‘I bet we are if you live on a council estate in Sheffield.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cooper, as he and Villiers turned to go.
Before they were halfway down the drive, Mrs Holland called after them.
‘It’ll be in the paper this week. The balsam bashing, I mean. We all had our photograph taken before we started.’
Cooper started the car, and waited for a white van to pass on Curbar Lane, heading towards the centre of the village.
‘This is getting quite exciting,’ said Villiers. ‘Meteor showers, balsam bashing, gravel… I hardly know what’s going to come up next.’
‘Sarcasm,’ said Cooper.
‘No. Actually, I’m really starting to get into it.’
Cooper shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re making progress quickly enough.’
‘Well, there should be some results coming in from forensics soon, shouldn’t there? That ought to provide some lines of inquiry. I presume there’s been a thorough forensic sweep at Valley View?’
‘Of course,’ said Cooper. ‘But… well, I could be wrong.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Are you often wrong, Ben?’
‘No comment.’
‘You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Having a murder case to work on gives you a kick.’
‘It does,’ admitted Cooper. ‘I think a lot of officers would say that, if they were to tell the truth.’
She nodded. ‘I always felt like that. Even when you know people around you are getting killed, the excitement of the moment carries you along. There’s nothing like it, really. It’s not something the public back home get to hear about, but I saw a lot of guys really high on the adrenalin rush of being shot at. And being able to shoot back, of course.’
‘In my case,’ said Cooper, ‘I think it’s the shooting back that I like. Speaking metaphorically, obviously.’
‘Catching the bad guys.’
‘Or at least making life difficult for them.’
‘So where to now, then?’ she said.
‘South Croft. Mrs Slattery, widow of Dr Slattery.’
Cooper pulled out into Curbar Lane and turned past the horse trough into The Green, where the mobile library was parked. It was right what he’d said, that they didn’t seem to be making any progress. For some reason, a phrase that Superintendent Branagh had used was running through his head. Time isn’t on our side. Cooper’s subconscious had rephrased it and set it to the tune of the old Stones song. It seemed to change the emphasis, refine the meaning. Time is not on our side. Time is NOT on our side.
A woman walking her dog turned to watch them go by. A few yards further on, the driver of the mobile library stared at them until they’d passed. A pair of hikers stopped abruptly on The Hill and gaped as if they were members of a travelling circus.
Forget about surveillance. In this village, Cooper had the feeling that he was the one being watched.
11
Mrs Slattery was ill. She’d taken to her bed, sedated by her GP as a result of the stress she was going through. All this business in Riddings had really upset her. If the police didn’t sort it out soon, it would kill her.
At least that was what her son said. He faced Cooper and Villiers on the doorstep of South Croft, his arms folded, an aggressive scowl on his face. The very image of a perfect guard dog.
‘She didn’t see anything, anyway,’ he said. ‘On Tuesday she’d been down at some community effort that she was keen on. I don’t know what
…’
‘The balsam bashing?’
‘Something like that. Well, Mum’s not up to that sort of malarkey, not anything physical. She soon got tired, and one of the organisers brought her home. She went straight to bed and she was fast asleep by the time it all kicked off. Never heard a thing.’
‘I see.’
Slattery looked from Cooper to Villiers challengingly. ‘Since then she’s been frightened out of her wits thinking that it could have been her that got attacked, worrying about what might happen next. That’s why I came down to stay with her for a bit. The tablets are helping, but I don’t want her being harassed by you lot. Or any of those pillocks in the village either.’
‘Who do you mean, sir?’ asked Villiers politely.
‘Any of them. They’re all cut from the same cloth. If my dad was still alive, he wouldn’t have taken any nonsense. But Mum is on her own, and she can’t cope with it all.’
‘The Barrons?’
‘Well, that Jake Barron is a real piece of work. Mind you, I could say the same about a lot of people in Riddings – look at the teacher who beat up one of his own pupils, the gangster from Moorside House who drives round in the BMW, the dodgy East European businessman, the mad character at Riddings Lodge…’
‘What about the Hollands? Nothing against them?’
‘Pussies.’
‘What?’
‘They let themselves be intimidated. I wouldn’t allow that to happen to Mum. If one of them tried to bully her with their fancy lawyers, they’d have me to deal with.’
‘You know it’s never wise to take the law into your own hands, don’t you?’ said Cooper.
‘Oh, yeah. Like the law is doing such a great job of protecting people round here.’
‘Was there some kind of legal dispute?’ asked Villiers.
‘It’s nothing to do with my mum. And I’m not having you asking her questions. If you want to know about it, ask Jake Barron – or that Nowak person.’
Slattery slammed the door. Cooper and Villiers looked at each other.
‘Well, that told us,’ said Villiers.
‘It told us something,’ said Cooper.
Gavin Murfin and Becky Hurst were on The Green, comparing notes at the horse trough. It had become an unofficial meeting place in the village, given that there was no pub or shop, or any other facilities at all, apart from the phone box a few yards down the hill.
‘Gavin. How is it going?’
‘Deadly,’ said Murfin.
‘Have you both met Carol?’
‘Yes, at the office. Good to have you on board,’ said Hurst.
‘Thank you.’
‘So what have we got?’ asked Cooper. ‘Anything or nothing? Tell me we have something, please.’
‘I spoke to some walkers,’ said Hurst. ‘They’re regulars in this area, often go up on the edge in the evening and come down when it starts getting dark.’
‘They were up there on Tuesday night?’
‘Yes. And they walked back down through the village, so they passed the corner of Curbar Lane. I asked them if they saw anyone around.’
‘And?’
‘All they can remember was seeing someone in the phone box on The Green, making a call. It was about the right time.’
‘That doesn’t help very much. Did they see who it was? Any description?’
‘No, he had his back to them. Making a call, like I said.’
‘A man, then.’
‘Probably.’
