Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

‘We were all quiet by then. There wasn’t any music and the windows were open.’ Annie must have sensed that Joe still wasn’t convinced, because she added, ‘It was definitely Janet screaming. We all heard it and ran outside. Perhaps she’d come down the track towards the house to call out to us.’

Joe made a mental note to ask Janet O’Kane, but let the subject go for now. ‘What time was that?’

‘A quarter past midnight. As I said, I was watching the clock.’

Joe tried to picture the scene. The five adults at the end of the day, sitting in companionable silence. The scream coming from a long way off. ‘You must have panicked.’

‘We all ran outside. Almost tripping over each other. It was dark. No street lights, all the way up here.’ Annie shut her eyes briefly.

‘You had no sense that anyone else was about?’ Joe thought it unlikely that the pathologist would pin down the time of death with any real accuracy. Paul Keating was scathing about theories that suggested such a thing was feasible. It was possible that the murder had been committed not long before the body was found, and that the killer had still been in the area while the party-goers were looking for Janet O’Kane.

The Redheads looked at each other. ‘It was just confusing,’ Annie said at last. ‘I have no sense where any of us were. I caught a glimpse of Nigel at one point, and I think Sam was right beside me all the way down the track. Other than that…’

‘Did you hear anything? A car in the distance?’

This time Sam answered. ‘All I could hear was screaming and the dogs barking, people slipping on the grass in the dark. It was like a nightmare.’

‘But you grew up round here.’ Joe remembered the details written in black marker pen on the whiteboard in the operations room. ‘Your family farmed the land. You must be able to find your way around the valley blindfolded.’

There was a moment of silence. Joe could feel the hostility coming from both people on the sofa. They stared at him.

‘What are you saying?’ Sam’s voice was very quiet. ‘That I’m telling lies? Our farm was on the other side of the valley. And besides, last night the shouting and the dogs and that poor woman lying there covered in blood – it was my idea of hell.’

It was gone ten when Vera and Charlie arrived back at Kimmerston and the team was still waiting for the evening briefing. No energy now. Everyone desperate for bed and food. She sat on the desk in front of them.

‘Right. Quick as you can and no messing. Just the important stuff. We’ll go into more detail in the morning. Joe?’

‘Everyone at Valley Farm has the same story. They’d got together for supper and drinks in the Lucas house. Everyone had too much to drink. Janet O’Kane went to take out the Carswell dogs. The dogs sniffed out the body. She screamed and they ran out to see what was going on.’ Joe paused and looked up at her. ‘It’s a long way for a scream to carry, but they’d all have to be in collusion if they’re not being straight about that, and why would they lie?’ Another brief pause. ‘Annie Redhead’s the only person who admits to knowing Shirley Hewarth – they met up yesterday morning to discuss Lizzie’s release from prison.’

Vera felt like a spider in the middle of a web of information. A very large, black spider. Who needed the Internet? ‘OK. Hol, how did you get on with Shirley’s ex-husband and son?’

‘I met them both at the university. All three seem to have been on very good terms, even after the divorce. A nice family. Jonathan last saw his mother a week ago for Sunday lunch. He said she seemed quiet, but put it down to her feeling a bit under the weather. She contacted Jack during the week and asked if they could meet for a drink – she’d had a bad couple of days and needed to chat to him about something. In the end a crowd of her friends came into the pub and they didn’t get the chance to talk.’

‘Pity.’ Vera tried to assess the significance of that. Shirley obviously had other friends and colleagues. Why would she turn to an ex-husband if she wanted a shoulder to cry on? ‘Well, Charlie and I have had a very pleasant day out in the country visiting Alicia Randle and her bloke. Who is very classy, if not exactly my type. Some kind of representative of Her Majesty’s Government overseas. Or he used to be, before he retired. Alicia couldn’t shed any light on how there was an envelope with a Wychbold postmark in Shirley Hewarth’s kitchen, but luckily it seems that Patrick was very green. He saved all his paper for recycling. And in the box in his bedroom I found this.’ Vera waved the letter in its transparent evidence bag. She already knew it off by heart and recited it word-for-word. ‘So it seems the correspondence between Patrick and Shirley went both ways.’ Now she spoke almost to herself. ‘Why on earth would this pair be writing to each other? If we know that, we’ll know who killed them.’

Vera was alone in her office. The team had dispersed for the night, but she was still fizzing and not ready for home and sleep. Listening to her voicemail – the requests for statistics and completed overtime forms, replies from technicians and scientists to her own demands for speedy updates – she felt a little calmer. There was nothing new. Nothing that needed immediate action. Then she was surprised by another voice. This was someone unused to leaving a voicemail message, very different from the rattled-off information from a colleague who no longer expected to speak to a real person. The caller didn’t even give his name, but after a couple of seconds she recognized the hesitant voice: Percy Douglas, the old man who’d stumbled across Patrick Randle’s body.

‘Inspector, you asked me to call you if I came across anything. Well, it wasn’t me, like, but my Susan. It’s probably not important, but it’s secret, like. I can’t see it can have anything to do with these murders, but I thought you’d be interested in anything secret. Can you come along in the morning? I’ll stay in until I’ve spoken to you.’

Vera replaced the receiver and smiled. Oh yes, Percy Douglas, I’m interested in anything secret .

It was another glorious day, more like June than April. Early sun slanting across the valley. In the big house’s garden the bluebells had opened even more, forming a lake under the trees. Vera found Percy and Susan eating breakfast. A smell of bacon that made her mouth water as soon as she opened the door. Susan was on her feet, sticking another couple of rashers under the grill. ‘You’ll manage two eggs? Janet’s hens are doing so well she’s giving them away.’ No offer of coffee, but a big pot of tea in the middle of the table and a mug set down beside the guest. Vera’s idea of heaven. Why would I ever want to retire from doing this?

‘I feel bad.’ It was Susan again. Percy still hadn’t said a word, just given Vera a quick grateful nod when she walked into the kitchen. ‘Dad dragging you all the way out here, when you must be so busy.’

‘It’s worth coming for the breakfast.’ Vera knew Susan couldn’t be hurried and she couldn’t be made to feel guilty. Let her tell her story in her own time.

‘It’s not that it’s anything sinister.’ Susan stood by the sink and put the frying pan to soak, then finally turned to face Vera. ‘And it’s not as if I was snooping. But nothing’s been said. I’m not even sure that her husband knows. I mean, I can understand her wanting a bit of privacy, but not telling your husband…’

Vera’s mouth was full of bread and egg and she didn’t say anything.

‘Just get on with it!’ Percy was almost yelling. ‘Let Mrs Stanhope know what you found.’