The Moth Catcher (Vera Stanhope series Book 7)

by Ann Cleeves

  When breakfast was over, one of the officers came to find her. There was a procedure for getting out of here. More rules. In her room she got into her own clothes and put her other few belongings into a black bag. Then she went to the governor’s office for the exit interview.

  The governor was a very tall woman with a long neck that seemed to curve like a swan’s. She always wore blue. Today it was a blue mid-calf skirt in soft wool and a cashmere sweater that was almost grey. A string of pearls round her neck. She could have belonged to the place when it was a grand house.

  ‘So, Elizabeth, you’re on your way. I hope you’ve learned something from your stay here.’ She had a very deep voice with an accent that Lizzie had never been able to place. Scottish? Irish?

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ This was what the woman expected, but Lizzie thought it was true.

  ‘These days we do our best, you know.’ The woman stared out of the window. A cloud of rooks was blown by a sudden gusty breeze. ‘We hope all our women take something from the experience of being at Sittingwell.’ Then she was on her feet and holding out her hand for Lizzie to shake it. She might have been the headmistress of an exclusive private school. ‘Good luck.’

  Lizzie picked up the bin bag and left the room. At the end of the corridor she saw that her mother was looking out for her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Annie Redhead had sat in her car outside the prison waiting for her daughter to be released. She’d arrived early. For a while she listened to the news on the radio, then there was an item about the killings in Gilswick and she switched it off. She couldn’t bear to hear about that. The police had stopped reporters coming all the way up the valley, but they were camping out in the village, bothering anyone who went into the shop or the pub. When she’d driven past the church they’d been there too, waiting for parishioners who were starting to make their way inside. Janet said she’d bumped into a journalist on the hill when she’d been out walking Dipper and Wren, but he was frightened of dogs and had run away when they started barking at him.

  ‘They’re just cowards,’ Janet had said, her bright eyes like sparks because she was so angry. ‘Parasites feeding off other people’s grief.’

  Annie had asked Sam if he’d like to come with her to Sittingwell, but he’d decided against it. ‘Best not to crowd her right at the start. She won’t want a welcome party or a lot of fuss.’ Annie had almost said, ‘I’d like you there. I don’t want to face her on my own. Please come with me.’ But she’d never been very good at making demands of Sam. She was too passive. Perhaps that was a mistake and he’d realize more that she loved him, and depended on him, if she asked more of him.

  At last it was time to go inside. A cheerful officer said Lizzie was just with the governor and wouldn’t be long. ‘How are you planning to celebrate? A big Sunday lunch?’

  Annie smiled and said her husband would be in the kitchen now, preparing something special. Then she thought of the woman Lizzie had scarred with the bottle in the bar in Kimmerston. She hadn’t appeared in court, because Lizzie had pleaded guilty. Annie didn’t suppose that woman would be celebrating today, if she’d been told that Lizzie was being released. Her family wouldn’t be sitting down to a celebratory Sunday meal.

  Then suddenly Lizzie appeared, as if from nowhere, walking down the corridor towards Annie and it was just as she’d imagined. Except that, as she got closer, Lizzie’s face didn’t light up. It was closed and blank, as it had always been. She just nodded at Annie, called goodbye to the officer at the desk and walked out of the big arched door ahead of her mother.

  The weather had changed overnight, and when they emerged into the garden there was a sudden rainstorm that caught them unawares and sent them running for the car. Annie found herself giggling – the result of tension, and because she thought they must look ridiculous. She was still dressed for the heatwave in a light chiffon frock and sandals. She imagined the women watching from the long windows. Lizzie joined in with the laughter and for a moment they stood together on the gravel, their faces turned to the rain, not moving. Then Annie found her keys and they tumbled into the car, both of them drenched.

  Annie drove for a while without speaking. She knew she made Lizzie feel hemmed in; it would probably be best to stay cool and keep an emotional distance. She wished she could ask Lizzie what she wanted from her mother, but Lizzie hated those in-depth conversations. They’d tried family therapy once, and Lizzie had taken the piss throughout. So Annie drove out of the gate into the road without a word. Lizzie glanced back at the prison as they pulled away and then stared in front of her.

  Another burst of rain spattered the windscreen.

  ‘Have they found the killer yet?’ The question from Lizzie came suddenly, but Annie had the impression it had been on her mind from the moment she left the prison.

  ‘No.’ Annie paused. ‘There’s been another death in the valley. Did you hear about that?’ She thought there must have been rumours. Shirley Hewarth would have been a regular visitor at the prison. Surely the officers would have talked.

  ‘No.’ Lizzie turned to face her mother. They were stopped at traffic lights and Annie glanced back. Her daughter looked very pale in the strange thundery light. ‘Who?’

  ‘Shirley Hewarth, the woman who came to visit you.’

  A silence, broken by the swish of windscreen wipers, regular as a metronome.

  No response from Lizzie. Her face was quite blank and closed again.

  ‘She seemed a lovely woman,’ Annie said. Then: ‘I was there when Janet O’Kane found her body. She screamed. We were in the Lucas house, and we all ran out to look.’

  ‘She was killed in the valley?’ Now there was a reaction from Lizzie. Shock and something else. Anxiety?

  ‘I suppose so. Or her body was dumped there. The police have been nosing around, but they don’t tell us anything.’ The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and the wipers squeaked on the dry windscreen. Annie shot another quick glance towards her daughter. ‘Where shall we go? Straight home or to Kimmerston? We could have coffee.’ She realized the last thing she wanted was to go straight back to the valley. ‘Dad’s doing a special meal, but he was planning it for later this evening. We know you don’t like to eat early. And you need new clothes. We left most of your old ones in the flat. What about heading into Newcastle for the shops?’ She stopped abruptly, hearing an edge of desperation in her voice.

  There was another long silence before Lizzie answered. ‘Let’s go home. I’ve got used to eating early in the prison. And besides, I could murder a proper cup of tea.’

  They were driving up the lane towards home when they passed the detective’s Land Rover coming the other way. Annie hoped they hadn’t been in their house bothering Sam again. He’d be tense enough about Lizzie coming home. Anxious about saying the wrong thing and not giving her proper support.

  ‘Whose car’s that?’ Lizzie had just looked up as they squeezed past, the Land Rover almost in the ditch.

  ‘They’re part of the police team.’

  When they opened the door Sam was already in the hall. He must have heard the car. There was a moment of hesitation, then he opened his arms and Lizzie ran towards him. It was all better than Annie could have expected. After all, Lizzie hadn’t seen her father for several months and she wasn’t one for being held. Never had been. At the back of Annie’s mind there was a niggle. It can’t be this easy. Lizzie has conned us before. Why should I trust her this time? She thought they’d been hurt so many times before that it was sensible to limit her expectations. But she wanted to enjoy this moment too. Lizzie sober and clean, and home from prison. Lizzie being normal.

  They’d got the room ready for her. Flowers in a jam jar on the windowsill. A new duvet cover on the bed. A small TV. Everything bright and clean. There was an arched window, formed from part of the old barn door, and the room was full of the sulphurous light.

  ‘Is this okay?’ Annie stood at the door and showed Lizzie in.
r />   ‘It’s lovely!’ Lizzie stood at the window and looked down at the river. ‘Where did you find Shirley?’

  ‘You can’t see the footpath from here.’ Annie was pleased about that. ‘The other houses must be in the way.’

  ‘I might go out for a walk later,’ Lizzie said. ‘That’s something else I’ve been looking forward to. The freedom to go wherever I like. Clean air.’

  ‘Not on your own!’ Annie realized, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, that they sounded controlling and bossy. Not at all how she’d hoped to be with her daughter. Not this time. She took a deep breath. ‘There’s a killer out there. I just want you to be safe.’

