Stephen Booth - The Devil’s Edge

Cooper wondered if the next step in Gamble’s campaign of anonymous communication would have been to send a copy of this photograph. The last stage, just to make the point clear for those who were too dim to put two and two together.

He didn’t intend to go through all two hundred images on the memory card. He sorted the files into date order and looked for shots that had been taken on Tuesday.

From that night, he had expected pictures of the Barrons. But the shots he found weren’t of Valley View, or its grounds. They had been taken nearby, yes. But the house they showed was Riddings Lodge.

Cooper scrabbled around until he found a copy of the Riddings map. It seemed that the only spot where Gamble could have got some of these views of Riddings Lodge was right on the boundary between Edson’s property and the Barrons’. There was only a narrow strip at that point where the two properties bordered each other. To the west was the Hollands’ garden at Fourways. Eastwards, there was only the rough sloping ground at the base of the edge. The rock-strewn heath cut a slice between the manicured lawns and almost looked as though it ought to continue along the boundary line as far as Croft Lane.

Eagerly Cooper swung round to his screen and called up the aerial view. When he zoomed in, it became obvious. There was more than just a boundary line between Riddings Lodge on one side, and Valley View and Fourways on the other. The satellite image had captured a wider, darker area that connected the base of Riddings Edge with Croft Lane. A sunken lane, surely? But why hadn’t it been visible on the ground?

Then he remembered the dense rhododendron hedge, yards and yards of it along the bottom of Edson’s garden. He’d stood and admired it from Edson’s lounge. He recalled thinking that many keen gardeners would have tried to get rid of the shrub. Rhododendrons sucked minerals out of the soil and prevented anything else from flourishing near them. But Edson hadn’t cared about that. He had no interest in gardening. He probably never went near the hedge – not near enough, anyway, to see that it hid the remains of a sunken lane under its dense foliage.

But Barry Gamble had known about it. Gamble had sneaked into the old lane to take photographs of Riddings Lodge. He still had rhododendron twigs sticking to his fleece days later. But why did he want to photograph the house so secretly?

Cooper turned back to the photographs and scrolled through them. Figures started to appear now. Glenys Edson taking a stroll in the garden. The housekeeper, Mrs Davies, walking round the house. Mrs Davies pictured talking to the odd-job man, whose name Cooper had forgotten. There was Russell Edson himself, standing in the conservatory, apparently doing nothing. Waiting, perhaps.

And who was that? A younger man, talking to Edson. Now there were several shots, taken by Gamble in quick succession. The two men seemed to be arguing, judging by their arm gestures. Finally there were two frames capturing Edson and the other man coming outside, stepping out of the conservatory and turning towards the garage on the other side of the drive. A moment later and Gamble would have lost them from sight. But those last two frames were good ones. Edson was clearly recognisable in both, his hair swept back, his expression upset or angry – Cooper couldn’t be sure.

And the other, younger man? With a jolt, Cooper realised now that he’d seen him before. Edson hadn’t been joking when he’d said he’d got a man in. This man might have been called in to do the gardening. But he’d come even further into Edson’s life, judging by the close, affectionate embrace that Barry Gamble had captured in the very last frame.

It was funny how a photograph could strike so much more directly to the memory. Perhaps there were too many distractions when you met someone on the street, or saw them at a showground. The voice might sound familiar, the mannerisms might ring a bell, but the brain just didn’t have enough focus to put the features together and make that leap of recognition. Yet when you sat down and studied a photo of the same person, suddenly it was all there.

Cooper jumped at a loud rapping on his window. His heart pounded in shock. He must be in a more nervous state than he’d thought. Normally he would have noticed someone approaching his car. Normally he wouldn’t have reacted as if he’d been shot.

He looked up to see Carol Villiers’ face pressed against the glass. He unlocked the door, and she jumped eagerly into the passenger seat.

‘Just wondering,’ she said. ‘We haven’t spoken to Sarah Holland again. Or to Tyler Kaye at all. Weren’t we going to do that today?’

‘It’s not necessary.’

‘I see.’

She produced her notebook, and Cooper watched her expectantly. He recognised an element of teasing in her tone. He probably shouldn’t allow that. But he let it go, because he knew she had something he wanted.

‘Did you know there were fifteen complaints to the district council about neighbour nuisance?’ she said. ‘But none from Russell Edson. And none about him either.’

‘There must be some other motive,’ said Cooper. ‘Maybe disputes that end in court aren’t the problem. There could be one that everyone is keeping quiet about.’

Villiers beamed. ‘You’re right. How come you’re always right, Ben?’

‘I can’t explain it. It just comes naturally.’

‘It’s all in the breeding. I see.’

Cooper closed his laptop. He was learning that he couldn’t hurry Villiers when she had something to say. The more important it was, the longer she seemed to take getting the information out. She liked to savour the tastiest titbits before she released them.

‘So there was some kind of dispute between Edson and the Barrons?’

‘Absolutely. But not over anything so trivial as the ownership of a bit of land. This was about money. A large amount of money.’

‘Ah. Now that’s getting to the real life blood of Riddings.’

‘Yes. And to follow your analogy – our Russell was bleeding profusely. It seems Mr Edson has been spending an awful lot of money on legal fees, without the dispute ever coming to court. He hired private detectives and paid for surveillance. He must have collected a mass of information, everything that could be known about the Barrons. He was like a jealous husband digging up dirt on his wife’s lover.’

‘What?’ Cooper felt confused now. ‘He didn’t have a wife. Was he interested in Zoe Barron?’

‘No, in Jake.’

‘Eh?’

Villiers laughed. ‘Not like that. No, Mr Edson was interested in destroying him.’

Cooper gazed at the stone houses clustered in the centre of Riddings. The quaint narrow lanes, the old horse trough, the neat grass verges, the Union Jack flying at the crossroads. Beyond the centre lay the large, expensive properties, with their pony paddocks and landscaped gardens. It was a place for the upwardly mobile, in more than one sense. Property prices in the seven-figure bracket, and a long drag up that hill without a car.

Yet in another sense, this village was still a jungle – dark and wild, crawling with primal instincts.

‘This has taken some digging out,’ said Villiers. ‘Gavin has helped me to tap into all the best sources. It’s amazing what you can come up with when you start piecing bits of information together. But it’s all there somewhere, waiting for someone to put two and two together.’

‘Tell me,’ said Cooper. ‘I can’t bear this.’

‘Okay, here goes. Jake Barron had persuaded Edson to put a lot of money into the carpet business. And when the company went bankrupt, Edson realised he’d lost it all.’

‘Bankrupt? I thought the Barrons were doing well?’

‘No, they just tried to give that impression.’