Stephen Booth - The Devil’s Edge

‘Yes.’

Outside, they paused, and Villiers squinted against the sun as she looked up.

‘And that – that’s the edge?’

‘Of course. Don’t you know the edges at all?’

‘I’ve never been up there. It’s funny, when I grew up not far away. But I suppose you take these things for granted. You tend to think they’re just for tourists. So I’ve only ever seen them from down here, and never so close. Standing on the ground looking up, that’s me.’

She seemed to have become thoughtful. Cooper wished he could tell what she was thinking. He supposed they would have to get to know each other properly all over again. There might be things she didn’t want to talk about. But now that he was her supervisor, he had to be there and ready to listen in case she did want to talk. It could be a bit of a minefield.

Villiers looked at him, and smiled.

‘Will you show me the edge sometime, Ben?’ she said.

Cooper raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Of course, if you want me to. Have you got a pair of boots?’

‘Are you kidding? I was in the military. Of course I’ve got boots. And don’t start worrying about my fitness, either – I’ll race you up that slope any time. What is it like up there?’

‘It’s a whole different world,’ said Cooper.

Villiers lowered her hand and touched him gently on the arm.

‘I’ll look forward to you showing me, then.’

Across the garden, Cooper saw a cluster of SOCOS in their blue scene suits. They were well away from the house, but had set up a route marked off by crime-scene tape. They had put an aluminium ladder against the high stone wall that formed the boundary on that side of the Barrons’ property. One of the SOCOs was over the ladder and examining the far side of the wall.

Cooper approached cautiously, not wanting to get in the way. Wayne Abbott saw him and held up a hand to stop him getting any closer.

‘What have you found?’ asked Cooper.

‘Handprints. Two white handprints on the wall.’

‘White?’

‘Two prints, clear as day,’ said Abbott. ‘They look almost as if they’ve been made in chalk.’

‘Good work.’

Watching the SOCOs at work photographing the wall, Cooper fingered his bag of stone chippings, deep in thought. What sort of person left white handprints? It didn’t make sense.

But then, that was par for the course. Nothing the Savages did made sense either. Only in some twisted logic of their own, anyway. They were fearless and audacious. And no one knew where they would strike next.

Lane End had a drive of freshly laid gravel, thick and crunchy under the Toyota’s tyres. Two convex mirrors mounted on the gateposts provided drivers leaving the property with a view round the blind bend to warn of oncoming traffic. This was certainly an area to drive with care, thought Cooper. The lane was only wide enough for one vehicle, and those stone walls looked pretty unyielding.

He drew up in front of the house and parked next to a brand-new Mini Clubman.

‘Who lives here?’ asked Villiers as she got out of the car.

‘Some people named Nowak,’ said Cooper. He checked his notebook. ‘Richard and Sonya, and Mr Nowak’s father, Adam.’

‘Polish?’

‘At some time.’

Villiers shaded her eyes as she studied the house. Cooper couldn’t resist the impression that she was scanning the horizon for potential enemies. A group of insurgents, a suspect vehicle on the skyline.

‘They are only possible witnesses at the moment,’ he said. ‘We’re canvassing all the immediate neighbours in the hope that one of them might have seen or heard something on the night of the attack on the Barrons.’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘The grounds of Valley View are just across the lane there. That wall is their boundary. We don’t know which way the attackers came in, but this lane is one of the possible approaches. And, as you can see, it ends here.’

‘At Lane End.’

‘Exactly.’

Richard Nowak was older than Cooper had anticipated. He didn’t know why he’d expected to meet someone in their thirties or forties, but Nowak was clearly in his early sixties. Well, that wasn’t old these days. And he was undoubtedly fit and healthy. He had sandy hair cut very short, and large hands with a powerful grip as he shook Cooper’s.

‘It’s so nice to see police officers flocking to the premises,’ he said with a sardonic smile.

‘Sir?’

‘When we had our shed broken into a while ago, the police didn’t even come. They said there would be no forensic evidence, so there was no point in investigating. When we had the quad bike stolen, they didn’t do anything then either. Oh, they were happy to counsel us as victims of crime, but they made it clear that they weren’t going to try to find out who’d stolen the bike, let alone get it back. But when you’re driven to take the law into your own hands, they arrive in force and arrest you. They treat us as if we’re the criminals.’

‘You should have had a visit from a scene-of-crime officer.’

‘Yes, a civilian.’

‘Most of them are. They’re just as professional.’

‘And yet now we have a crime at my neighbours’, and the police are out in force. Three detectives have been to my house in the space of twenty-four hours. I’m so lucky.’

‘Well, we’re doing our best, sir.’

‘That was a detective you sent yesterday?’ said Nowak. ‘He ate a lot of my wife’s chocolate cake.’

‘Detective Constable Murfin. He’s very experienced.’

‘Yes, his experience shows in his waistline.’

Cooper introduced Carol Villiers and watched as she returned Nowak’s firm handshake. He found that he was looking forward to getting her impressions of the man. He already knew he could trust her opinion.

‘We’re sorry to bother you again, sir,’ said Cooper. ‘But the fact is, your property is in a very strategic position here, from the point of view of our inquiry.’

‘I know, I know. You think the people came up this lane. And if they did, I ought to have seen them. And if they came in a car, they would have turned round in my driveway. But I can’t tell you whether any of that happened. I didn’t see anything, nor did my wife.’

‘Your father also lives here?’

‘My father was already in bed at that time. He’s not in the best of health.’

Cooper looked at the front of the house. ‘What sort of view do you have from your front window? Can you see the gate?’

‘Not quite.’

‘And you don’t have CCTV, I noticed.’

‘No, unlike some of my more wealthy neighbours. So, as you can see, we would not be able to tell if someone drove up this lane and turned round.’

‘Would you mind if we take a look along the boundary on this side, sir?’

‘Help yourself.’

Villiers accompanied Cooper as he followed a flagged path towards the right-hand corner of the property. According to his sketch map, the house he could just see through the trees was South Croft, home of Mrs Slattery, the doctor’s widow. Croft Lane ran just behind the hedge towards Nowak’s. But the lane was so narrow and empty of traffic, he wouldn’t have known it was there.

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Villiers.

‘I want to get a good idea of the layout in this area, the way the properties adjoin each other. Who neighbours who, and how well they can see the approach roads.’ Cooper looked at her apologetically. ‘I realise that might sound a bit strange.’

‘Not at all. You need to know the ground. It’s vital.’

They walked back past the gate, where the gravel drive swept up to the house. Cooper glanced out on to the lane, then back up at the Nowaks’ house. Richard Nowak was still watching them from his front door, his arms folded, sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms.