Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

Joe felt like a new officer. His brain had turned to sawdust and he’d lost control of the interview already. ‘Jason Crow,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t like you much. He’s not the sort to take kindly to people who steal from him.’

‘I’m sure he hates my guts.’ She paused and gave a brief smile. ‘But he wouldn’t kill two strangers just to inconvenience my parents.’

‘Were they strangers?’

‘What do you mean?’ Lizzie was playing for time. Or just playing with him.

‘Did you know either of the victims? You’ll have a telly in here. You’ll have seen the story on the news.’

‘I don’t watch television much. Most of what’s on is drivel.’ She looked up at him. ‘Remind me.’

‘Patrick Randle and Martin Benton. Patrick was a student. Not local. Martin was a teacher a while ago.’ Joe had a sudden thought. ‘Maybe he taught you?’ The timings would fit.

She paused for a moment. Thinking. Or pretending to think. ‘The names don’t ring any bells. I hated school. I’ve tried to forget all that.’

‘You didn’t come across those names when you were working for Crow?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t remember them.’

There was another silence, broken this time by Joe. ‘What’s it like in here?’

She seemed surprised by the question. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Some of the screws are okay.’ She paused. ‘My parents sent me away to boarding school when I was thirteen. They said all I needed was a bit of discipline, and to get away from the bad crowd in Kimmerston. That was much worse than being inside. Everyone hated me. I was only there for six months. The same sentence as I got for nearly blinding a woman. Here everyone’s screwed up and I’m one of the sane ones. Almost responsible. It makes a change to be one of the good guys.’

‘Do you know anything about moths?’

‘What?’ She looked at him as if he was mad. He’d have bet a month’s salary she wasn’t acting this time.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It was just a long shot.’

Outside the gardeners were moving on to a different flowerbed, piling tools onto a wheelbarrow. He could hear another peal of laughter, remembered the tabloid papers’ descriptions of open prisons as holiday camps and pushed the thought away.

‘How are my mum and dad?’

‘Don’t they come and visit?’

‘My mother does. My father can’t bear to. He loved the restaurant and he blames me for having to sell up.’ She stared at the women outside. ‘Quite right too. It was all my fault.’ She stared out of the window. ‘Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me, why I can’t be like other people. It’s boredom mostly. I’ve always got bored so easily.’ Another pause. ‘I’ve got less than a week to go before I’m released. Full remission. Like I said, I’ve been a good girl.’ She didn’t sound delighted by the prospect of leaving prison.

‘Will you go and stay with your parents?’ Joe thought if Lizzie had been bored in Kimmerston, the house at the end of the valley would drive her to madness in a matter of hours.

‘For a while,’ she said. ‘I suppose. Until I get myself sorted out.’

‘You could see it as a new chance.’

She grinned, showing the sharp fox’s teeth. ‘You sound like my social worker.’

‘Aye, well, my boss always says I’m a soft touch.’ As soon as he spoke he thought that instead of charming Lizzie Redhead, he’d been charmed by her. Vera would have been better sending Holly, who was never taken in by anyone’s sob-story.

He stood up and opened the door to tell the prison officer outside that the interview was over.

‘So you can’t help about these murders?’

She shook her head and got to her feet, but the officer gestured for her to stay where she was.

‘You’ve got another visitor. Popular today. You might as well wait here.’

So Joe left on his own, without really having a chance to say goodbye to her. He turned to look as he was led away, but Lizzie had her back to him and was nibbling her nails and staring into space.

In reception he had to wait while a smartly dressed woman was let in through the outer door. He listened while the officer behind the glass signed her in. Her name was Shirley Hewarth and she said she was from the charity Hope North-East. When she’d passed through into the prison, Joe spoke to the officer on the gate. ‘Any idea who she was going to visit?’

He thought the man would refuse to answer, but he only sounded bored. ‘The same lass as you. Elizabeth Redhead.’ He looked up briefly from his paperwork. ‘Bloody do-gooders, eh?’

Lizzie watched the detective leave the room. She’d been surprised to see him there when the screw had brought her in. She’d been expecting Shirley Hewarth. Joe Ashworth hadn’t seemed much like a detective to her. He was too gentle. Good-looking enough, but not her type. He talked more like a doctor or a priest. He’d be no real match for her. There’d be no steel in him. No fire. Nothing to hit against.

She looked out of the window while she waited for her new visitor to arrive, imagined Ashworth walking out through the main door, getting into his car and driving through the gate. She thought she’d soon be there too. Outside. The women talked about Outside as if it was a different place in a different universe. But lots of them were at Sittingwell because they were working towards a release date after years inside a high-security prison. Lizzie had met murderers here. Women who’d killed their kids. Their men. Of course they’d be daunted to be leaving. She didn’t think she’d find it so hard to adjust to the outside world. She had plans.

The policeman’s visit had been a shock. She couldn’t have anticipated a double-murder in the valley. She was running through the implications of the news when the door opened and Shirley Hewarth came in. The woman always looked very smart. Professional. Lizzie liked that about her. She thought appearances mattered. Shirley had brought a bag of sweets and opened them on the table, nodded for Lizzie to take one. Lizzie took a sherbet lemon. Her favourite. She liked the sharp burst of sherbet on her tongue when the hard lemon case was shattered.

‘So, Lizzie. Only a few days until your release. We should be thinking of your future.’

Lizzie nodded. She thought any screw listening in to the conversation would be completely misled. The conversation sounded just like any other pre-release interview between a social worker and an offender. They would never guess that Shirley and Lizzie shared secrets. And, sure enough, there were footsteps on the parquet floor in the hall outside as the officer moved away to sit at the desk in reception.

‘I’m going to chat with your mother,’ Shirley went on. ‘Is that okay with you?’

‘Why do you need to talk to her?’ Lizzie looked up sharply.

‘You’ll be staying with her, won’t you?’

Lizzie thought about that. Her parents didn’t feature in the pictures she held in her head. But she was suddenly surprised by a wave of emotion as she thought how it would be good to spend some time with them. Inside, she’d come to enjoy the ritual of daily life. The calmness of the expected. Her parents would provide that for her too. It would be a good place to make decisions and set her up for her next big adventure.

‘You won’t tell them about Jason,’ Lizzie said. She thought she’d shared too much with the social worker. Shirley had been a good listener and she’d seemed to understand. Lizzie hadn’t meant to pass on Jason’s secrets. They’d spilled out when Shirley had asked her about her experience of prison.

‘Everything between us is confidential. You know that.’