‘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.’
Hitchens threw out his hands in a helpless gesture, suggesting that he was unable to explain it.
The briefing moved on.
‘There were white handprints found by scenes-of-crime on the rear wall. DS Cooper has suggested that these could be from rock climbers, who use chalk to improve their grip. There are many climbers who visit Riddings Edge. It could be a long job, but we’re going to try to establish which of them might have been in the area on Tuesday evening.’
Cooper could sense a few black looks coming his way at that. Whoever got the frustrating job of tracking down the climbers would not be thanking him for the suggestion
‘Others we haven’t identified include a person seen by walkers in the public phone box on The Green. At present, no clues to identity, though probably male.’
Finally Superintendent Branagh clapped her hands, like a primary school teacher organising her class.
‘We need to be able to eliminate some of these people from our inquiries,’ she said. ‘So let’s get on with it.’
‘I’m not sure whether that went well or not,’ said Villiers when they were back at their desks in the CID room. ‘Do you think you can get people here to come round to your opinion?’
‘Not in one meeting,’ said Cooper. ‘Not in a single day. Not even in a week.’
‘You need something more convincing, I guess.’
‘Yes. The trouble is, we can’t get a handle on the relationships between these people.’
‘These people? Oh, you don’t mean your colleagues now. You mean the inhabitants of Riddings.’
‘There’s Riddings Show on Saturday. They’re all going to be there. If Mrs Holland is right, that’s probably the one occasion in the whole year when we might get an opportunity to see them together.’
‘A chance to assess the strength of the enemy.’
Irvine signalled Cooper urgently.
‘We’ve got the CCTV footage from the Barrons,’ he said. ‘They have a camera pointing at the gates, and one at the garage.’
‘Okay, let’s run it.’
‘This is the first one, from around the right time, just before the attack. There’s nothing happening, though. The gates are closed. Not even any cars passing on Curbar Lane.’
‘Wait a minute. Did you see that?’
‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘A movement.’
‘At the gate?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Cooper stopped the recording, and ran it back a few seconds. There was still no one visible at the gate. But he was looking at the convex mirror on the gatepost. He ran the tape forward again, watching closely. Now he was sure of the movement. He zoomed in towards the gate. What was that reflected in the mirror? He squinted, tilted his head on one side, then sent the image to print, in case it was clearer on a hard copy. It might be his imagination, but he felt sure he was looking at the reflection of a human figure, twisted out of shape by the distorting effect of the mirror. One side of the body looked normal, but the other side was swollen and out of proportion where it was caught in the centre of the reflection. They were like the halves of two different people. Or
