Scared to Live by Stephen Booth Page B

towards Chesterfield Road, Cooper considered phoning Diane Fry to let her know where he was heading. But if she hadn't heard about the Foxlow incident already, she'd find out soon enough. But, wait. . . a triple death, she'd said, in a house fire. If that turned out to be malicious intent, E Division would have its work cut out. Caseloads were always a headache when a major enquiry cropped up. There were only eighteen DCs on the division, most of them scattered across the sections. Every officer in Derbyshire Constabulary had an average of three crimes on his desk at any one time - well, except in Glossop section, where they claimed to have five. But then, Glossop always had been a world of its own. Oh well, it looked as though his social life might be put on hold again. And just when it was getting more interesting. He crossed the bridge over the River Eden and hit the A623 into Calver. To the west, beyond Abney Moor, was his old
    home, Bridge End Farm. The town of Bakewell was a little further on, and then it was a straight run down the A6 to Matlock. This was one of his favourite parts of the Peak District, because it seemed to have the best of both worlds. The high gritstone edges rose to the east - Curbar Edge and Baslow Edge. Dark, bare and ancient. But down here in the valleys, the dense woodland gave the landscape an entirely different character. At this time of year, he could start to think of it as his own world again, almost free of tourists, settling under its blanket of fallen leaves. And beneath the trees, among the fields and the drystone walls, were the small farms. Each one, like Bridge End, trying to face up to its future.
    Finally, he reached Foxlow. It was one of those villages that looked as though nothing ever happened, but where the worst things often did. Not much traffic during the day, and no one out on the street. The residents were all at work, or in their gardens, or shut away in their front rooms, wondering what all the activity was outside. The scene at Bain House was already swarming with personnel and vehicles. When Cooper reported to the RV point, he was amazed to see officers from the Firearms Support Unit patrolling the outer cordon with their automatic weapons cradled across their bullet-proof vests. That could only mean one thing. His DI, Paul Hitchens, was coming across the garden with the crime-scene manager, Wayne Abbott. Hitchens was dressed in a dark suit and tie, keeping up his image as one of the smartest detectives in E Division. Abbott was wearing his pale blue crime scene coverall, and neither the colour nor the shapeless outfit suited his muscular build and stubbled jaw. Waiting patiently for them at the incident control unit was the divisional head of CID, Detective Chief Inspector Oliver
    Kessen. Until potential forensic evidence had been preserved and recorded, the scene was Wayne Abbott's domain, and crime-scene managers were jealous gods. Everyone had to wait for his permission to enter. It was somehow reassuring to see Kessen at a crime scene, though it indicated the seriousness of the incident. Although he wasn't a big man, the DCI had the ability to become a focal point for activity wherever he happened to be. He was the still centre at the heart of events that might otherwise descend into chaos. Today he looked as calm as ever, using his mobile phone to deal with some administrative problem at the office as he waited for Hitchens and Abbott to reach him. Cooper admired that. Better to be calm and unhurried than to rush around doing all the wrong things in the early stages. It was the way he'd like to be himself, if he ever made it to a senior level. But he wasn't sure he had the right temperament. Maybe that was why he was still a DC. He joined the fringes of the group, hoping for more information. The details he had so far were scanty. A woman found dead in her home, possible signs of an intruder. The DCI took his time ending his call. 'Definitely a shooting?' he said