by Ann Cleeves
So Holly found herself standing in a corridor in Northumbria University, outside one of the rehearsal rooms. Inside, a show seemed to be in the first stages of planning. Half a dozen young people were blocking moves to weird music Holly didn’t recognize. Jonathan was expecting her, and when he saw her looking through the glass door he took his leave of the group. They gathered round and hugged him in turn. He was a tall, gangling young man, dark like his mother. She could see the resemblance.
When he emerged into the corridor she held out a hand. ‘I’m so sorry about your mother.’ She never knew exactly what to say in these circumstances. Vera had banned Sorry for your loss. ‘We’re not characters from an American cop show,’ she’d yelled at one of the briefings, ‘and the bereaved haven’t just mislaid their car keys.’
Jonathan led her to a tiny room where three desks were crammed into a space hardly bigger than a cupboard. ‘My tutor said we could use her office. She doesn’t need it because it’s the weekend. She came in specially because of what happened to Mam.’ His voice was even, and Holly thought he was still in shock. He hadn’t yet accepted the reality of his mother’s death. He leaned against one of the desks and nodded that she should take the chair.
‘But you’re here, even though it’s a Saturday?’
‘We’re working towards our final performance and there’s a lot on.’ He paused. ‘Claire, my tutor, tried to send me home, but what good would it do me to be moping in my room? Dad’s going to pick me up in a bit. I’m going to stay with him and Mandy in Kimmerston for a few days.’ He looked into her face. A fierce stare. A challenge. ‘Do you know who killed my mother yet?’
Holly shook her head.
‘I’d assumed it must be one of her clients.’ He had the sort of face that gave everything away. Emotion was reflected in it like the shadows of moving clouds on a still lake. In a few seconds Holly saw disgust, anger and affection. ‘She loved working in that place, but when I saw some of the men she was dealing with . . . They’d have scared me.’
‘You went to the office in Bebington?’
‘A few times. Mum and I went to the theatre a lot, and once I’d learned to drive I’d pick her up to bring her into town.’
‘Can you think why she might have been in Gilswick yesterday?’
He gave a little laugh. ‘That area seems a bit upmarket for most of her clients, but I suppose it might have been work. She did lots of home visits.’
‘Your mother didn’t have friends who lived in the valley? She told the volunteer who worked with her in the office that she was taking time off yesterday afternoon, so the visit was nothing to do with the charity.’
He paused. ‘We were close,’ he said. ‘I lived in her flat before I got the place at Northumbria Uni and decided I needed a bit of independence, and I can’t remember her talking about anyone from Gilswick. But we didn’t live in each other’s pockets, even when I was still at school.’
‘Had there been anyone special after the divorce?’ Holly was feeling her way here. She still had no idea what she was looking for.
‘Probably.’ He grinned. ‘But she wasn’t going to tell me. We were close, but some areas were off-limits. I never chatted about my love life, either. But I don’t think she had a long-term relationship. She liked her independence too much.’
‘Was that what caused the break-up of the marriage? Your parents had been together for a long time.’
‘Perhaps. Though I didn’t ever see Dad cramping her style. She was always her own woman, even when they were married.’ He paused again. ‘Sometimes I think my mother had a kind of self-destruct button. She couldn’t quite accept that things were going well, and made life so difficult for my Dad that he left in the end. Found another woman. Someone less complicated.’ There was another silence. ‘It was almost as if she didn’t believe she had the right to be happy. I don’t blame my dad for leaving. They were both more relaxed after the separation.’
It was lunchtime, and through the window Holly could see students in groups on a piece of grass, chatting. It could have been midsummer.
‘The local news is linking my mother’s death with the double-murder that happened in Gilswick last week.’ Jonathan shot another intense stare in her direction. ‘Is that true?’
‘One of the earlier victims worked with Shirley as a volunteer,’ Holly said. ‘It seems too much of a coincidence not to be some sort of connection. Did you ever meet Martin Benton?’
‘I don’t think I ever met him when I called into the office to see my mother. She did talk about him, though. She said he was brilliant at all things technical.’
There was a silence. Vera would have known how to fill it, would have elicited confidences and useful pieces of information. Yet again Holly felt inadequate in comparison. I’m not even good at this, so why do I put myself through it every day?
‘Patrick Randle, one of the earlier victims, wrote to your mother from his home in Wychbold. That’s a town in Herefordshire. Do you know what that might have been about?’
The student seemed bewildered. ‘I have absolutely no idea. Mum worked all over the place when she first qualified, but I don’t think she ever lived that far south. Besides, that was years ago, long before I was born, and I don’t think she kept in touch with anyone she worked with there. Except maybe on Facebook.’
Holly made a mental note to get the techies to check Shirley’s Facebook page. Perhaps that had been how Patrick found her. Or how she’d found him. ‘When did you last see your mother?’
