The Moth Catcher (36 page)

‘That he might write something one day,’ O’Kane said. ‘That he had a brilliant story to tell. But that wasn’t why he’d come to Gilswick.’

‘Did he tell you what
had
brought him to the place?’ Vera found she was holding her breath.

‘Not really. He said he was doing his own kind of research.’

‘Did he mention Martin Benton?’

O’Kane shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘Can you tell us anything else at all about your conversation?’ Vera was losing hope that she’d gain anything useful from the man. She looked out of the window. There was still a fine rain blocking the view of the garden.

‘He said he was going to set some moth traps under the trees here. He invited me to come down one night and see what he’d caught. I said I’d like that. I wasn’t really bothered, but it sounded like a diversion. And he was so keen. It seemed a real passion. I could tell it would please him.’

Joe sat next to Vera in the kitchen at the Hall and watched her perform. This was a masterclass in witness interrogation. The individuals who’d seemed little more than puppets previously – the dutiful wife, the jolly husband, the dying artist, the grumpy academic – seemed to become real in front of his eyes. Her words blew life into them. He resented the skill, which seemed to come to Vera so easily.

When John O’Kane had left the room Vera sat back in her chair. ‘What did you make of that? Not just the professor, but the whole bunch.’

‘It makes the “retired hedonist” thing sound a bit hollow,’ Holly said. ‘A sham. They all seem pretty miserable.’

‘The effect of having three murders on your doorstep, do you think?’ Vera was bright-eyed. She knew she’d conducted the discussions brilliantly. ‘You can see that might be a bit of a downer.’

‘If anything, you get the sense that the killings just provided some relief from the boredom.’ Holly was looking down at her notes. ‘Janet O’Kane seemed genuinely upset, though.’

‘What have you got to contribute, Joe?’

He turned to his boss and his mind emptied, all rational thought flushed away. Sometimes Vera had that effect. He’d described the experience to Sal and she’d laughed. ‘Sounds like a kind of intellectual enema,’ she’d said. ‘Like colonic irrigation, only of the brain.’ Now the vacuum in Joe’s mind didn’t seem so funny.

‘They all had some contact with Jason Crow, even if it was only through his company,’ he mumbled at last. ‘Seems another weird kind of coincidence.’ He knew his offering was pathetic.

‘Aye, well, you know what I think about coincidence . . .’ Vera looked at her watch. ‘Where are Annie and Sam? And it’d be good to chat to the terrible Lizzie, if she’s there too. I’d like to meet her for myself. You did phone and ask them to get their arses down here?’

‘They were out,’ Joe said. ‘I left a message on their answerphone.’

‘Well, phone again. Let’s talk to them while I’m on a roll. And if there’s nobody there now, try their mobile number. With a fair wind, we could have this over by this time tomorrow.’ She shut her eyes. A fat, complacent Buddha, keeping her own counsel and her thoughts about the case to herself.

Joe went outside to ring the Redheads. He’d visited a demented elderly aunt in a care home once and the calls of the woodpigeons in the trees sounded like the moaning of old people there. Gentle and plaintive. He stood in the shelter of the house. Through the window he saw that Vera hadn’t moved. There was no reply from the Redheads’ house phone and so he tried Annie’s mobile. She answered immediately, obviously not recognizing his number. ‘Yes?’ The voice almost panicky.

He explained that the inspector would like to see them in the big house at their earliest convenience.

‘We’re in Newcastle for the day, Sergeant. I’m afraid we won’t be back until later this afternoon. That
is
alright? Nothing else has happened?’

‘No, nothing else.’ Because what more could he say? Vera might have demanded their presence, but he couldn’t insist that they return to Gilswick immediately just to suit her. Annie was about to end the call. ‘Perhaps we could talk to your daughter?’ he said. ‘Will she be at home?’

‘No.’ The answer came quickly. ‘She’s visiting friends in Kimmerston. And I don’t know how Lizzie can help you. She wasn’t even here when these dreadful things happened. I think you should leave her alone.’

