up the road.’
‘Well, take a look for yourself.’
Each property in the area was screened by high hedges or thick banks of conifers, with long drives and gates to separate them from the road. A desire for privacy was a double-edged sword. In other villages, where smaller cottages clustered together, no strangers could have got too close without the neighbours seeing them. Here, some of these homes were as isolated from prying eyes as if they stood alone on the remotest plateau of Kinder Scout. More so, actually, when you considered the number of walkers scattered across open-access land.
‘You’re right,’ said Branagh. ‘There must be houses nearby, but we can’t see them from here.’
‘Yes, they chose their target well.’
‘And that’s good news, in a way. It suggests they must have checked out the location in advance. Someone will have seen them.’
‘Maybe.’
Branagh was trying to strike a note of confidence, but Hitchens sounded unconvinced. No one was mentioning the word ‘Savages’ now. Everyone knew the superintendent wouldn’t like it. She loathed the media. More than one officer had felt the strength of her disapproval after quoting something from the press. Besides, it hardly seemed necessary. Standing in this house, and with all the incidents that had happened in the last few weeks, the conclusion seemed obvious.
‘We keep an open mind,’ said Branagh. ‘Until the evidence points one way or the other.’
Everyone nodded. But everyone had their own ideas.
Hitchens nudged Cooper.
‘Take a look round outside, Ben. See if you can get any ideas about their approach.’
‘Okay.’
‘Then we need to start talking to the neighbours. Can you get your team organised on that as soon as?’
‘We’re a bit thin on the ground, sir.’
‘You’ll get more help. I’ve got at least one more pair of hands on the way for you.’
Cooper went back out and walked around the house. Roof trusses and window frames were stacked against a wall, presumably ready to go in the extension he could see was being built at the back. He nudged one of the timbers. They were heavy, too heavy for one person to move on their own.
The parking area provided access to a garage block big enough for four cars at least. To the rear, a terrace led via a decked walkway to a large balcony with wrought-iron railings. Doorways led out of the house on to the balcony from the kitchen and a games room.
It was a breathtaking position, with spectacular south-facing views across to Stoke Woods and down the Derwent Valley as far as Chatsworth.
Across a lower deck he found himself looking into a pool room and gym. The garden sloped away to a weeping willow on the boundary. Near a dense coppice of beech trees he could see a greenhouse, a polytunnel, a pergola. Among the beeches he thought he could make out a large tree house.
He was about to start making more phone calls when he saw with relief that his team were starting to arrive. Divisional CID would have an important part to play here. He aimed to make sure of that.
Detective Constable Gavin Murfin was the first to plod his way up the drive, chewing ruminatively on a soft mint and wiping sweat from his forehead.
‘Nice gaff,’ he said. ‘They tell me it costs a fortune to buy a place like this. I might move here when I retire.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, and I’ll start breeding flying pigs.’
Of course, there were bigger and better houses than these in Derbyshire. Properties with more bedrooms, higher-specification kitchens, larger grounds and longer swimming pools. But here, location was the factor that raised the price so high. Location, location, location. The estate agent’s mantra was accurate. People were willing to pay big money for a view like this. It was why those who’d grown up here found it so difficult to afford properties in the Peak District.
Murfin peered through the French windows into the lounge.
‘Look at this furniture. I bet they didn’t buy this on eBay.’
Cooper wondered what had been stolen in the break-in. It was too early to know, even if there was anyone here who could tell them. There were no obvious signs. He’d noticed a retro-style DAB radio standing on a kitchen work surface, and an iPad lying on the table. Easy pickings for a burglar. Who could have failed to snatch up the iPad? Unless they were panicked by the violent confrontation with the householder and fled empty-handed. Or maybe they were looking for something specific. A safe, perhaps, where the Barrons kept their most valuable possessions.
The house itself was nothing special, as far as Cooper could see. Not architecturally, anyway. It had been added to many times over the years, and had lost any character it might have possessed when it was built. Most of it was stone, but it failed even to blend in with its surroundings. The size was impressive, though. It seemed to go forever, stepping down on to a lower level and constantly revealing another extension. Guest bedrooms, a gym, a sauna. It seemed to have everything.
‘I wonder what the mortgage is like,’ he said. ‘It makes me shudder just to think about it.’
Murfin grunted. ‘Don’t talk to me about mortgages. I’ve got one as big as a planet. As big as Alpha Centauri. We went for a fixed rate just at the wrong time, like. Typical.’
‘Alpha Centauri?’
‘My lad’s getting keen on astronomy.’
‘Your son is doing wonders for your education, Gavin.’
‘I have to help with his homework. Just one of my many jobs.’
‘Speaking of which…’
‘Yeah, I know. Start knocking on doors. Just call me the tally man.’
‘I’m not sure how many adjoining properties we’ll have.’
‘I can tell you,’ said Murfin.
‘Really?’
‘Did you think I’d been wasting my time until I got here? Oh ye of little faith.’
‘So you didn’t have time to call at that baker’s in Hollowgate?’
‘I was a model of restraint. No, I’ve rounded up information on the immediate neighbours. Modern technology is wonderful. Saves me a bit of leg work, anyway.’
Who did they have to start with? The Barrons’ house was called Valley View for good reason. This whole section of Curbar Lane enjoyed views down into the valley of the Derwent. Along the lane Cooper had noticed a sign for Fourways, and he could just see the roof of another property beyond the trees.
‘Yes, Fourways is the nearest,’ said Murfin, consulting his notebook. ‘The people there are called Holland. On the other side we need to talk to a Mr Kaye at Moorside House, and Mr Edson at Riddings Lodge. Across the way are Mr and Mrs Chadwick. Their house is called The Cottage. Irony, I suppose. There are also two properties backing on to this one from The Hill. A Mrs Slattery at South Croft, and a family name of Nowak at Lane End.’
‘Nowak?’
‘That’s what it says here.’
‘Well, when Luke and Becky arrive, we can divide them between us.’
‘Looks like the lass is here now,’ said Murfin.
DC Becky Hurst was just passing through the cordon, ducking to get under the tape. She was sensibly dressed in jeans and sweater, as if she’d known when she got up this morning that she was scheduled for a day in the country. Her hair was very short and a colour that Cooper would probably call coppery red. He was fairly sure it wasn’t the same colour she’d had last week.
Hurst walked briskly up the drive with that businesslike air with which she approached every job, clutching her notebook and phone in her hand, her expression alert and eager. When she and Gavin Murfin were working together, they often looked like a young Border Collie shepherding an aged ram. Sometimes Cooper felt like calling ‘Come bye’ to get her to steer him into the right pen.
‘Morning, boss,’ she said brightly. ‘Has Gavin given you the information I pulled out on the neighbours?’
Murfin coughed quietly, as if a piece of mint had gone down the wrong way.
