my insights, honed to perfection over many years as an experienced detective.’
‘Who have you talked to?’
‘I’ve been on the back lane there, behind Valley View.’
‘Croft Lane.’
‘There’s no street sign, but if you say that’s the name…’
‘It’s a private road, I think. But that’s how it’s known locally.’
‘Okay, Croft Lane. I spoke to Mrs Slattery at South Croft. She’s the widow of a local GP, Doctor Slattery, and she lives alone now, though there seems to be a son in the background. Then there’s Mr and Mrs Nowak at Lane End. I got nothing from either of them. They can barely see the Barrons’ property from their houses, you know.’
‘No. Too many trees, too many walls, too much distance.’
‘The women were nice,’ said Murfin. ‘Very helpful. Or at least, they seemed to want to help, and were sorry they didn’t know anything.’
‘But…?’
‘Mr Nowak. Not the helpful type. If I was a cynical person, I’d say he was quite pleased about what had happened to the Barrons.’
‘You are a cynical person, Gavin.’
‘But I’m usually right, all the same.’
‘So you think he has some grudge against the Barron family?’
‘If he does, he wasn’t telling. You might want to check him out for yourself. Get a less cynical view, like.’
‘I will, Gavin.’
‘He’s Polish, by the way. In his origins, at least.’
Murfin turned a page. ‘You did Riddings Lodge yourself, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, the Edsons.’
‘I get the impression nobody likes the Edsons very much. Nothing was said out loud, like, but my nose was twitching like mad.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Luke and Becky are still wearing out the shoe leather. I made them go up the hill.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘It’s the privilege of my great age.’
Cooper watched a couple of cars go slowly through the village. A huge four by four, a sporty Mercedes.
‘So what do you make of the people round here, Gavin?’ he asked.
‘Everyone’s so middle class,’ said Murfin. ‘They’ve got middle-class houses, middle-class kids and middle- class attitudes. Even their dogs are middle class. I thought the poodle at Hill Croft was going to ask me where I went to school.’
Cooper tried hard to stifle a laugh. He shouldn’t encourage Murfin. He was a bad example to the youngsters.
‘Wait a minute. Are you eating, Gavin?’
‘No.’
Cooper glanced at him; his mouth was still, though his eyes were bulging slightly with the effort not to chew.
‘It’s only a chocolate truffle.’
‘I hope you weren’t eating while you were doing interviews.’
‘I might have been.’
‘Gavin, show a bit of respect.’
‘They don’t mind. But if they ask, I’ll tell them it’s organic Fairtrade chocolate from Waitrose.’
Cooper sighed as he looked round Riddings. The Union Jacks fluttered, a dog barked, the hens in the orchard clucked quietly. A trio of horses clopped down the hill to their stables. The smell of manure drifted on the breeze again.
‘There’s still a lot to do,’ he said. ‘So many doors we haven’t knocked on, for a start. Even in a village this size.’
‘I can’t do overtime tonight,’ said Murfin. ‘I’ve only just told Jean that I’m going to the football on Saturday, and I have to get home in time for the row.’
‘Okay. Well, there’s no money for overtime anyway. It just means more for us to do tomorrow, and the day after.’
Murfin offered him a chocolate.
‘No thanks.’
‘Suit yourself. So what about you, Ben? Are you doing anything tonight?’
Cooper hesitated. ‘Nothing special.’
Murfin gave him a sceptical look. ‘You’re lying.’
‘What?’
‘Years of experience have honed my skills of detection. I can sense when someone is telling me a porky. Especially you. You’re as transparent as my new double-glazing.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘So… how are things going with that nice dark-haired little SOCO?’
‘She’s a crime-scene examiner.’
‘Civilian all the same,’ sniffed Murfin.
‘Her name’s Liz. And things are fine.’
‘I like her, actually. I think you’ve made a good bargain there. Better than I ever did.’
‘One of these days I’m going to tell Jean what you say about her.’
‘I’ll let you know when I’m feeling suicidal.’
Below Riddings lay the theological college and the hamlet of Stanton Ford, where the Baslow road skirted the banks of the Derwent.
Cooper saw a car with a window sticker: Christ for all – all for Christ. A student or member of staff from the bible college at Curbar? He could just see the buildings from here, where students would be wrestling with their bibles right now.
Or would they? The college ran residential courses, he was fairly sure. They took students from all over the world, trainee evangelists from Africa and South America. But most institutions were on holiday in August. Students went home for the summer, or did vacation work to raise money. Was Cliff College closed this month, or did they run summer courses?
‘When does their term start down there?’
‘I don’t know, but we can find out.’
Cooper nodded. ‘ There is a God in Heaven that revealeth all secrets. Who said that, Gavin?’
‘It’s in the Bible, isn’t it? It sounds biblical anyway.’
‘Yes, but who said it?’
‘I don’t know. Matthew, or Mark. Or Malcolm. One of those.’
‘Oh, of course – the Gospel according to St Malcolm. I know it well.’
‘Well… right. Last time I went to church, it was all in Latin.’
On the road below Curbar Gap, there were three stones close to the roadside, with biblical references carved on them. Visitors often parked with their car wheels right up to the stones without even noticing them. He’d heard it claimed that zealous students at Cliff College had made the inscriptions at some time. In another version of the story, they were carved in the nineteenth century by a mole-catcher who worked for the old duke. He was said to have been a devout Wesleyan, and inscribed the biblical quotations as a thanksgiving for recovering from a serious illness.
On his way down the road, Cooper pulled over on to the verge and looked at the nearest stone. He must have remembered the story wrong. He’d thought there was actually a quotation carved on the stone, and had even hoped it might have sent him some useful message. But all it said was: Isaiah 1:18. That meant he would have to find someone with a Bible.
