Ann Cleeves: The Moth Catcher

Joe phoned Vera and had the sense that he’d woken her up. He imagined her still in the Land Rover outside the Hall, rain from the overhanging trees rattling on the vehicle’s roof.

‘I think Lizzie’s at Jason Crow’s house. What do you want me to do?’

There was a silence. She was going through the options.

‘Go there. You’ve got a reasonable excuse. Ask him about his dealings with the Valley Farm folk. How he found them to work with. All useful stuff anyway.’

‘And if Lizzie’s there?’

Another long silence.

‘See if you can persuade her to come back to the valley with you. Offer her a lift. I’d rather know where she is.’

Joe remembered Lizzie as he’d met her in the prison. Amused and defiant. He thought it would be very hard to persuade her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He drove to Jason Crow’s house and sat outside for a moment, intimidated despite himself. The big house and the memory of Lizzie Redhead sapped his confidence. He got out and rang the doorbell. Crow appeared, looking older than the photos they had of him in the operations room, but still fit. He was barefoot, in jeans and a sweater. It didn’t look to Joe as if he’d been in meetings all day.

‘Is Lizzie Redhead here?’

‘Who wants to know?’ Crow was old enough to be Lizzie’s father, but there was the same arrogance, the same air of superiority.

Joe showed his warrant card.

‘Of course. I should have guessed. That jacket comes straight from central casting.’

‘Lizzie Redhead?’ Joe was wondering how he could get inside to have a look.

‘You just missed her,’ Crow said. ‘She left half an hour ago.’

‘What was she doing here?’

There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘I suppose,’ Crow said, ‘she came to make her peace.’

Joe didn’t ask what the man meant. He knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

Crow seemed to be losing patience. ‘She’s not here. I told you. Come in and check if you like. I don’t want my neighbours getting the wrong idea, seeing the filth on the doorstep.’

There was an expensive suitcase in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

‘I’m going to France to catch up with my family tomorrow. An early start, so I’m prepared.’ Then: ‘Help yourself, Sergeant. Go wherever you like. I’ll be in my office, if you need me.’ Crow seemed suddenly amused by Joe’s discomfort. The irritation had dissipated.

Joe started at the top of the house. He had no expectation of finding Lizzie now, but he wasn’t going to walk away without looking. He was curious too. He imagined going home and telling Sal about the grand bathroom in the master bedroom, the kids’ rooms, each with their own shower, the fitted furniture and the flat-screen TVs. He opened wardrobes and saw suits that must have cost more than he earned in a month. On the ground floor he looked in the utility room and found a door into the garage. Nothing. Crow’s office door was open. He was sitting at his desk, looking at a computer screen, the bare feet on a chair. Apparently relaxed.

‘Did Lizzie tell you where she was going?’ Joe asked.

‘Back home to the valley, I think. She said she had some shopping to do, then she’d catch the bus.’ Crow kept his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

‘You didn’t offer her a lift?’

‘I’m a busy man and she’s a grown woman. She could make her own way home.’

Joe wasn’t sure what else to ask. He felt stupid standing in the office doorway, an uninvited guest in the rich man’s house.

‘You can see yourself out, Sergeant.’ Crow didn’t turn round when Joe made his way to the front door.

Holly had never been a rule-breaker. At school she’d been close to the top of the class, but she hadn’t had the spark of genius or the willingness to take risks intellectually that might have set her apart. She’d won her place at university through dogged hard work and had joined the police force because she’d understood that those traits would be rewarded.

Vera had sent her back to Kimmerston to write up the notes from the day’s interviews for the evening briefing, so Holly sat at her desk preparing to do just that. Then, her fingers resting on the keyboard and without any conscious effort, suddenly she was inside Lizzie’s head, seeing the world through her eyes. She knew precisely what the young woman was planning. This flash of intuition was dizzying and was so unexpected that Holly sat for a moment without moving. She picked up her jacket and shouted to the team remaining in the open-plan office that she was going back to Gilswick. A middle-aged DC looked up and waved to her, but nobody else took any notice.

Holly arrived in the village at the same time as the bus from Kimmerston. She pulled in close to the pavement outside the post office and waited to see the passengers get off. Three people: two elderly women with baskets of shopping and Lizzie Redhead. Lizzie was last off and hesitated before setting off on foot up the lane towards the valley. Holly waited until she was out of sight, switched her phone to silent and followed. The rain was lighter, hardly more than a damp mist, but the visibility was poor. Lizzie was a shadow glimpsed occasionally in the distance; the copper hair that was so distinctive in the photo pinned to the incident-room whiteboard was drained of colour. Everything in the landscape looked grey.

Close to the gates to the big house Lizzie seemed to disappear. Holly stood and listened. Nothing. Holly was accustomed to the silence of the city where there was always distant traffic noise, the occasional blast of a siren. This was real silence, dense and a little frightening. Behind her she sensed movement. Perhaps it was the rustle of waterproof clothing or a careful footstep on wet grass. Holly looked behind her, but only saw the lane leading back towards the village. To her left stood the big house, invisible from here, hidden by the high stone wall and the trees where Randle had set his moth traps. To her right was a patch of scrubby bushes leading down to the river. Both provided hiding places. Holly remained still and strained to listen. It didn’t seem possible that Lizzie could have shifted position without Holly seeing. But if it wasn’t Lizzie moving behind her, then who was it?

There was silence again. Nobody was following her. The sound had been caused by an animal in the undergrowth. Vera would laugh if she could see Holly’s unease: Not really cut out for work in the big outdoors, are you, pet? Holly turned through the pillars that marked the entrance to the big house. Lizzie must have come this way. There was no other explanation.

Lizzie walked slowly up the valley. Her hands were in her pockets and she had her hood up against the drizzle. She could have phoned her parents for a lift when she got off the bus, but she had other plans. She wouldn’t be going straight home. Not now. In her right pocket was the Stanley knife she’d bought earlier in the day in the cheap hardware shop in Kimmerston. She’d unscrewed it so that the blade was exposed and she rubbed her thumb against the metal.

Jason Crow had been disappointing. He seemed to have got old while she’d been in prison. He’d lost his edge. Become soft and sentimental, talking about his family as if he cared about them. Gutless. Saying he loved Lizzie, but he couldn’t run away with her, not while the kids were at university. Not until he’d sorted out the business and released his assets. Too many excuses, so she didn’t believe any of them. Then: ‘You’re playing with fire, Lizzie Redhead. Just let it go. Do you want to go back inside? You won’t get such an easy ride next time.’