Ann Cleeves - The Moth Catcher

Joe and Holly arrived in the same car. Vera thought Holly looked pale, frozen. They stood for a moment on the gravel outside the big house. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen.’ Vera started for the door. She had no real plan and a reluctance to venture further up the valley to face the retired hedonists. ‘The CSIs have finished downstairs, and it’s daft to get wet before we start.’

Inside there was the background warmth of the Aga. Vera stood with her back to it, toasting her bum. There was still fingerprint powder around the back door and the window ledges. ‘They didn’t find any sign of a break-in.’

She nodded to the chairs by the table. ‘You might as well take the weight off your feet.’ Now, in the warm room, she’d lost any sense of urgency. The cosiness of the place made her think of tea, hot crumpets dripping with butter.

‘What’s all this about?’ Joe was scratchy after a whole evening at home. He pretended to love his time with the bairns, but he could only take so much. Vera knew he used work as an excuse when Sal started making demands.

‘We decided last night our killer must be someone who knows the valley well.’ She paused. ‘Hol did some digging for me, while you were off playing Happy Families. She made some interesting connections.’ She moved away from the Aga and joined them at the table. ‘Show him, Hol.’

‘A connection’s not a motive, though, is it?’ Joe was at his most churlish. He’d looked at the records and seen this was a breakthrough, but was too childish to congratulate Holly on her work. ‘What’s the plan?’

Vera didn’t like to admit that she had no plan. ‘It’s too early to make an arrest. I want to speak to our respectable friends in Valley Farm again. Let’s make it a bit more formal this time. We don’t have the grounds to take them to the station, and anyway the press would have a field day if we interviewed them there. But let’s bring them down here. One at a time. Get them out of their comfort zone.’ Making up a strategy as she went along. Lazy policing. She turned to Joe. ‘Nip back to the village, would you? Get some essential supplies. Tea, coffee and milk.’ She could tell he was starting to sulk because she’d asked him and not Holly. It served him right and she shouted after him, ‘And biscuits. But not Rich Teas. I can’t stand Rich Teas.’

They called Nigel Lucas in first. Vera phoned him. It was hard to tell when he answered what he made of the summons. He had a veneer of good humour, slick and shiny, that he never seemed to lose. ‘Of course, Inspector, if you think it would help.’

He knocked at the kitchen door and looked around him as he came in. Vera could tell he’d never been in the house before and that he was disappointed. He’d been expecting something grander, more in keeping with the squire’s residence. They’d set out the big kitchen table as if they were conducting an interview: the three of them on one side and Lucas on the other. There were glasses and a jug of water. Vera had already said they wouldn’t be wasting the chocolate biscuits on the witnesses. Holly was furthest away from Lucas and she was taking notes. Vera had decided on Lucas first because she’d thought this would be the most difficult conversation. There was a confidence she couldn’t break unless she had to – and she still couldn’t see that Lorraine’s illness was relevant – so it would all be about choosing the right words.

He sat, waiting for her to break the silence. The room must have seemed warm to him, coming in from the cold, and he’d taken off his jacket and was sitting in shirt sleeves. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

‘We’re confused about the latest killing.’ Vera gave a little shake of her head. ‘Shirley Hewarth. She wasn’t stabbed where she was found. So why bring her to the valley? I’m wondering if the murderer was trying to tell us something.’

‘To implicate us, you mean?’

‘Aye, maybe. Any reason they’d want to do that?’ Vera leaned forward, her elbows on the table. She could feel the grain of the wood on her skin.

‘None at all. We get on very well with other people in the village.’

‘Had you met Shirley Hewarth? Had you seen her in court? She used to go sometimes with her clients. I understand you sit on the bench.’

‘I’ve not long completed my training,’ Lucas said. ‘I’ve been in a few times to observe. It’s fascinating, I must say, Inspector. I certainly don’t remember meeting Mrs Hewarth.’

‘Perhaps in another context then?’ Vera poured herself a glass of water and sipped it.

Lucas shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I don’t think I can help you.’

‘Your wife worked in prisoner education. That might have been a point of contact between you. When she was a probation officer Mrs Hewarth was in the welfare department of a number of institutions.’ Vera maintained a polite persistence. Stubborn. Hoping to make him so irritated that he’d give something away.

‘That was when we lived in the South,’ Lucas said. ‘And Lorrie certainly didn’t bring her work home.’ He paused. ‘She was ill not very long after we married. Breast cancer. She took early retirement. Part of our decision to move north and settle in the valley. Luckily she’s well now.’

Vera didn’t respond to that. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Jason Crow.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Jason Crow. The builder who worked on your house. He’d converted the barns and you employed him to do the renovations. So I understand. According to the inspector who checked the building regs.’

‘Is that what the boss is called? The company’s name is Kimmerston Building Services. That’s what’s on their letter-heading and written on the side of their vans.’ Lucas tried a small smile. ‘That’s who I wrote the cheque out to. Cost me a bloody fortune.’

‘So you never met Mr Crow?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Friday afternoon.’ Vera changed the subject without a beat, and for a moment Lucas looked confused.

‘What about it?’

‘Let’s go through your movements again.’

‘I’ve already given a statement. Someone came to the house on Saturday afternoon.’ He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead.

‘I know, pet. I’ve got it here.’ She set the document in front of her. ‘Just humour me, eh? Go through it again. Starting at lunchtime.’

‘Lorrie and I had lunch at home. She stayed in her studio to finish a painting. We were having our friends round that evening, so I popped into Kimmerston to buy the booze and some nibbles. I showed your colleague the supermarket receipt. It’s timed at 4 p.m.’ He was starting to get exasperated. In her head Vera cheered.

‘And later?’

‘I came home. Lorrie and I had a cup of tea together. With some of Annie’s biscuits. She and Sam bake as if they’re still running a restaurant business and give most of their stuff away.’ He paused. Vera let the silence stretch. ‘Then we went to The Lamb in the village. Percy Douglas was there and we had a chat. Always full of stories about the old days, is Perce. He’ll tell you he was chatting to us. We had one drink. It was just to get Lorrie out of the house because she’d been in all day. Then back to prepare to party.’

‘What time did you arrive back from the supermarket?’

‘About quarter to five. I didn’t have time to kill anyone!’ He looked round at them as if he’d cracked a joke and was waiting for the laughter. None came.

‘Did you leave the party for any reason?’

‘Once, to look at the stars. That’s still a novelty, Inspector. It’s the first time I’ve lived anywhere without street lights.’

‘Were you alone?’