They ended up in the pub for a late lunch. Joe thought there were other things they could be doing; it was ridiculous to be hanging round in the valley just to wait for Sam and Annie Redhead to return. Vera had gone gnomic on them. Turned in on herself. Uncommunicative. They sat in the corner of the lounge and he could tell she was earwigging the conversation in the bar. Percy Douglas was there with an elderly mate, talking about the good old days when the Carswell estate still sustained tenant farmers and there were decent EU headage payments for sheep. Holly was rereading the notes she’d made during the interviews. Joe felt excluded. If Holly hadn’t been there, Vera might have talked to him.

When they left The Lamb, Vera suddenly seemed to have a change of heart. ‘No point you two hanging around here, twiddling your thumbs. Get back to Kimmerston. Hol, get those notes in a form that we can present to this evening’s briefing. We’ve got a bit more background on them all now. Joe, have a little wander around Kimmerston. Places where young Lizzie might be hanging around with her friends. I want to talk to her, so give me a shout if she comes to light. And I’d really like to know if Jason Crow headed off to France to meet up with his family, as he told me he would, or if he’s still in town.’ Vera bundled them into the Land Rover and dropped them off at the big house to pick up Holly’s car. As they drove off, Joe saw the boss was still sitting there in the driver’s seat, her eyes closed once more.

From the station Joe phoned the offices of Kimmerston Building Services and asked to speak to Jason Crow. A middle-aged woman answered. ‘I’m afraid Mr Crow is in meetings all day. Can anyone else help?’

‘Will he be free tomorrow?’

A pause, the sound of pages being turned. An old-fashioned diary. ‘I’m not sure of Mr Crow’s movements for the rest of the week.’ So Crow hadn’t joined his family for a perfect holiday in the French countryside. Not yet at least. Joe thanked the woman and hung up.

He headed out into the town. He wasn’t sure where young people hung out in Kimmerston during the day. He tried the bus station first and tracked down the driver who’d driven from Gilswick that morning. It was the same man who’d carried Martin Benton to his death. Joe described Lizzie. ‘Pale. Red hair. Bonny.’

‘Aye, she was waiting at the first stop in Gilswick.’ He was outside in the designated smoking area, sucking on a tiny roll-up as if it would save his life.

‘Did she come all the way into town?’

‘Not quite. She got off two stops before the bus station. That posh estate on the hill. What’s it called? Something naff. Heather View.’ He threw the remains of his cigarette onto the floor and stamped on it. ‘They changed the whole route to take in the estate, but there aren’t many buggers from there who use public transport.’

‘Was anyone waiting for her?’ Because Jason Crow lived in one of the palaces on the edge of Heather View.

The driver shook his head.

‘Did you see which way she walked?’

‘Aye.’ A slow, conspiratorial smile. ‘She was worth watching. You know what I mean?’

‘And?’

‘She walked up the hill, away from the town.’

Joe phoned Vera and had the sense that he’d woken her up. He imagined her still in the Land Rover outside the Hall, rain from the overhanging trees rattling on the vehicle’s roof.

‘I think Lizzie’s at Jason Crow’s house. What do you want me to do?’

There was a silence. She was going through the options.

‘Go there. You’ve got a reasonable excuse. Ask him about his dealings with the Valley Farm folk. How he found them to work with. All useful stuff anyway.’

‘And if Lizzie’s there?’

Another long silence.

‘See if you can persuade her to come back to the valley with you. Offer her a lift. I’d rather know where she is.’

Joe remembered Lizzie as he’d met her in the prison. Amused and defiant. He thought it would be very hard to persuade her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He drove to Jason Crow’s house and sat outside for a moment, intimidated despite himself. The big house and the memory of Lizzie Redhead sapped his confidence. He got out and rang the doorbell. Crow appeared, looking older than the photos they had of him in the operations room, but still fit. He was barefoot, in jeans and a sweater. It didn’t look to Joe as if he’d been in meetings all day.

‘Is Lizzie Redhead here?’

‘Who wants to know?’ Crow was old enough to be Lizzie’s father, but there was the same arrogance, the same air of superiority.

Joe showed his warrant card.

‘Of course. I should have guessed. That jacket comes straight from central casting.’

‘Lizzie Redhead?’ Joe was wondering how he could get inside to have a look.

‘You just missed her,’ Crow said. ‘She left half an hour ago.’