‘Just under a week ago. It was Sunday lunchtime. She cooked for me in her flat. Roast lamb. My favourite. Veggie pie for her. Then we walked along the front to Tynemouth and had a couple of drinks in a bar there, before I got the Metro back to town.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He seemed lost in his thoughts. ‘My memory is coloured by what’s happened since. Looking back, she seemed a bit distracted, not quite herself – a bit quiet maybe. I asked her if everything was okay and she said she thought she was going down with a cold. I accepted that. She wasn’t a woman you felt you had to take care of.’
‘Have you been in touch with her since?’
‘Only by text. Some mail had come to the flat for me. Should she post it on or keep hold of it? Did I fancy the new play at the Live Theatre? She was an absolutely perfect mother. Supportive when I needed her, but never interfering, never in-my-face.’
There was a tap at the office door. A woman stood outside accompanied by an older man in jeans and a jersey. ‘Your dad’s here.’
The woman was obviously Jonathan’s tutor. The man put his arms round his son and they clung to each other. Jonathan, who’d been holding things together well until now, seemed to collapse into his father’s arms. Holly felt awkward faced by the show of affection. The tutor walked away without another word. Jack Hewarth was crying silently and without fuss, allowing the tears to run down his face.
‘This is a detective, Dad. She’s investigating Mum’s murder.’ Jonathan had pulled away.
‘Would you mind if I asked you some questions too, Mr Hewarth? Background stuff.’ Holly wished they would both sit down. She felt at a disadvantage in the low chair.
‘Aye, why not? If it’ll help. It’ll be the same madman that killed those two people in Gilswick, though, won’t it? That’s where her body was found.’
‘We’re not ruling anything out at the moment.’
The man took a seat opposite to her. He was unshaven, untidy, and Holly thought that was his natural state and not a reaction to grief.
‘We were still friends,’ he said. ‘I didn’t hate her. Nothing like that. And she came along to the wedding when I got married again and gave us her blessing.’
‘Where did you meet?’
‘Staffordshire. Two Geordies out of their comfort zone. She was with a bunch of friends in a bar and I recognized the accent, went over for a chat.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘It was my first job. Cub reporter on
a small-town local rag, but I loved every minute. She’d just qualified as a probation officer and seemed a bit overwhelmed. I couldn’t see it was right, a young thing like her dealing with murderers and rapists. They’d send her out to interview men on council estates where the police would only go in pairs. After a day like that she just wanted fun, and nobody can let their hair down like people from the North-East.’
‘When did you come back north?’ Holly supposed she’d been a young thing when she started working with murderers and rapists. She’d never been one for letting her hair down much, though.
‘Soon after we married. I got a job on The Journal and stayed there till I took early retirement. She found a post easily enough and worked her way up to team leader. She ended up in the prison. Sittingwell. She’d worked in institutions before and I think she liked it there. It’s an open nick, and she thought she could do positive work with the girls. Then there were all sorts of changes to the probation service, plans to privatize, and she got disheartened. She couldn’t see a future for herself under the new regime. Retirement wasn’t for her, though – I’m an idle bastard, but she always had enough energy to power the National Grid.’
Holly thought the information that Shirley had worked at Sittingwell was new. Another connection between her and the Redheads, though she would already have left the prison by the time Lizzie was convicted. ‘So she got the job at Hope?’
‘It was just a bunch of volunteers, before she took it on. She was approached by the trustees and asked if she’d consider doing it. It meant a massive cut in salary, but she was always up for a challenge, our Shirley.’
Jack Hewarth seemed to find some comfort talking about his former wife and Holly would have let him continue without interruption. This was the sort of information Vera loved to have. But Jonathan turned away from the window and joined the conversation.
‘She always said she’d never work at a job she wouldn’t do without pay. That was why she encouraged me to do the drama degree. Most parents would have advised against it, but she said I’d regret it if I didn’t give it my best shot.’
There was a moment of silence, broken by the wail of a saxophone from one of the practice rooms further down the corridor. Holly thought this had been a strong family; despite the divorce, the couple had maintained a good relationship and had brought up their son together. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want Shirley Hewarth dead; surely her killing must be the result of the double-murder in the big house. Shirley had known something, or guessed something, that had made her death inevitable.
‘Does the name Patrick Randle mean anything to you?’ She directed the question to Jack, expecting an immediate denial. Instead there was a hesitation.
‘Something about it is kind of familiar.’
‘He was one of the earlier victims at Gilswick.’ Holly leaned forward across the desk towards the man. ‘You probably heard the name on the news.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ But he didn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘I thought I knew it from a different context, though. Something that happened a while ago. It’s the journo in me. You never forget a contact.’
Another silence. The musician along the corridor was playing scales.
‘Did Shirley ever talk to you about Martin Benton? He worked with her at Hope.’ Holly was going through the motions now. The Hewarths might have parted on amicable terms, but they’d been separated for years and she didn’t think they’d share confidences.
‘The geek volunteer?’
She was surprised that he’d known the name. She nodded.
‘Just that she’d never met anyone who could find their way round a computer system as well as him. She said he could make a fortune if he took up hacking. Just as well he was on the side of the angels.’
‘When did you last see Shirley?’
‘She called last week and asked if I fancied a drink. She said she’d had a crap day and needed to bend my ear about something.’
