Ann Cleeves: The Moth Catcher

Janet didn’t answer for a while. Vera saw that she was gripping the arms of her chair and her knuckles were white. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not usual.’

‘So why the change of routine?’ Vera used her quiet voice, her psychiatrist’s chair voice.

‘Because I’d threatened to leave him, if things didn’t change.’ Janet looked up. ‘I said I was bored rigid and he couldn’t treat me as a domestic slave. I reminded him that I had a good degree from Cambridge and, if I didn’t leave this bloody valley and escape these bloody neighbours and start using my brain, I might go very noisily mad. And that might disturb his life and upset his writing routine.’

Outside, the rain continued to drip from the broken gutter. Vera thought the Carswells would have to get that sorted as soon as they got back or they might go mad. ‘I thought the move to the country was your idea,’ she said. ‘The good life. Returning to nature.’

‘It was. That’s what’s so infuriating. John would have been happy to stay in the city. I thought a change was what our relationship needed. That we might become closer. More honest. But when we got here everything between us stayed the same. Life’s just much more inconvenient in the valley. And rather boring. I pretended I loved it because it was my idea. I couldn’t admit the experiment was a total failure.’

‘Who dealt with the negotiations of buying your house?’ Again Vera changed subject quickly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Once you decided you wanted to live in Valley Farm, how did things proceed?’

‘Oh, I saw to all that.’ Janet pushed her hair back from her face again. ‘John hates the detail of everyday life. And he was still working then. I suppose he had an excuse.’

‘Did you deal directly with the developer?’ Vera looked up at her.

‘I met him once, to discuss the final finishes. Tiles, paint colour – that sort of thing.’

‘Where did you meet Jason Crow?’

‘Onsite. He walked us through the place.’

‘So John was with you then?’ Vera slid a glance at Holly to make sure she was still keeping notes.

‘No, he got held up at the university. Annie and Sam were with me. Jason showed us round both houses. It was the first time I’d met our neighbours.’

Vera imagined how that would have been. Sam and Annie shown round the house they’d just bought, by the man who’d ruined their business. Had they been aware, before they turned up, that Jason Crow was the developer? Surely they must have known the name behind Kimmerston Building Services.

‘You and John never had children?’ Another swift change of direction, but again Janet didn’t seem thrown.

‘No.’ There was a long silence. ‘I would have liked a child. In fact I was quietly desperate, as the biological clock ticked away and I approached my forties. But John had made it clear before we married that he didn’t want a family. I went into the relationship knowing that, and didn’t feel I could change the rules.’

‘Why did you marry him?’ Vera had wanted to ask the question since Janet had first started talking.

‘He was the most beautiful man I’d ever met.’ It came out as a cry. ‘And he needed me. I suppose he became the child I never had. How can I complain that he’s too dependent, when I made him that way?’

‘Tell me about your work.’

‘After my first degree I trained to be a social worker. I specialized in fostering and adoption and more recently worked as a mediator for the family court.’ The words came out easily. The standard answer given at dinner parties. No emotional engagement. Then: ‘I loved it. I really loved it.’

‘Did you ever meet Shirley Hewarth professionally? She worked as a probation officer before she took over the ex-offender charity in Bebington.’

Vera was expecting an immediate answer, but Janet seemed uncertain. ‘I don’t think so. When I worked in fostering and adoption it’s possible that our paths crossed. I might have placed one of her clients’ children with a foster family. Offenders often have multiple problems and lead chaotic lives. There can be safeguarding issues. But really I don’t remember.’ There was a long pause. ‘When I saw her body, I only saw her face briefly. Even if she’d been a close friend I don’t think I’d have recognized her.’ A pause. ‘Last night I had a nightmare. I was on the hill and I came across the body again. But in the dream I was lying there with the stab wounds in my chest. And it was my face that I saw.’

John O’Kane had decided to be charming. He slid into the chair opposite and gave them the smile with which he’d been seducing women since he was a student. ‘The last time I was in this kitchen I was drinking the major’s very good malt.’ Letting them know he mixed in the best circles.

‘But this isn’t a social occasion, Mr O’Kane.’

‘Of course not.’

He still dressed like a younger man. Expensive jeans. Designer stubble not grown long enough to show the grey. Vera wondered if he dyed his hair. She wouldn’t be surprised. He must miss his audience of attentive students and young lecturers.

‘This is a terrible business. I’m not entirely sure how we can help, though.’

‘What attracted you to the house in the valley?’ She couldn’t see why he’d have given up his coterie of friends, the bars and restaurants that seemed to be his natural habitat.

‘Janet felt we needed a move, and I could see the attraction. I needed to concentrate on the new book. Where we lived before there were too many distractions. I had the feeling that this was my last chance to write something of value. Something that might outlive me. A book to define a place and a period in time.’ He frowned. ‘That probably sounds ridiculous to you, Inspector. Overblown. But it’s been my ambition since I was a young man and I’ve never achieved it. If I could focus on the writing, I have a sense this book might just come close.’

‘So you were happy to move.’ Vera wondered what her legacy might be. She’d locked up a few criminals. Trained a few good coppers. Perhaps that was enough.

‘It was a joint decision,’ O’Kane said. ‘Jan has always had a romantic hankering after the good life. She saw the site first, when it was still not much more than a barn, and came back raving about it. The view. The peace.’

‘How do you get on with your neighbours? With your fellow retired hedonists?’

‘We rub along very nicely on a superficial level. Socially, you know. A few drinks on a Friday night. Major Carswell’s an amateur historian, so perhaps I have more in common with him than with the others.’

Snob.

‘These murders…’ Vera looked at him. ‘Are you certain you haven’t come across any of the victims before?’

‘I saw the house-sitter once in The Lamb and we had a bit of a chat.’

‘You didn’t tell us that before.’ Her voice so sharp that he seemed almost chastened.

‘Didn’t I? Sorry. But perhaps you didn’t ask.’ He paused. ‘I escape to The Lamb sometimes after a day at the computer. I need other company. Background noise. I’ve decided I’m more of a city boy after all.’ He made another attempt at the winning smile.

‘What did you and Patrick talk about?’ Vera thought this was the first person she’d met, besides Patrick’s mother, who’d had any real conversation with the young man.

‘Academic life. He was hoping to return to Exeter to do postdoc research and I asked him why he’d decided to take a break. I wondered if he had aspirations to be a writer too. There was something about him. A way he put words together.’

‘What did he say?’ Vera tried to imagine herself in the pub. Gloria would be behind the bar gossiping. Percy and the other old boys would be huddled over their domino board. Patrick was in a strange place where he didn’t know anyone. The retired professor might seem the closest he’d get to a kindred spirit in his new home.