Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

Joe thought this was speculation. He expected a blast of Vera’s famous sarcasm, but none came. Instead she stopped moving and leaned against a desk. He had a sudden image of an enormous sea-lion stranded on a rock.

‘So what was the meeting for ? Benton told the woman at the dole office, and his mate Frank, that it was business. Randle had set the moth traps at some point. Had he found an unusual species? Were they preparing to write some sort of academic paper about it? Did Randle need Benton’s photographic skills? Help me out here, somebody. What am I missing? What was so important that they needed to meet, instead of making do with a phone call or email?’

Another long silence. Vera launched herself from her rock. ‘Okay, let’s leave the “why?” for now and move on. The two men arrive at the big house from Gilswick. They chat, Randle goes into the garden. He goes to pick some salad. The murderer hits him hard on the back of the head to kill him.’ She looked out at the room. ‘Pete MacBride from the search team thinks he might have been killed with a spade. Plenty of those in the toolshed. All being checked. All bright and sparkly, though, so if one of them was the murder weapon the killer took the time to clean it. Then he went into the flat and stabbed Benton with a kitchen knife. Is that the way we think it happened?’

‘No!’ Joe decided that was impossible. ‘The killer must have gone to the flat first, expecting to find Randle there. We don’t know what he intended at that point. He certainly wasn’t anticipating finding a stranger in the place. Benton was killed because he could identify the intruder. Then the murderer went outside to search for Randle. Surely it must have happened that way.’

‘So Benton was collateral damage?’ Vera closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He was never an intended victim.’

She stood, as still as some bloated and ancient Buddha, and then snapped back to life. ‘Actions for the day,’ she said. ‘Joe, I want you to visit Shirley Hewarth, the social worker at Hope charity. What was so urgent that she had to go out to Sittingwell to visit Lizzie Redhead? Hope is for people who don’t have support from statutory bodies or from the wider community. I’ve checked their mission statement.’ She rolled her eyes and they chuckled. They all knew what Vera thought of mission statements. ‘Lizzie has affluent parents, a home to go back to and more support than she wants. So why is Hewarth so involved?’ A pause for breath. ‘Hol, I need a bit of action on all the communications we’re dealing with here. Phones, laptops and PCs. There must be something that’ll give us a hint to the relationship between the two victims. We’ve got two murder scenes now and plenty to go on.’ A brief pause. ‘And where’s Patrick Randle’s laptop? I asked his mother, and he never travelled without it. If we find that, we’re close to finding the killer.’

Joe thought they had too much to go on. He stood up, and the others followed. Vera gave a strange, enigmatic smile and disappeared into her office.

Joe phoned Shirley Hewarth to make an appointment. She sounded brisk and efficient. ‘Of course, Sergeant. Can we make it early this afternoon? One-thirty? I’ve got meetings all morning.’

He went home for lunch because Sal always moaned that she never saw him when he was in the middle of a case. He hadn’t warned her that he was coming and she was in the garden drinking coffee, reading a novel while the toddler was having a midday nap. He felt a moment of resentment, so intense that it felt close to hatred. If she had time to read during the day, why did she expect him to get up at night with the baby? Then he asked himself if he’d want to be with the kids all day – especially Jess, who was almost a teenager and behaving like one – and he thought Sal deserved a moment’s peace. When he stroked the back of her neck it was warm from the sun, and when he kissed her she tasted of the chocolate biscuit she’d just eaten with her coffee. So she’d stopped the diet again. He was about to kiss her again when the baby woke up. Sal grinned and said she’d make him a sandwich. ‘You should have come back a bit earlier, so we could have had some time to ourselves.’

He arrived in Bebington just as a meeting had finished in the charity’s office and waited at the door to let a group of women come out. He thought Holly would have judged them immediately because of their clothes – market-stall tops over leggings worn thin with washing – their obesity and their poor skin. She’d have labelled them, without even talking to them, as offenders, offenders’ partners or possible informants. It would be inconceivable to her that one of them could become her friend. Joe had grown up with women like these as neighbours and he’d been in and out of their homes, playing with their kids. Now, standing on the pavement as they walked past, listening to snatches of their conversation, he felt nostalgic for his childhood, the mucky chaos of many of the houses in the street where they’d lived. The warmth and lack of pretension.

Shirley Hewarth was waiting for him in the office upstairs. She was on her own and saw him look at the empty second desk. ‘I’m not a one-woman band, Sergeant, but the others are volunteers and they don’t always turn up. Life gets in the way, and I don’t blame them. Coffee?’

She was dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and a navy skirt. Tights, despite the heat, and smart shoes with a bit of a heel. She looked more like a lawyer than most social workers he’d met, especially those who worked in the voluntary sector.

They sat on two easy chairs in one corner. Joe shifted his seat so that the sun wasn’t in his eyes. She set the tray on a low table. ‘Isn’t this amazing weather for April?’ She flashed out an automatic smile; she’d be used to making small talk to put her clients at ease. ‘I suppose global warming has its advantages.’

‘You went to visit Lizzie Redhead in prison.’

He’d hoped the direct approach might make her uncomfortable, but she answered immediately. ‘Lizzie was referred to us by her probation officer. I’ve visited twice. Last time was to set up plans for her release. She’ll be out over the weekend.’

‘Do you visit every client referred by the probation service?’ Joe was still in his jacket, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stand up and take it off. Hewarth seemed cool and unflustered, though he thought she’d be a good actor. She’d have stood up to thugs and bullies and imperious lawyers. It would be hard to tell what was going on inside her head.

She gave a little laugh. ‘Not at all. But I thought it was important to talk to Elizabeth before her release date. She’s an interesting young woman.’ There was a pause. ‘Despite the support from her parents, she has a history of self-destructive behaviour. I can’t go into details, but this was one case in which I felt I could make a difference. I used to be a probation officer, and I didn’t have so many of those in my career.’

There was a silence. ‘Why did you leave the service?’ Joe couldn’t understand that. Why leave a job with reasonable pay and prospects for a good pension to join a bunch of amateurs in a rundown office in an ex-mining town?

It took her a while to answer. ‘When I joined the service our remit was to assist , advise and befriend offenders. The system wasn’t always perfect, but most of us did our best to help the people we were supervising. That’s all changed. I didn’t want to be a glorified cop. It wasn’t what I was trained for.’

‘Tell me a little more about Lizzie Redhead.’

‘Ah.’ Hewarth leaned back in the chair. The front of her shirt gaped a little and he caught a glimpse of a white lacy bra.