimes it lasts right into the evening, until it gets dark. We’ve spoken to them about it, but they just blank us, pretend they can’t understand what the problem is. I’m telling you, after a while it starts to feel like a deliberate provocation.’

  Cooper looked at him more sharply. ‘Have you taken steps against your neighbours, other than speaking to them?’

  Nowak’s expression was suddenly wary. ‘Not like you’re thinking of.’

  ‘And what am I thinking of?’

  ‘I wouldn’t do any damage or resort to violence. I might take legal action, if necessary. That’s what I did over the land. And that’s my right as a citizen.’

  ‘All right.’

  Sonya moved closer, not quite touching her husband, but a supporting presence nevertheless. Nowak looked up and met Cooper’s eye.

  ‘I wouldn’t do anything like what happened to the Barrons. I wouldn’t be involved in anything violent. It’s not in my nature. Not in my history.’

  Mrs Nowak spoke then for the first time since Cooper and Villiers had arrived.

  ‘Richard was born in a refugee camp in East Germany,’ she said. ‘None of us can understand what an experience like that does to a child. But my husband has a horror of violence, I can tell you that.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Nowak. ‘I was part of the displaced people of Europe. But my family came here, to Sheffield, when I was very young.’

  He laughed ruefully, fingered the whisky glass, but didn’t pick it up.

  ‘As a small child, I spoke only Polish,’ he said. ‘Like my parents. But my older brother was already bringing English into the house. I remember hearing how different it sounded when he spoke. And, of course, when I went to school I learned to talk just like my classmates. A Polish accent did no favours in those days. We weren’t so multicultural then.’

  Cooper nodded. He was thinking how interesting it was that Mr Nowak had said ‘here, to Sheffield’ when he was actually living in the Peak District. Many of the people living in this area came here because it wasn’t Sheffield. It was as different to Sheffield as they could get and still be within commuting distance. But for a child born in an East German refugee camp, this was all part of the country he’d come to. For Mr Nowak, Riddings was as much Sheffield as Pond’s Forge or the City Hall. They were all one place in his imagination – the sanctuary he’d escaped to.

  They walked out of the house, and Nowak took a deep breath. The noise of the chainsaw was even louder out here – a nagging, intermittent sound that could set the teeth on edge and induce a headache.

  ‘Look at these people here,’ said Nowak with a wave of his hand. ‘They don’t have the least bit of consideration for their neighbours. Rude, arrogant, ignorant, offensive, supercilious, inconsiderate, selfish, vulgar, nasty, self-obsessed …’ He took a deep breath. ‘Words fail me.’

  ‘So I see.’

  Nowak smiled, in a moment of self-awareness. ‘Well, I could think of a few more names, given time.’

  ‘Those will do. We get the general impression.’

  ‘It’s a shame,’ he said. ‘This would be such a nice place to live, without …’

  ‘Other people?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. It sounds bad when you say it out loud, doesn’t it? Very antisocial. But we – my family and I – we value our privacy, you see. Our peace and quiet is very precious t
o us. There are some things that you have to be prepared to fight for. Don’t you think that’s true, Sergeant?’

  Cooper and Villiers left the house and found their way back down the drive of Lane End to where Cooper had parked his car. A builder’s van was squeezing past, and he wondered whether he ought to emulate the residents of Riddings and fold his offside wing mirror in to avoid damage. But the van driver seemed to be used to the narrowness of the lanes, and he made it through without any problem.

  It was funny how different the attitudes of Barry Gamble and Richard Nowak were towards their neighbours. One seemed to be a self-appointed vigilante, and claimed to be concerned about his neighbours’ welfare, while the other admitted openly that he couldn’t give a damn.

  Well, that was what they said. The difference might only be on the surface. Underneath, their level of hostility could be exactly the same.

  As he started the car, Cooper thought about the last thing Nowak had said. Everyone had a different idea of what was worth fighting for in their lives. Many people would say their families were the most precious thing they had, that they would fight to the death to protect their children. But it depended what sort of life you lived. He saw many individuals in the course of his job who had thought it worth fighting over a perceived insult, a lack of respect, a spilled drink, or a casual glance at their girlfriend. What seemed trivial from the outside could take on an immense importance in someone’s else’s mind. It was all a matter of perspective.

  Murfin, Hurst and Irvine were waiting by the horse trough. No sooner had Cooper and Villiers arrived than a black Audi drew up alongside, with the passenger window already lowered.

  ‘I don’t mean any disrespect,’ said the driver. ‘But …’

  ‘We need to get a grip, I suppose?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘Are you being impertinent? I’ll speak to your superiors.’

  ‘Supervisor, sir. We don’t have superiors any more.’

  Cooper turned back to his team.

  ‘Carol, I want you and Becky to visit Mr Gamble on Chapel Close. Seize his dark grey fleece, his brown corduroys and his fell boots.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re going to have them analysed for trace evidence.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Then we’re going to take him with us to Valley View. I’ll meet you at his house.’

  ‘What about me?’ said Murfin. ‘Not more house-to-house. I’m dying here, Ben.’

  ‘Gavin, you can’t die until I tell you to.’

  Murfin sighed. ‘Okay, boss. But it’s that hill. Let the kids do the uphill work. That’s what they’re for.’

  ‘They’re not packhorses.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Just something I was thinking about. Anyway, Gavin, you can come with me to Riddings Lodge to talk to Russell Edson.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll be a pleasure. Some of his luck might rub off on me.’

  ‘Why, do you play the lottery?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘No. But I can get lucky in other ways, can’t I?’

  ‘What, at your age?’

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  Russell Edson was watching a man in waterproof trousers wash his metallic blue Jaguar XF. The door of one of the garages stood open, and Cooper glimpsed a shrouded shape. A vehicle so precious that it couldn’t be exposed to dust or sunlight.

