‘Charlie. You must have met him.’
‘I’m sure I did. I just can’t quite…’
‘He only joined the band for the beer,’ said Villiers.
At the other end of the tent, Cooper stopped to look at the winner in the photographic competition, a stunning close-up shot of frost on a barbed-wire fence. The photographer had caught the spikes of the frost mirroring the angle of the steel barbs. The clarity of the detail was amazing. Every facet of the ice crystals shone out of the picture.
Next to it on the table were entries in another photographic class – local scenes. Each entry was labelled with the name and village of the photographer, and one sprang out at him immediately. B. Gamble, Riddings. Of course. A keen amateur snapper like our Barry wouldn’t have been able to resist showing off his talents in the local show.
Mr Gamble hadn’t won a prize, though. Not even highly commended. His entry showed a corner of Riddings that Cooper wasn’t familiar with. An ancient building with a corrugated-iron roof, moss growing on the stone walls, a door half covered in peeling green paint. No windows visible, so it was probably an old farm building. A lot older than most of the properties in Riddings. Perhaps it was a remnant of an agricultural holding that had stood in the village before the big houses were built.
Cooper guessed that Gamble had been going for an artistic statement about decay and abandonment. The building had reached a fairly picturesque stage of dilapidation. The weeds in front of it were dense and impenetrable. A bird had built its nest on top of a broken downspout. But he could also see why the photograph hadn’t received even a commendation from the judge. The composition was all wrong. The angle of the shot was awkward, and the building itself was off-centre, part of it concealed by an ugly tree stump that had got in the way, as if the photographer hadn’t noticed it. Cooper wasn’t an expert, but even he could see that the picture would have been improved immensely if Gamble had simply moved ten yards to the right and got a few steps closer to his subject.
‘Our Mr Gamble,’ said Villiers, looking over his shoulder. ‘Will he be here?’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t miss this.’
‘A chance to observe his neighbours out in the open.’
‘The same reason we’re here, in fact.’
Cooper looked around, searching for the familiar faces of Riddings residents. The relationships and hierarchies were difficult to assess without seeing people together. He had been speaking to them only on their own territory, where they could present themselves in their best light, give an account of their relations with their neighbours that they wanted him to believe, tell him any story without fear of contradiction.
Outside the tent, children were running around with giant inflatable hammers their parents had won at a hoopla stall. Cooper and Villiers passed a vicar with cropped grey hair and a goatee beard, wearing muddy black jeans. A visitor had noticed his dog collar and stopped him: We don’t see a clergyman around here very often. The vicar started to explain that he covered a huge area, stretching from Riddings and Curbar across a vast swathe of the Peak District to Great Longstone and Stoney Middleton. The sighting of a Church of England clergyman in an English village was becoming as rare as a working phone box.
The thought created a series of associations in Cooper’s mind. Erin Byrne had mentioned that the phone calls to the Eden Valley Times had been made from a public call box somewhere. And one of the walkers Gavin Murfin had spoken to had mentioned seeing someone in the phone box in the centre of Riddings on Tuesday night, making a call.
It was a bit of a stretch. But it was one possible link in a case where nothing seemed to be connecting.
Nearby, an old Lister engine chugged, whirred, and belched out fumes. He saw that there were tractors, too. Not doing anything, just standing in a couple of rows like exhibits in a museum. One of the owners was leaning against his old grey Ferguson. In other years, Matt might have been here with his own Fergie. But not any more.
The first people Cooper recognised at Riddings Show were the Chadwicks. They seemed to have made a beeline for the book stall and snapped up all the Bill Brysons. Mrs Chadwick wore a blue anorak, and red cargo pants that stopped halfway up her calves, with white trainers. Her husband was in a green Craghoppers cagoule and matching straw hat. They looked as though they’d made a great effort to be casual. But William Chadwick wore a slightly hunted look, his eyes darting from side to side as he passed through the crowd, perhaps fearing to encounter a pupil or a member of staff from his school.
‘Mr and Mrs Chadwick,’ said Cooper.
They stopped, surprised. Mrs Chadwick almost dropped her books into the grass, but recovered her poise.
‘Oh. It’s…’
‘Detective Sergeant Cooper. This is my colleague, DC Villiers.’
Mr Chadwick remained frozen, words failing him for a moment, anxiety filling his eyes. A trickle of perspiration ran down his temple.
‘I’m really sorry to bother you,’ said Cooper. ‘I realise this is a social occasion. But there was something I wanted to ask you.’
‘Well… go ahead.’
‘Did you ever have any disputes with your closest neighbours in Riddings?’
‘Neighbours?’
‘Well, you live adjacent to the Hollands at Fourways, the Barrons at Valley View. Perhaps Mr Kaye at Moorside House?’
The Chadwicks looked at each other, but actually seemed relieved at the question.
‘There was an incident with Jake Barron a while ago,’ admitted Mrs Chadwick.
‘It was silly really,’ said her husband. ‘It was at a time when I was feeling particularly stressed. Because of, you know…’
‘The incident,’ said his wife. ‘It was a very difficult period, in both our lives.’
‘I understand.’
‘Anyway, the Barrons had a dog then.’
‘Did they?’
‘Yes, a Dobermann. They always had it out on the drive in a fancy collar, running about behind the gates. It used to bark incessantly.’
‘The Barrons told us once that Dobermanns are emotionally sensitive,’ said Mrs Chadwick. ‘And if they’re upset about anything, they bark. They claimed it was part of the animal’s duty as a guard dog. We politely suggested they might take the trouble to train it properly, but they took no notice, of course.’
Chadwick nodded. ‘Then one afternoon I couldn’t stand it any longer. It was going on for hour after hour, day after day. It was intolerable. We shouldn’t have to put up with that, should we? So when I saw him coming by in his car, I stopped him.’
‘What did he say when you confronted him?’
‘He became very aggressive. Started shouting and swearing at me. Threatening retaliation, just because I had the nerve to complain. Yes, he soon showed his true colours. The man turned into a foul-mouthed thug in front of my eyes. I’ve got to tell you, having them as neighbours has been like living next door to a family of yobs on a council estate.’
‘Yet they‘ve always thought they were so superior,’ added Mrs Chadwick. ‘It makes me sick.’
‘But the dog isn’t there now, at Valley View,’ said Cooper. ‘There was no sign of a Dobermann, or any other breed.’
‘No. It went, about a month ago.’
The Chadwicks looked at each other again. There were moments when Cooper wished he had the power to read minds. He would really love to know what this couple were thinking right now.
‘We heard it got sick and died,’ said Mrs Chadwick finally. ‘Sad for the animal, of course. But still…’
They were silent for a few moments, gazing at Cooper and Villiers as if they expected to be challenged.
‘I suppose you think we shouldn’t talk about the Barrons like this,’ said Mrs Chadwick. ‘In view of what happened, I mean.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Cooper. ‘We much prefer it if people tell us the truth, instead of holding information