‘What was she doing here?’

There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘I suppose,’ Crow said, ‘she came to make her peace.’

Joe didn’t ask what the man meant. He knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

Crow seemed to be losing patience. ‘She’s not here. I told you. Come in and check if you like. I don’t want my neighbours getting the wrong idea, seeing the filth on the doorstep.’

There was an expensive suitcase in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

‘I’m going to France to catch up with my family tomorrow. An early start, so I’m prepared.’ Then: ‘Help yourself, Sergeant. Go wherever you like. I’ll be in my office, if you need me.’ Crow seemed suddenly amused by Joe’s discomfort. The irritation had dissipated.

Joe started at the top of the house. He had no expectation of finding Lizzie now, but he wasn’t going to walk away without looking. He was curious too. He imagined going home and telling Sal about the grand bathroom in the master bedroom, the kids’ rooms, each with their own shower, the fitted furniture and the flat-screen TVs. He opened wardrobes and saw suits that must have cost more than he earned in a month. On the ground floor he looked in the utility room and found a door into the garage. Nothing. Crow’s office door was open. He was sitting at his desk, looking at a computer screen, the bare feet on a chair. Apparently relaxed.

‘Did Lizzie tell you where she was going?’ Joe asked.

‘Back home to the valley, I think. She said she had some shopping to do, then she’d catch the bus.’ Crow kept his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

‘You didn’t offer her a lift?’

‘I’m a busy man and she’s a grown woman. She could make her own way home.’

Joe wasn’t sure what else to ask. He felt stupid standing in the office doorway, an uninvited guest in the rich man’s house.

‘You can see yourself out, Sergeant.’ Crow didn’t turn round when Joe made his way to the front door.

Holly had never been a rule-breaker. At school she’d been close to the top of the class, but she hadn’t had the spark of genius or the willingness to take risks intellectually that might have set her apart. She’d won her place at university through dogged hard work and had joined the police force because she’d understood that those traits would be rewarded.

Vera had sent her back to Kimmerston to write up the notes from the day’s interviews for the evening briefing, so Holly sat at her desk preparing to do just that. Then, her fingers resting on the keyboard and without any conscious effort, suddenly she was inside Lizzie’s head, seeing the world through her eyes. She knew precisely what the young woman was planning. This flash of intuition was dizzying and was so unexpected that Holly sat for a moment without moving. She picked up her jacket and shouted to the team remaining in the open-plan office that she was going back to Gilswick. A middle-aged DC looked up and waved to her, but nobody else took any notice.

Holly arrived in the village at the same time as the bus from Kimmerston. She pulled in close to the pavement outside the post office and waited to see the passengers get off. Three people: two elderly women with baskets of shopping and Lizzie Redhead. Lizzie was last off and hesitated before setting off on foot up the lane towards the valley. Holly waited until she was out of sight, switched her phone to silent and followed. The rain was lighter, hardly more than a damp mist, but the visibility was poor. Lizzie was a shadow glimpsed occasionally in the distance; the copper hair that was so distinctive in the photo pinned to the incident-room whiteboard was drained of colour. Everything in the landscape looked grey.

Close to the gates to the big house Lizzie seemed to disappear. Holly stood and listened. Nothing. Holly was accustomed to the silence of the city where there was always distant traffic noise, the occasional blast of a siren. This was real silence, dense and a little frightening. Behind her she sensed movement. Perhaps it was the rustle of waterproof clothing or a careful footstep on wet grass. Holly looked behind her, but only saw the lane leading back towards the village. To her left stood the big house, invisible from here, hidden by the high stone wall and the trees where Randle had set his moth traps. To her right was a patch of scrubby bushes leading down to the river. Both provided hiding places. Holly remained still and strained to listen. It didn’t seem possible that Lizzie could have shifted position without Holly seeing. But if it wasn’t Lizzie moving behind her, then who was it?

There was silence again. Nobody was following her. The sound had been caused by an animal in the undergrowth. Vera would laugh if she could see Holly’s unease:
Not really cut out for work in the big outdoors, are you, pet?
Holly turned through the pillars that marked the entrance to the big house. Lizzie must have come this way. There was no other explanation.