  ‘My handyman, Stanley. You have his name on your list. I gave all the information I could to your colleague here.’

  Edson nodded towards Murfin, somehow managing to instil an immense depth of disdain into a simple gesture.

  ‘Yes, we have all that, thank you.’

  ‘So what else can I do for the constabulary?’

  ‘I think you said you employ a gardening contractor, sir.’

  ‘Of course. Look at these grounds. They need to be kept immaculate.’

  ‘Would it be AJS Gardening Services?’

  ‘Are you joking? They might be all right for some people. But I expect something a bit more professional. We do have standards.’

  ‘So …?’

  ‘I have a contract with Mr Monk.’

  ‘And for the driveway?’

  He smiled. ‘The same. It applies to everything here. If it needs maintenance, I get a man in.’

  ‘I presume you also have security procedures.’

  ‘Naturally. However – I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to discuss my security arrangements, even with the constabulary. You can never be entirely sure that information won’t be passed on.’

  Murfin had become very silent and still. Although Russell Edson hadn’t looked at him at all, there was a palpable tension between them. This was one of the things Cooper had wanted to see. You couldn’t get a proper impression of somebody until you saw them interacting in different situations, with a number of different people.

  ‘There was one thing I don’t think my colleague asked you, sir,’ he said.

  Edson was frowning at the handyman, as if he wasn’t polishing the hub caps of his Jag brightly enough.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just for the record, sir, where were you on Tuesday evening?’

  ‘What, when the incident took place at Valley View?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Is there a necessity for me to have an alibi?’

  ‘For the record.’

  Edson sighed. ‘Well, we were out for dinner.’

  ‘Oh? Where did you eat?’

  ‘Bauers, at Warren Hall.’

  Cooper knew the place, and was impressed. ‘Very nice. Special occasion?’

  Edson raised an eyebrow. ‘No.’

  Okay, so that sounded like a put-down. And it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Cooper decided to probe a bit further and see what sort of reaction he got.

  ‘Can you remember what you had to eat, sir?’

  ‘Oh, let’s see. We’ve been so many times it’s difficult to recall.’ Edson smiled. ‘But I think I had the Gressingham duck, glazed in roasted hazelnuts, with breast of quail for the first course. Mother had … yes, I think she chose the pan-fried sea bass. She tends to change her mind a couple of times when she’s looking at the menu, you know. But I think that’s an accurate recollection. Oh, I haven’t told you what she started with.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No, no, we must be accurate. For the record.’

  Cooper stifled a sigh. ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, she’s particularly fond of the foie gras. It’s one of the reasons we go to Bauer’s so often. They have a strict policy on their foie gras. It comes only from one specific French supplier, who produces it from Moulard ducks. The Moulard is a migratory breed that naturally gorges itself to prepare for long flights, and it’s totally free-range. So there’s no force-feeding, you see. The bird has a naturally large liver as a result of its lifestyle. These things are very important to us. We’re particular about where we eat. We don’t exactly go for the standard pub lunch.’

  ‘And plenty of alcohol consumption, I imagine.’

  ‘Sophisticated alcohol. We’re not lager louts.’

  Cooper closed his notebook with a snap, restraining his irritation.

  ‘By the way,’ said Edson, his eyes sweeping contemptuously over the two detectives. ‘We also like Bauer’s because they have a dress code. No jeans, no trainers. Otherwise, you get turned away. And quite right, too.’

  ‘I know a lot of people like that,’ said Murfin as they reached the gate.

  ‘What, like Mr Edson? You’re kidding.’

  ‘No, people with naturally large livers as a result of their lifestyle. There are quite a few of them down at my local.’

  *

  Monica Gamble was waiting to grab Cooper as he arrived at Chapel Close. She was agitated about the appearance of police at her door again.

  ‘You can’t think Barry has anything to do with what’s been happening to peop
le in Riddings,’ she said. ‘He’s an old fool, I know. But he’s harmless.’

  ‘What concerns me is whether we’re being told the complete truth,’ said Cooper.

  ‘There’s nothing to hide.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘It’s just because Barry raised the alarm. It’s always the person who finds the body who gets suspected by the police, isn’t it? I’ve seen it time after time on the TV.’

  Cooper wanted to point out that what she saw on TV was just fiction. But sometimes it did come a bit too close to reality for comfort. People who reported the finding of a body often turned out to be involved in the death. Either they thought it would signal their innocence, or they did it out of a desire to be involved in the investigation in some way. You couldn’t rule it out. Not even with an old fool like Barry Gamble.

  ‘There must be more witnesses,’ said Monica appealingly. ‘Someone else must have seen something on Tuesday night.’

  ‘Well …’

  She grasped his sleeve desperately, clutching at any possibility.

  ‘They did, didn’t they?’ she said. ‘Someone?’

  ‘There was a party of walkers coming down The Hill from the edge. They recall seeing someone in the phone box, but that’s all.’

  ‘The phone box in the village?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  She stared at him for a long moment, as if she was working something out in her mind.

  ‘Oh, nothing. It’s nothing,’ she said finally.

  Cooper turned as Gamble was brought from the back of the house, where he had no doubt been lurking in his shed.

  ‘All right. Would you come with us, Mr Gamble?’

  ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘No. We’re going to take you to Valley View. I want you to show us exactly where you were on Tuesday night, and explain what you saw.’

  ‘I’ve told you all that.’

  ‘Well, make it easier for us to understand, would you?’

  Gamble settled his cowboy hat on his head, pulling it down over his ears as if that made him ready for anything.

  ‘Have it your way,’ he said.

  ‘And remember that Valley View is a crime scene, Mr Gamble. While you’re there, please don’t touch anything.’