  Lizzie turned from the window and stared at her. ‘If I stay indoors I might as well be in prison.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. You’re a grown-up and you have to make your own decisions. Take responsibility for yourself.’ A pause. ‘But let Dad come with you. At least for the first time this afternoon. He’d love to be asked. Otherwise I’ll spend all the time you’re out worrying about you.’

  Lizzie gave a sudden smile. ‘Oh, Mum, you do try so hard.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can never quite get it right.’

  They stood for a moment, separate and apart, looking down at the valley.

  Lizzie waited until early evening before heading outside. The rain had stopped and there were occasional bright bursts of sunshine. Everything looked fresh and green. Sam had started cooking the meal. There was a joint of lamb covered in rosemary waiting to go into the oven and a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge. Lizzie had spent most of the afternoon on her own in her room with her phone. Annie worried that she was catching up with the friends who had caused her trouble before, but resisted the temptation to call Lizzie down for cups of tea and slices of home-made cake, to ask who she was talking to.

  She was relieved at first when her daughter emerged into the kitchen and leaned against the bench, watching Sam stirring a pan.

  ‘I’m going out for that walk now.’ It was a kind of challenge and they both knew it.

  Annie took a breath and kept her voice calm. ‘And you don’t want either of us to go with you?’

  ‘Next time. First time out, I want to enjoy it for myself. Don’t worry. I’ve got my phone.’ And she waved it. ‘I can look after myself. I won’t be long. I’ll be back at seven to eat.’

  Annie wondered what numbers were stored in the mobile; even whether Lizzie had arranged to meet someone. Perhaps a car was waiting for her at the end of the track, where the trees hid the road from Valley Farm, and she’d be driven away back to her old life. Perhaps they’d never see her again. Then Annie told herself she was being paranoid and this relationship would never work if she couldn’t trust her daughter. If she kept up this level of worry she’d lose her mind.

  Lizzie was already wearing a jacket. ‘I won’t be late. Promise.’ As she walked through the door, Annie thought she should have offered the use of her wellingtons because the grass would still be wet.

  Annie stayed with Sam in the kitchen for a while, not helping with the cooking, but enjoying the company. The rhythm of his work relaxed her. ‘How do you think she seemed?’

  He was chopping an onion and stopped, the sharp knife poised above the board. ‘Well. She’s put on a bit of weight.’

  ‘I mean in herself.’

  He smiled. ‘Too early to tell, isn’t it? And we can’t watch her as if she’s a specimen in a jar. That would put anyone off.’ The knife sliced through the onion again, so fast that it was just a blur.

  Annie laid the table and then went upstairs to take towels into Lizzie’s room. Not meaning to pry, she told herself, but because she’d forgotten to do it earlier. And she didn’t look at any of Lizzie’s things. But that room with its arched window gave the best view of the valley in the whole house. She moved the flowers from the windowsill and perched there. She stared out, hoping to catch sight of her daughter, of the blue Berghaus jacket she’d been wearing, realizing only then that had been her intention all along.

  The valley was spread out beneath her. To her right there was the bungalow where Susan lived with her father. Annie didn’t know what to make of Susan. She was a good cleaner once she got going, but she talked too much. Gossip about people in the village. People Annie scarcely knew. Percy’s old Mini was in the lane, making its way to The Lamb. He was there every evening for an hour before his tea.

  It occurred to Annie that The Lamb might have been Lizzie’s destination too. She’d grown up in the valley and had been to school with the few young people who remained. The thought comforted her. She’d be safe in the pub, and Percy might give her a lift back.

  Annie still didn’t move from her perch. She thought she was like Nigel, staring with his binoculars, pretending to be looking at birds, but following Lorraine’s every movement. There was the sound of barking and the dogs ran out of the O’Kane house into the courtyard. Not Jan with them, but John, hunched into a waxed jacket, calling them to follow him. Annie ran downstairs, into the kitchen and out of the back door. ‘Just popping in to see Jan.’

