Evil Valley by Simon Hall Read Free Book Online Page B

of roses in the garden was tidily clipped, the lawn even and smooth.
    Inside was similarly ordered, a little beige carpeted hallway with a couple of photos of a young woman, a small lounge with a comfortable-looking burgundy three-seater sofa and matching armchair, a standard lamp to the side. Both faced onto a wide screen television with satellite system. A magazine on the square wooden coffee table was open on the week’s football fixtures, a couple of games circled in black ink.
    In the dining room was a small wooden table with two chairs pushed tidily underneath. A blue glass bowl sat in its middle. In the corner of the room was a computer, its hard drive now removed for further investigations. The kitchen and bathroom were part of an extension and unremarkable. She studied the notes on the front of the fridge. A dentist’s appointment, a car service reminder, a postcard from Spain.
    ‘Weather fine, hotel good, beach excellent. Having a great time. Wish you were here, Bill and Carol.’
    Nothing of interest. She wondered how long it would be in this increasingly lazy society before postcards came ready written with such standard greetings, just a quick signature required. That was if email, and text- and photo-messaging didn’t render them entirely redundant.
    Upstairs, both bedrooms were tidy, the beds neatly made, both with matching duvets and pillowcases. She only knew Crouch slept in the back one from the radio on a bedside table, its glowing red digits measuring the passing time precisely. There were net curtains in both bedroom windows. She ran a finger along one of them. It was surprisingly clean for a man who lived on his own. But, come to that, there wasn’t a hint of dust anywhere in the house. Either Crouch had a very efficient cleaner or he was unusually house-proud.
    She sat down on the stairs, halfway up, just as she used to as a child at home, closed her eyes, tried to think. There was nothing in this house to indicate even that Martin Crouch was a police marksman, let alone that he might have been rather too interested in guns. And nothing whatsoever to suggest he could have planned to kill someone in the course of his job. They’d been searching the house all morning and found nothing.
    She shuffled up against the immaculately painted white banister to let one of the search team pass. Crouch himself was still back at Charles Cross police station. Not under arrest, they had no evidence to justify that. He was there helping voluntarily with inquiries, that was the official line. He’d given them a key to the house, just routine they’d said. But he knew he was under suspicion. Of course he did. They hadn’t gone through it with him yet, wanted to get a clear picture of what had happened last night before they put it all to him. That would be for tomorrow.
    She looked out of the window above the stairs. It wasn’t a bad view from here. You could see Dartmoor off to the north, even as far as North Hessary Tor, the hill with its great transmitter mast. Dan had told her it was put up to bring TV pictures to Plymouth and the surrounding area, despite the arguments that it would mar Dartmoor’s natural beauty. For a society so addicted to television, it was an easy debate to win.
    They were due to go for a walk on the moor at the weekend, her, Dan and Rutherford. Some decent time together was long overdue. Even now, a year and more on, they hadn’t really had enough of a chance to work out whether their relationship had a future. They got on well, had fun, enjoyed each other’s company, but … but what?
    The love word hadn’t been mentioned, had it? And the relationship had never really been tested, the strength of the bond between them. They’d have to talk about it. She wasn’t getting any younger, didn’t want to be wasting time in long drawn out dead-end flings any more. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to have kids, but if she did she didn’t want to be too old to enjoy them growing