Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

‘The traps will be on a timer,’ she said. ‘They’ll only be lit at night.’ The light would attract the insects, luring them into the funnel and the soft cardboard egg boxes below.

Vera lowered herself into a crouch, heard her knee joints cracking, then wondered what she was doing down here. She wouldn’t know a rare moth if it bit her on the nose. ‘Can you get the contents to an expert? The Hancock Museum will have someone. Or one of the unis. And we’ll need Fingerprints to look at the traps.’

‘What are you looking for?’

‘I’m not sure yet. Something unusual. These creatures are the only things that linked the victims.’

‘You don’t think two men were killed because of these?’

Vera didn’t answer. Perhaps the idea was that Benton would stay until the following morning and the victims would examine the contents together. But all this was speculation and probably a waste of time. She pictured what Holly Clarke would make of her theories, as she struggled to get to her feet. MacBride looked away as if he didn’t want to add to her embarrassment. ‘Eh, pet, give me a hand, will you? Otherwise we’ll be here all day.’

He gave a little laugh and pulled her up. She dusted leaves and twigs from her knees.

Back at the cars, she paused. ‘You haven’t found the murder weapon in your search of the grounds? I mean, whatever caused the blunt-force trauma to the back of Randle’s head. It seems that the knife my DC found, when we first came to the house, killed Benton. Dr Keating seems pretty certain about that.’ She still thought it odd that the men had been killed in different ways.

‘Nothing definite and, trust me, we’ve looked!’

‘I’m sure you have. And that you’d have come across it, if it had been here. Any thoughts?’

‘I’m wondering if it had been hidden in plain sight. There’s a toolshed. Lots of spades and shovels. We’ve sent them for analysis. And we’re still waiting for Doc Keating to give his opinion.’

When she was in the Land Rover at the end of the drive Billy Cartwright was on his way in. Vera wound down the window and they had a brief shouted chat. To save him having to back all the way down the lane or her pulling into the verge, she turned right out of the drive towards the Valley Farm development. She turned in the courtyard to make her way back to the village, stopping briefly to look up at the houses. Perhaps because it was still early, everything was very quiet. But upstairs in the farmhouse Nigel Lucas was sitting in the window. He’d obviously heard her vehicle and was staring down at her. Next to him on the windowsill stood a pair of binoculars.

Vera was late for the morning briefing and she’d already set it back by an hour. Joe knew she got criticized by her bosses for being too hands-on. They thought she should learn to delegate and have more faith in her team. She’d once read out a comment she’d been given at her appraisal: You shouldn’t believe that you’re indispensable. Your role is to pass on your skills to others. ‘Well,’ she’d said. ‘If they can persuade Holly not to look down her nose at folk who live in dirty houses, they’re better senior officers than I am.’ He’d laughed at the time, but now he thought the bosses had a point. Vera was the worst kind of control freak.

She burst in just as everyone was starting to get impatient. Holly was muttering that she’d go back to her desk, because she wanted to complete the detailed timeline for the suspects’ movements on the day of the murders. She’d just stood up when Vera swept in, full of energy, unstoppable as a steamroller. ‘Are you leaving us, Hol? That’s a shame, because we’ve got a locus for the Randle lad’s murder and we could do with your input.’

Muttered laughter, while Vera beamed. Holly sat down and the briefing started. Vera didn’t even bother to get her usual mug of coffee. This morning, it seemed, she didn’t need caffeine to get her going.

‘So finally we know where Randle was killed.’ Vera was standing in front of them, but she couldn’t keep still. She moved up and down the narrow space between the chairs and the whiteboard. If she hadn’t been so heavy, Joe would have said she was dancing. The spirit of Muhammad Ali before a title fight was there, even if her weight stopped her prancing on her toes. ‘In the veggie garden at the side of the house.’ Joe listened to the details: the blood on the cold-frame, the crushed salad plants and the moth traps that had been set, but not emptied.

‘So.’ Vera threw out the single word like a challenge. ‘Let’s think what could have happened here. Let’s run through some possibilities.’ But, instead of pausing to give them all a chance to think, to throw in their ideas, she carried on talking. She was so wired that she found silence impossible. ‘We know that Benton and Randle met; we think they had a cup of tea in the flat. Then at some point they must have separated. Why? How did Randle end up in the garden, leaving Benton in the flat? And when did they set up those bloody moth traps? It might be useful to know if they’d been running since Patrick arrived. They’re right in the heart of the wood and you can’t see them from the road, but you might see the bulbs at night.’

Joe was thinking that all these were small domestic details and there might not be a coherent rationale to link them. During his daily life he sometimes did things that were out of order, not inexplicable exactly, but triggered by a sudden impulse. He stuck up his hand.

‘Maybe Randle just fancied some salad leaves to go with whatever he was cooking for his tea.’

He thought Vera might yell at him for being flippant, but she stopped moving and, when she did shout, it was to the whole team. ‘What did Randle have in his fridge? Anyone?’

Holly had the notes. ‘Two big pieces of spinach quiche, bought from the deli in Kimmerston; some Northumberland goats’ cheese and a tub of supermarket potato salad. Some English asparagus. Then the usual bits and pieces. Milk, eggs, half a packet of bacon, a jar of mayonnaise and three bottles of lager. A loaf of wholemeal bread and half a packet of unsalted butter.’ She paused. ‘There was a bowl of tomatoes on the kitchen windowsill.’

Vera nodded. ‘There are tomatoes already ripening in the greenhouse at the Hall. He’ll have picked those. The Carswells would have given him permission. They’re not the kind of folk who’d like to see food go to waste.’ She looked up at them. ‘ Two large slices of quiche. What does that tell us?’

‘That he was expecting Benton to stay for supper?’ Holly again, though by now the whole group had reached the same conclusion.

‘And that means?’

‘That he could have gone into the garden to cut salad leaves to go with the meal.’

‘So let’s give Joe a big clap, everyone.’ There were a few muffled cheers and catcalls before Vera continued, ‘That changes the whole dynamic of the relationship between the two victims, doesn’t it? We thought Benton was there for a business meeting or an interview. That was the impression he gave his chum from the charity where he’d been volunteering. But that doesn’t quite fit with our scenario. This is more informal. You wouldn’t pop out in the middle of a business meeting to get a few leaves to make a salad. They must have been friends.’

Joe stuck up his hand again. ‘So why the suit? If it was a social occasion, especially if you were going to be grubbing around looking at moths in the wood, you wouldn’t wear a suit.’

A moment of silence. Someone shouted in the neighbouring office and a door slammed. Holly coughed. ‘Could it have been a confidence thing? I mean, this might have been the first time they’d met in person, but we know they’d spoken on the phone. Randle would have an educated accent, wouldn’t he? Like his mother. We know that Benton was socially awkward. Perhaps the suit was to give him confidence. He’d been invited to dinner and he thought that was the right thing to wear. Otherwise he only had the tracksuit bottoms and polo shirts in his wardrobe at Laurel Avenue.’