Scared to Live

‘We keep an eye on the security of property, we don’t spy on our neighbours.’

Fry could see a woman doing something in the garden. ‘Is that your wife? Could I ask her?’

‘If you like.’

Sliding doors stood open to the garden, because it was still warm enough for that, even in late October. At least it was preferable to the Lowthers’ overheated conservatory.

April Ridgeway was wearing the cashmere, with a waxed body warmer and gardening gloves. When asked, she gave a similar story to her husband’s. She had never spoken to the occupant of Bain House. There might have been some talk about Miss Shepherd in the village, but she made a point of not listening to gossip.

‘Have long have you lived in Foxlow?’

‘Nine months.’

‘So Miss Shepherd was already living at Bain House when you moved in.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You’re interested in wildlife, Mrs Ridgeway?’ asked Fry, watching her tighten some wire netting on a bird table.

‘Very much so. We both are, aren’t we, Martin?’

‘It’s one of the reasons we came to live here, in the national park,’ agreed her husband. He stood back from the bird table and inspected his wife’s handiwork.

‘That netting is to stop the grey squirrels,’ he said.

Fry frowned, struggling to understand why wildlife enthusiasts would put food out in their garden and then try to stop wild animals eating it. But during her time in Derbyshire, she’d learned that there were things about the country she would never understand.

‘Our only regret was that we couldn’t go somewhere that still has red squirrels. We’re members of a conservation society that supports work to protect them. Reds have been wiped out in Derbyshire, you know. In fact, the whole of the Midlands.’

Fry didn’t know, and didn’t really care. Perhaps she should have sent Ben Cooper here and taken the neighbours on the other side of Bain House instead.

‘You know, it was once possible for a red squirrel to cross from one side of Britain to the other without touching the ground,’ said Ridgeway, taking advantage of her silence. ‘That was when we had the true wild wood, the ancient pine forests that had grown here since the Ice Age. But those trees died, or were cut down. And then the grey squirrels came.’

‘If you have an interest in wildlife, I wonder if you’ve been aware of anybody lamping in this area?’ asked Fry.

‘Lamping?’

‘You know what that is, sir?’

‘Oh, we know what that is, all right. If we knew about anything like that going on around here, we’d report it straightaway. But what has that got to do with this suspicious death you’re investigating? Was the lady killed by poachers?’

‘I’m afraid we just don’t know.’

He took her ignorance as confirmation of his own fears. ‘That’s another problem our native wildlife is facing, you know. Animals are the first victims when society starts to fall apart. Look at all those stories of illegal immigrants stealing swans and butchering sheep in the fields.’

‘You read the Daily Mail, then?’ said Fry impatiently.

‘You’re not from this area yourself, by the sound of your accent.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘A city person? Birmingham, at a guess?’

‘Very close.’

‘Ah, I can understand why you came here, then. Seeking to get back to the real England, like we did.’

‘No, not at all.’

‘I know it’s not politically correct to say it, but many of your colleagues agree with our views.’

‘Not me.’

Ridgeway smiled and gestured at the bird table. ‘We sometimes think of grey squirrels as the immigrants of the animal world. They’re nothing but vermin, after all – rats with furry tails.’

Fry felt the anger rising, but she’d promised herself she was going to be more tolerant of people she had to deal with. Even those who infuriated her as much as Martin Ridgeway.

She consulted her notebook, partly to cover her irritation, and partly to remind herself of the questions she would otherwise fail to ask.

‘Have either of you noticed a blue Vauxhall Astra in the village recently? No? A vehicle of any kind acting suspiciously?’

‘No.’

‘Any vehicles at all visiting Bain House?’

‘We can’t see the entrance to Bain House from here, so we wouldn’t know.’

‘And did you hear anything unusual on Saturday night, or in the early hours of Sunday morning?’

‘Our double glazing is very good. We don’t hear much noise at night.’

‘One final question, sir – do you possess a firearm of any description?’

Ridgeway hesitated. ‘I do have an air rifle.’

‘Oh? What power?’

‘No more than twelve foot pounds, so I don’t need a licence for it. I’m a law-abiding citizen, you see.’

‘What do you use an air rifle for? No, don’t tell me – let me guess. You use it for shooting squirrels.’

‘Also crows, rooks and magpies, which steal the eggs of song birds. They’re all classed as pests, so it’s lawful to shoot them on private property.’

‘I can understand that. But what’s the problem with squirrels?’

‘The invasion of grey squirrels has driven our native reds into remote sanctuaries, protected forests in Wales or Scotland. Now all they can do is cling on in dwindling numbers, powerless against an alien species.’ Ridgeway took a step towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Our kind of people are just like those red squirrels. We’re being driven out by the vermin.’

‘I think I’m finished here,’ said Fry.