Stephen Booth - The Devil’s Edge

Apparently not. DI Hitchens made no reference to South Yorkshire, but wanted to go over the two incidents in Riddings.

‘Thanks to the parents and the oldest daughter, we’ve finally established what’s missing from the Barron house,’ he said. ‘It seems extraordinary they would go to those extremes for such a small haul, but still… we haven’t been able to add anything to the list, no matter how hard we try. And as you’ll see, it’s a very short list. An iPhone in a pink case, belonging to Zoe Barron. A women’s Gucci wallet with an interlocking “G” charm. I’m told it’s made of rose peony guccissima leather, whatever that is. It was a gift to Zoe from Jake Barron. Two small, high-value items, easy to grab hold of. The wallet alone is worth three or four hundred pounds. We don’t know how much cash was in it.’

‘The phone…?’

‘It hasn’t been used since it was stolen. It was switched on, but it went off the network some time on Tuesday night, after the theft. Probably the battery just ran out.’

Information sheets were passed round, showing specifications and photographs of similar items to those stolen in the attack on the Barrons’ house. For a few minutes there was a general murmuring among the assembled officers.

‘That wallet has twelve card slots,’ said Murfin to Cooper. ‘Made for someone who might actually possess twelve credit cards, then.’

‘Hardly surprising, Gavin. The wallet is worth three or four hundred pounds, remember.’

‘They’ll have taken the cash and ditched the wallet. Even if they knew how much it was worth, it’s too distinctive for them to try to sell it.’

‘If they knew what they were doing,’ said Cooper.

‘The Savages are pros. That’s why we’ve never got near them.’

‘Yes,’ said Cooper. ‘ They are.’

Murfin looked at him, then at Villiers. He grunted. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to make it all too complicated? All I want is a nice quiet life, you know. I want to do exactly what I’m told, no more and no less. Another few months of keeping my head down and my nose clean, and I’m free and clear.’

‘Ah, but Gavin – is retirement what you really want? Remember, it’s impossible to do nothing all day. You’d go mad.’

Someone raised a hand, and Hitchens hushed the room.

‘Isn’t it right that the Barrons had alarm systems in place at their property?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Hitchens. ‘Why?’

‘Well, don’t burglars normally choose properties without alarms?’

‘It wasn’t an option once they decided to target a village like Riddings. All of these homes have security systems. Some of them are more sophisticated than others, but you’d have to be an expert to know that from the outside, just from looking at the alarm box. A number of them have automatic response from the monitoring centres. But apparently the only householder in the Curbar Lane area who has thought it necessary to install a panic button is Mr Tyler Kaye at Moorside House.’

‘There could have been some inside information.’

‘We’ve got lists of names and run checks on them. Nothing is presenting itself at the moment.’

‘The gardeners would be favourite, I reckon. Or a cleaner.’

‘Sometimes you can get the information you want online anyway. No need to hand out any cash.’

Cooper shifted restlessly in his chair as he listened to officers going over the arguments. Everyone knew the methods to use. At one time, burglars could buy information from the milkman or the postman about who was away on holiday, and which properties would be standing empty. It enabled them to get into a property at the start of a vacation, so that any loss might not be noticed for two weeks or more. That left plenty of time to fence the stuff and stash the proceeds before the police came knocking.

These days, some professionals used the internet. People gave away all sorts of information on Facebook, boasting about where they were going for their hols, tweeting from their villa on the Costa, posting messages to their friends to let them know when they’d be back. Dead handy, that was. There were other high-tech methods. Last year, thieves had broken into a couple’s car while they were on holiday in the Peak District, and stolen their sat nav. Then they’d plugged the device into their own car and set it to ‘home’. The sat nav had led them straight to the family’s empty house in Liverpool. Simple.

‘No, the gardeners. I’d take a bet on it.’

Yes, the old-fashioned ways still worked, too. The milkmen had disappeared, and the postmen were more cautious. But in neighbourhoods like Riddings, there were always the gardeners and cleaners, the folk who came and went un noticed and unappreciated. Better still, they were often paid peanuts. Minimum wage or less, cash in hand and not a word to the tax man, or the Immigration Service either. They sometimes found they could earn a decent bonus for a bit of information. And why not? It was all part of the free-market economy, wasn’t it?

Finally Cooper could bear it no longer.

‘We should check the Barrons’ background,’ he said.

Silence fell. To his surprise, Hitchens looked at him as if he’d just broken wind.

‘Why, DS Cooper?’

Cooper hesitated now, feeling the force of his DI’s disapproving stare.

‘Surely it’s standard procedure in a murder inquiry? To establish the victim’s connections and relationships. To find out what was going on in their life.’

‘If we were looking for a more personal motive for murder, yes.’

‘But aren’t we?’

Hitchens took a couple of steps towards him.

‘So you don’t believe in the Savages, DS Cooper? You don’t think all those other incidents took place in Hathersage, and Baslow, and Padley? You doubt the existence of householders injured by violent assailants in a series of aggravated burglaries? These offenders are looking for financial gain and the thrill of violence. At Valley View they just went a little bit further down that road. They could see that the Barrons had money and lived in an expensive property, and were likely to be vulnerable. I don’t think they needed any more motive than that.’

There was a moment of silence in the room after the DI’s speech. No one seemed quite sure what had happened to provoke the outburst. Cooper kept quite still, in case a movement from him caused any further provocation. But inside he was feeling wounded by the unfair treatment. He was sure he was right. But it was difficult to explain why, especially in this atmosphere, and in a room full of his colleagues.

‘Actually, DS Cooper has a point.’

The voice was Superintendent Branagh’s. She hadn’t moved from her position at the front of the room, but she took control of the situation without any effort. Hitchens stepped back, and the officers nearest to Cooper visibly relaxed.

‘There are a number of features about the attack on the Barron family that trouble me particularly,’ said Branagh. ‘For a start, their home life doesn’t seem to have been entirely idyllic.’

‘How so?’ asked Cooper.

Branagh looked at the DI. ‘Paul?

‘Yes.’ Hitchens turned over a few pages of his file. ‘Well, the oldest Barron girl, Melissa, has been able to talk to us a bit about Tuesday night. She’s told us that she heard her mother shouting, and then glass smashing downstairs.’

‘But she didn’t go down to see what had happened?’

‘No. She says she thought her parents were fighting. So she turned her music up a bit louder.’

‘What sort of childhood is that?’ said Cooper, shocked. ‘Isolated from your parents, spending all your time alone in your own room. And then – she was so used to hearing them arguing and throwing things at each other that it just seemed like a normal evening. Something to shut out with more noise.’