  Sam looked up and gave her a little wave, but didn’t say anything.

  The garden smelled of wet soil. Dark clouds covered the sun. Annie tapped on Jan’s kitchen door and went straight in. The room was in shadow and for a moment Annie thought her neighbour wasn’t there. Then she saw her in the rocking chair where Jan always sat to read. Annie walked further into the room.

  Jan, who was usually so controlled and sensible, was crying. Annie had wanted to confide in her, as she had many times before, to tell her about Lizzie’s homecoming, but Jan was wrapped up in her own grief. Her eyes were red and she held a handkerchief and was dabbing at them. Annie crouched beside her and took her hand. ‘What’s happened? Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ The woman stood up.

  Annie felt as if she’d been pushed away physically. ‘But you’re upset. Can’t I help?’

  ‘No,’ Jan said. ‘Nobody can help.’

  At the front of the house there was the sound of dogs barking, a key in the lock. ‘You must go now.’ Jan walked towards Annie, so that she was backing towards the kitchen door. Annie saw that the hand holding the handkerchief was trembling. As she turned and fled she thought that she knew nothing of her neighbours at all.

  In her own kitchen Lizzie had just arrived. She’d taken off her soaking shoes and was laughing at the wet footprints that her stockinged feet had made on the tiled floor.

  ‘We were waiting for you before we opened the champagne,’ Sam said.

  Annie was about to ask Lizzie where she’d been to get so wet, but thought better of it. It was none of her business.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Back in the police station Vera was reassessing the case. There were no notes on the desk. This wasn’t a formal meeting. Anyone looking in at her office would think she’d fallen asleep. She lay back in her chair and her feet were resting on a low stool covered with bilious-green velour. Nobody could remember how the stool had come into her office and usually it sat in a corner covered with a pile of files. The weight of her feet in their walkers’ sandals had caused a permanent dent in the cushion. Vera shut her eyes. She thought concentration was the skill most required of a good detective. Concentration and an innate nosiness.

  She picked apart the elements of the inquiry in her mind to see if there was a line of investigation that had been missed. It was too easy to rush forward in a case, especially if new details came to light, and to forget incidental facts that had come to light earlier in the process. An investigation couldn’t be a route march. More a meander, and that had always been Vera’s preferred way of walking. After fifteen minutes she got to her feet, walked to the door and shouted out into the open-plan office where her detectives were working, ‘Joe. A minute!’

  He came into the office, pushed aside the stool and took the chair on the opposite side of her desk.

  ‘Did anyo
ne ever go and take a statement from Jason Crow?’

  It took him a moment to place the name.

  ‘Jason Crow. Charlie’s Teflon man. Former employer, and probable lover, of Lizzie Redhead,’ Vera said.

  ‘Charlie went out to see him.’ Joe struggled to remember the details. ‘Crow said he hadn’t had any contact with Lizzie since he sacked her, and he’d never met Martin Benton.’

  Vera looked up. ‘Did you see Lizzie by the way? In Annie Redhead’s car when we were on our way out of the valley.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you and Holly were half-asleep.’ She knew she sounded smug, but didn’t care.

  ‘Why didn’t you say at the time?’

  Vera didn’t know how to answer that. Sometimes she liked to hoard facts. Secrets made her feel superior. It had become a habit. A bad habit. She’d bollock any of her team if they tried it.

  ‘I can’t see how Crow can be relevant,’ Joe said. ‘Lizzie was inside when all the murders happened. Jason might be a scumbag who got the Redheads’ business on the cheap, but he had no connection with Randle or Benton.’

  ‘Has he been inside? I know the name, and that he’s been in bother in the past. He could have come across Shirley Hewarth when she was a welfare officer in the nick. She wasn’t only at Sittingwell.’ Vera was thinking this probably wouldn’t lead anywhere, but there was an itch in her brain and she had to scratch. A bit like when the eczema on her leg was particularly bad.