Where were the packhorse trains heading when they went over the edge and crossed the moor? Towards Chesterfield. And, of course, to Sheffield. They carried grindstones for the city’s steel and cutlery manufacturers.
Tonight, mist hung in the valley bottom, masking the lights of the villages. As with any of these edges, the best light was in the evening, as the sun started to descend in the west and bathe the stones with warm light. Cooper liked to wait to see the afterglow, then walk back to experience the moors in the dark. There was nothing like starlight and moonlight, and there was plenty of it up here on the edge. As long as you tried to ignore the orange glow from Sheffield in the east.
On the slopes below the edge, the houses of Riddings and its neighbouring villages were taking on their own distinct shapes in the dusk. Tonight they looked like frightened creatures crouching in the hollows of the hillside, an occasional light winking on and off as if a cautious eye was opened to check for danger.
Cooper pictured the inhabitants huddled inside their homes. For some reason, the image in his mind resembled an illustration he’d seen once in a children’s history book – a primitive tribe of Homo sapiens crouching in their caves around smoking fires, their shadows thrown on to rock walls decorated with drawings of wild animals.
It must be so difficult, sitting in your home, or lying in your bed at night, knowing you were a potential victim. How did you run your life with the knowledge of lethal danger lurking outside the door? You huddled together in that primeval instinct for safety. It was the same fear that cavemen must have felt, listening to wild beasts crashing through the forest at night, picturing in their minds those unseen terrors in the darkness beyond the cave. A completely primitive dread.
There was one thing Cooper did know – the Savages didn’t belong in a village like Riddings. They belonged up here, on the moor. They were, after all, wild beasts who walked on two legs.
‘Carol,’ he said, ‘have they shown you how to access the PNC and use the intelligence system?’
She looked at him in surprise, her mind no doubt following a completely different train of thought.
‘Yes, I’m fully trained,’ she said. ‘I did all that in Ripley before I came up to E Division.’
‘I’ve got some jobs I’d like you to do in the morning, then.’
‘In the office?’
She sounded disappointed. Cooper sympathised, but it couldn’t be helped.
‘I’m afraid it’s where most of our work is done,’ he said.
‘Oh, I know.’
They were looking down on Riddings from the outcrop, poised in space, conscious of the empty air around them. It was the God position, everything below them laid out and visible. Cooper saw the headlights of a vehicle travelling along Curbar Lane, the beams sweeping across the trees and catching a reflection from the convex mirrors outside Valley View. He watched for the vehicle to reach the corner at The Green and turn up or down the hill. But the lights vanished before they reached that point. The driver must have stopped or pulled into one of the houses close to the junction. He wondered if that had happened on Tuesday night, too.
Tuesday. From their account of that night, William and Retty Chadwick had stood around here, watching for shooting stars as the Perseid meteor shower passed overhead. On the surface, it didn’t sound like much of an alibi. But how many other star-gazers were out on the edge that night? If it was a good night for viewing meteors, there were probably many people who’d driven out from Sheffield or Chesterfield to get away from the city lights and take advantage of the darker skies over the Peak District. Had that night been overcast, though? Or was it clear and cloudless, perfect for watching shooting stars?
So the Chadwicks had been standing here in the dark, looking upwards at the sky. But surely they must have looked down, too? They couldn’t have resisted this God-like sensation of being able to see everything from above, gazing down on their village and watching their neighbours coming and going.
Down there, the residents of Riddings would not have been able to see anything from behind their walls and hedges. The Chadwicks were the only people who might actually have witnessed what happened. Whether they realised it or not, their position had been unique.
Cooper wondered who else knew that the Chadwicks had been on the edge that night, watching the Perseids. That knowledge might be critical. Because if his theory was correct, it put the Chadwicks at risk of being the next victims.
Villiers shivered. ‘Is it me, or is it getting a bit cool now?’
‘Yes, the rocks lose their heat very quickly when it goes dark. And there’s always a cold wind up here. It’s a totally different place in the winter.’
‘I can imagine. Not the most hospitable landscape in the cold and rain, I guess.’
For a moment, Cooper took one last look at the rooftops of Riddings, spread out below him. He was reminded of the case of a serial killer who had chosen his victims on the basis of where they lived. When he was caught, he’d told his interviewers that the shape of a house roof told him something about the people living there. Told him whether it was their turn to die, he supposed.
Cooper was just thinking it was time to go home, when the ear-splitting screech of a burglar alarm shattered the silence.
13
Today there had been a cool atmosphere in the conference room at Nottinghamshire Police headquarters. Fry had noticed that the facilitator’s expression was stony as they arrived. They were even made to turn off their mobile phones before the session started. Somebody had been naughty in class. But who?
During the coffee break, word went round. It turned out that the youth from the IT department had been using Twitter on his iPhone during yesterday’s session, sending out disparaging tweets about the working group at regular intervals. Everyone knew the hierarchy didn’t like communication with the public. Look at all those police officers with anonymous blogs who’d been tracked down and eliminated. Deblogged, anyway. Too much honesty was contrary to official policy. Even civilians couldn’t get away with it.
Fry looked at the IT guy with new respect. She was starting to feel warmer towards her colleagues.
It might have been that feeling that made her accept the invitation from Mick or Rick, the Leicestershire inspector who sat next to her in the session. Lunch with him yesterday had been pleasant enough, a relief from the tedium of the conference room. Besides, anything seemed preferable now to the drive back over to Edendale and her empty flat.
‘We can’t risk lunch again today,’ he’d said. ‘But how about when we finish the session tonight? When they give us our freedom back.’
She’d nodded without much thought of the consequences.
‘Okay.’
Fry knew she mustn’t drink and drive, so only one glass of wine would be acceptable. God forbid that she should get breathalysed by her colleagues on her way back to Derbyshire.
When they got to the pub, it was her turn to buy the drinks.
‘There you go, Mick,’ she said.
‘Rick,’ he said. ‘My name’s Rick.’
‘Oh, right. Rick…?’
‘Shepherd. I’m stationed in Leicester.’
‘Of course. I remember.’
He smiled, apparently unaffected by her lapse. Fry wondered if she could say anything she liked to him and he would just keep on smiling. He looked to be that sort of man.
‘So, tell me about yourself,’ he said.
‘What’s to tell? Right now, I’m based in Derbyshire E Division. Edendale.’
‘In the middle of the Peak District.’
‘You know it?’ said Fry in surprise. In her head, Edendale was such a backwater that she didn’t expect anyone outside Derbyshire to have heard of it.