Again Holly was surprised. She dismissed former partners from her mind and from her life. She wondered what Jack’s new wife made of the arrangement. ‘Was that usual?’
‘Not recently. Not since I’d married.’ Jack gave a sudden grin. ‘Shirley said Mandy wouldn’t appreciate it. So I knew she must be a bit desperate.’
‘And did you meet?’
‘Yes, in the Rockliffe Arms. A little pub behind Front Street in Kimmerston. It’s usually quiet in there and we arranged to meet early, straight after she finished work. That time of day it’s mostly old men playing dominoes and the odd person calling in for a quick pint on their way home.’
Holly was taking notes now. If Shirley had needed to confide in someone, this might be significant.
Jack continued, ‘I could tell something was bothering her as soon as she got there. She looked as if she hadn’t slept properly, as if worry was eating away at her.’
‘When was this?’ Holly looked up from her iPad.
‘Thursday.’
‘So after the first Gilswick murders.’
‘Aye, I remember it was all over the news. People in the pub were talking about it. Because it was so close to home and nobody had been arrested.’ Jack seemed to replay the events of the evening in his head and began to describe them as if he could still see them. ‘I went up to the bar to get the drinks, and then I asked her what had happened. Martin had just been mentioned on the news as a victim. She was obviously shocked, but she was anxious too. “The police will be poking into our business now. I don’t know what they’ll find.” I was just saying that she shouldn’t worry when a gang of her old mates came in. People she used to work with. They joined us and it was impossible to chat after that. Shirley was drinking a lot and ended up leaving her car and getting a taxi home. That was the last time I saw her.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I should have dragged her away, found somewhere else to talk. But I thought she was just upset because someone who worked with her had been killed. I thought she needed cheering up, and her friends could do that as well as me.’
‘Did you speak to her after that?’ Holly tried not to show her disappointment. The man felt guilty enough.
‘I texted to ask if she wanted to try for a quiet chat again.’ Jack paused. ‘She said she was fine. Nothing I can’t deal with. That was classic Shirley. She thought she could take on the world all by herself.’ He looked up at Holly. ‘Trouble was, none of the rest of us could keep up with her.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Joe went straight from the Hope office in Bebington to the valley in Gilswick. Less than a dozen miles in distance, but as far removed from the ex-pit-village as it was possible to be. Vera had phoned him from the car just before she arrived at Alicia Randle’s house.
‘Go and talk to the retired hedonists! I don’t want them dismissed as possible suspects because they read books, keep hens and make jam.’ Shouting to make her point, although he could hear her perfectly. He thought she’d always be in charge, even though she was at the other end of the country.
It was just after midday and he’d already decided that would be a good time to catch the residents at home. After the fuss of the night before they might have slept in, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable now to expect them to be ready for interview. He sat for a moment in the car planning his strategy; and because he was nervous. He might have been brought up to believe that all men were equal, but he found himself awestruck by people with degrees who used long words. Up until now Vera had been the point of contact with the Valley Farm residents. She didn’t think anyone was cleverer than her. Joe hadn’t even met them and he felt slightly daunted.
He went to the Redhead house first. Shirley Hewarth had visited their daughter in prison, and the police knew that there’d been contact between her and Annie Redhead. A man opened the door. Joe recognized him from the photo pinned on the whiteboard in the operations room. Sam Redhead. Big, balding and a bit tongue-tied. Joe introduced himself. ‘Could I come in? I know you talked to officers early this m
orning, but everything was a bit rushed then. You’ll have had time to gather your thoughts.’
Sam showed him into a living room. The original barn walls had been whitewashed and the curtains were white and blue, patterned with small flower prints. Joe wished Sal could see it. She loved all the makeover programmes on daytime telly. A woman, Annie Redhead, sat on a small sofa covered with the same material as the curtains and grasped a mug of coffee. She was plump too, with a very pretty face. Heart-shaped. She might have just got up, but she looked as if she hadn’t slept at all.
‘This is a detective,’ Sam said. ‘He wants to talk to us.’
‘Of course.’ The woman turned and managed a smile. ‘Can we get you anything, Sergeant? Tea? Coffee? We don’t have a fancy machine like Nigel next door, but you’d be very welcome.’ She must have realized she was rambling because she fell suddenly silent.
Joe thought her grief seemed too personal for the death of a stranger, however shocking it must have been to see the slashes on the body. ‘You knew Shirley Hewarth?’
‘I only met her once. Yesterday morning. She asked me to see her in her office.’ A pause, and then a kind of confession. ‘She’d been visiting our daughter Lizzie in prison.’ Annie turned to face him. ‘She had plans for helping her. I’m not sure what will happen about that now. It seems very selfish, but that’s all I can think about: that we’ll be left to deal with Lizzie coming home, without any help or support. I trusted Shirley. It’s crazy, but I almost feel that she’s let us down by dying.’
Sam sat awkwardly beside his wife. As he put his arm around her shoulder, Joe was reminded of himself as a teenager; the party when he’d got it together with Sal, sliding his arm around her back, the very first physical contact. There was something innocent about this couple. They could have been teenagers too.
