Free The Devil's Edge by Stephen Booth Page B

know.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes, really.’
    Edson seemed to look at him properly for the first time, perhaps detecting something in his tone of voice.
    ‘I’m sorry, would you like a drink?’ he said. ‘My housekeeper will—’
    ‘No thank you, sir. I have some more visits to make.’
    Cooper could have drunk a coffee right now. But he would have been afraid to put his cup down on that glass table. It must take someone hours to polish it to such an immaculate shine, without a streak or a smear. Even with a coaster, the danger of spilling just a drop of liquid on the table was too great. It would be like splashing acid on the Mona Lisa and expecting da Vinci to paint it all over again tomorrow.
    ‘In that case, if I can’t help you any further …’
    ‘Do you have many staff at Riddings Lodge, sir?’
    ‘The housekeeper, Mrs Davis, and a girl who helps her in the kitchen. A couple of cleaners. And an odd-job man I get in to maintain the property – there’s quite a lot of work, as you can imagine. Why do you ask?’
    ‘We’ll need to speak to them too.’
    ‘I’ll make sure they’re available.’
    Cooper gazed out of the window of the lounge. He was looking at a vast expanse of garden, sloping lawns leading down to a pond so large that it might have been described as a lake. The monkey puzzle tree stood in a prominent position, dominating the foreground.
    ‘The tree is splendid,’ he said.
    ‘Do you like it?’ asked Edson. ‘There are male and female trees, I’m told. You need both sexes for the seeds to be fertile, but there isn’t another one of this species for miles.’
    Beyond the tree, a long bank of rhododendrons formed a backdrop and blocked out any sign of the neighbouring properties. To Cooper’s eye, the flower beds on either side looked regimented and weed-free.
    ‘Are you a keen gardener, sir?’ he said.
    ‘No, of course not,’ said Edson. ‘I get a man in to do that, too.’

6

    Gavin Murfin was humming to himself when Cooper met him on the corner of Curbar Lane and The Green. When he got closer, he recognised the tune. Neighbours. Everybody needs good neighbours.
    ‘You’re not going to sing, are you, Gavin?’ he said.
    ‘Not in this life.’
    ‘Thank heavens for that.’
    ‘Right,’ said Murfin, settling down on the horse trough with his notebook. ‘I thought you might like to share 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