Age settlements on the moor above the edge made these cottages on The Green look almost futuristic.
To reach number four Chapel Close, Cooper had to park on The Green, leaving the Toyota angled awkwardly on the verge, right up against the steel posts that prevented him getting any further off the road. He supposed there would be complaints, but in Riddings it couldn’t be helped.
At least Barry Gamble was home now. He looked innocently surprised when he was asked where he’d been, as if he had no idea that anyone would want to speak to him again. He’d done his bit, and that was it. Cooper was amazed how often he had to disillusion people in these circumstances. Surely everyone must know by now that it wasn’t so simple?
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Gamble. There will probably be a lot more questions.’
‘Well, I suppose I’m an important witness.’
‘Absolutely.’
Gamble had bushy eyebrows that made him look as though he was permanently peering through a hedge. He wore a cowboy hat pulled too low, making his ears stick out, and he carried a stout walking stick, though Cooper could see no sign of a limp. When Gamble turned to lead him into the house, Cooper saw tufts of hair sprouting from his ears to match his eyebrows. The crown of the cowboy hat was circled by wooden beads.
‘The Barrons,’ said Gamble. ‘You’ll want to know everything I can tell you about the Barrons.’
‘Well, you and …’
He indicated Mrs Gamble, who sat in a corner of their little sitting room; so far she had hardly said a word. But her husband didn’t even notice the interruption.
‘The Barrons. They’re not really local people,’ he said. ‘I don’t just mean that they aren’t from this area – hardly anyone in Riddings is. But they don’t support local businesses either. They bring everything in from outside. I don’t think that’s right, do you? We should support the place we live in. But they do their weekly shop at the big Waitrose store in Sheffield, rather than using the Co-op in Bakewell or somewhere more local. Sometimes she goes shopping at nearly nine o’clock at night even.’
Cooper remembered the bottle of wine Zoe Barron had been carrying when she was attacked. He wasn’t sure she would have bought that at Waitrose.
‘She did,’ he said. ‘She won’t be doing it any more.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry and all that.’
Mrs Gamble sat listening quietly to her husband. She was a worn-looking woman with a mouth that turned down at the corners, taking all the warmth out of her smile and replacing it with a shadow of bitterness. She looked at Cooper with sad eyes, like an abandoned dog in an animal sanctuary hoping that someone would take her to a new home.
Gamble didn’t remain chastened for more than a few seconds. He jumped up and stared through the front window as a car passed slowly along the street towards the Methodist chapel. He grunted as if confirming some suspicion to himself.
‘Caretaker at the chapel.’
‘The Barrons, sir?’ said Cooper, beginning to get irritated.
‘Oh, yes. I talked to some of the builders working on their extension,’ said Gamble. ‘Just passing the time, you know. They said the Barrons were really fussy, wanted everything just so. They imported all kinds of fancy things, and still they were constantly complaining.’
He shook his head sadly, as if despairing at the ways of the world.
‘You’ve been inside the house, I suppose?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you seen their furnishings? Italian. It’s all Italian. They had a man over from Rome. Guido, he was called.’
‘You even interrogated the Italian designer?’
‘Interrogated? What do you mean? That’s your job.’
‘So what would you call it?’
‘I just talk to people. I call it making conversation.’
‘So do people know each other well in Riddings?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s not a village in the way I used to think of it,’ said Gamble. ‘I grew up in Bradwell, just
To reach number four Chapel Close, Cooper had to park on The Green, leaving the Toyota angled awkwardly on the verge, right up against the steel posts that prevented him getting any further off the road. He supposed there would be complaints, but in Riddings it couldn’t be helped.
At least Barry Gamble was home now. He looked innocently surprised when he was asked where he’d been, as if he had no idea that anyone would want to speak to him again. He’d done his bit, and that was it. Cooper was amazed how often he had to disillusion people in these circumstances. Surely everyone must know by now that it wasn’t so simple?
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Gamble. There will probably be a lot more questions.’
‘Well, I suppose I’m an important witness.’
‘Absolutely.’
Gamble had bushy eyebrows that made him look as though he was permanently peering through a hedge. He wore a cowboy hat pulled too low, making his ears stick out, and he carried a stout walking stick, though Cooper could see no sign of a limp. When Gamble turned to lead him into the house, Cooper saw tufts of hair sprouting from his ears to match his eyebrows. The crown of the cowboy hat was circled by wooden beads.
‘The Barrons,’ said Gamble. ‘You’ll want to know everything I can tell you about the Barrons.’
‘Well, you and …’
He indicated Mrs Gamble, who sat in a corner of their little sitting room; so far she had hardly said a word. But her husband didn’t even notice the interruption.
‘The Barrons. They’re not really local people,’ he said. ‘I don’t just mean that they aren’t from this area – hardly anyone in Riddings is. But they don’t support local businesses either. They bring everything in from outside. I don’t think that’s right, do you? We should support the place we live in. But they do their weekly shop at the big Waitrose store in Sheffield, rather than using the Co-op in Bakewell or somewhere more local. Sometimes she goes shopping at nearly nine o’clock at night even.’
Cooper remembered the bottle of wine Zoe Barron had been carrying when she was attacked. He wasn’t sure she would have bought that at Waitrose.
‘She did,’ he said. ‘She won’t be doing it any more.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry and all that.’
Mrs Gamble sat listening quietly to her husband. She was a worn-looking woman with a mouth that turned down at the corners, taking all the warmth out of her smile and replacing it with a shadow of bitterness. She looked at Cooper with sad eyes, like an abandoned dog in an animal sanctuary hoping that someone would take her to a new home.
Gamble didn’t remain chastened for more than a few seconds. He jumped up and stared through the front window as a car passed slowly along the street towards the Methodist chapel. He grunted as if confirming some suspicion to himself.
‘Caretaker at the chapel.’
‘The Barrons, sir?’ said Cooper, beginning to get irritated.
‘Oh, yes. I talked to some of the builders working on their extension,’ said Gamble. ‘Just passing the time, you know. They said the Barrons were really fussy, wanted everything just so. They imported all kinds of fancy things, and still they were constantly complaining.’
He shook his head sadly, as if despairing at the ways of the world.
‘You’ve been inside the house, I suppose?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you seen their furnishings? Italian. It’s all Italian. They had a man over from Rome. Guido, he was called.’
‘You even interrogated the Italian designer?’
‘Interrogated? What do you mean? That’s your job.’
‘So what would you call it?’
‘I just talk to people. I call it making conversation.’
‘So do people know each other well in Riddings?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s not a village in the way I used to think of it,’ said Gamble. ‘I grew up in Bradwell, just
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