Becky nodded. ‘And, you know, I think Patrick was almost pleased. Because that would give him a free hand to carry on with his research. Or whatever it was that was keeping him awake all night.’
‘Was anyone helping him? There was another victim. An older man called Martin Benton.’ Holly was already imagining taking all this information back to Vera, but it would be even better if she could find a connection between the two men.
‘The name doesn’t mean anything.’ Becky had turned back to face the window. Outside an old apple tree was in blossom, the flowers the colour of candy floss. ‘But. as I said, Patrick didn’t talk to me about it.’
‘Do you know if the Randle family had any connection with Northumberland? Did the county have a special meaning for him?’ Holly thought the man could have come north to continue his research. ‘We still don’t know why he chose to come to the area.’
‘Well, it wasn’t to see me.’ Becky stood up. ‘I thought I might phone him, you know. After I got that text from him. I was going to offer to meet up. I kept planning the words in my head. We’re only forty miles apart. Let’s get together for a drink. In Newcastle maybe. That’s kind of halfway. But in the end I decided against it. I thought I had to let him come back to me when he was ready. And that’s what’s really hurting. I could have seen him, changed things. He might even still be alive. It’s not just grief that’s kept me awake since I heard he’d died.’ She paused and looked directly at Holly. ‘I feel so bloody guilty.’
Chapter Twenty
Vera sat in her office and brooded. Joe had come back from the prison with news of his conversation with Lizzie Redhead. He’d achieved precious little and she thought that she should have gone instead. Joe was at the time in his life when his judgement could be clouded by a bonny lass. The only useful information he could offer was that the woman from the prisoners’ aid charity had visited too. What was that about? Lizzie would have plenty of support on the outside and a home to go back to. Vera thought there were people who needed Shirley Hewarth’s help more than Lizzie Redhead.
A wasp was buzzing against the glass of the window. Vera opened it, letting in a sudden roar of traffic noise, and set the insect free. Wasn’t it too early in the year for wasps? She stood up, grabbed her bag and went out. In the car park she passed Holly and was tempted to stop and ask how she’d got on with Patrick’s girlfriend, but in the end she only waved and drove away. She felt she was being sucked back to the valley where the bodies had been discovered. As if it was a vacuum and there was no resistance.
The place was quiet. It was about the same time of day as when she’d first visited in response to the discovery of Patrick’s body. That had been two days ago, and they still hadn’t found the place where he’d been killed, though the search team had been working from dawn until almost dusk over the past two days. Costing a bloody fortune in overtime. They’d finished for the evening and Vera drove past the entrance to the Carswells’ house, the house that the locals called ‘the Hall’. Percy’s Mini was parked outside the bungalow, but here too everything was quiet. As she approached the front door there was the faint murmur of the television. She rang the bell and heard the sound of it inside. It took a while for anyone to answer and Vera thought that Susan must be out. Percy’s daughter was so curious that she’d have the door open immediately.
The old man looked a little dishevelled and she thought he must have fallen asleep in front of the TV.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ He stood aside to let her in.
‘Your Susan not around?’
‘She’s gone into Kimmerston to see some friends. Regular date, once a month.’
‘Ah well,’ Vera said. ‘It was you I wanted to see anyway.’
He took her into the living room and switched of the television. ‘Just rubbish anyway.’ Then he offered her tea.
‘You’re all right,’ Vera said. ‘I’m awash with the stuff. I’m not sure what I’m here for really. Only a chat, and to get out of the office.’ She sat in an armchair by the window and waited for him to take his place. ‘Do you have much to do with the folk up at Valley Farm?’
It took him a while to gather his thoughts. She thought he’d probably been to The Lamb for a couple of pints, then eaten a big supper. He’d have been fast asleep within minutes of his daughter leaving, the doorbell jolting him awake, leaving him a bit confused and dazed.
‘I see them around.’ She thought he had been to the pub, because he was dressed in proper trousers and a shirt, a grey cardigan, just as he had been when they’d first met. ‘They seem decent enough. I’ve known Sam Redhead all his life, of course. He grew up on the estate farm. He’s always been a quiet kind of chap.’
‘Did you ever meet their daughter?’
He shook his head. ‘I heard stories. It’s hard being a parent. You have to stick by them, even if you don’t always like the way they carry on.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘Does Susan clean for all of them?’
‘Aye. Mrs Carswell recommended her to the Prof. and his wife, and then the other houses took her on.’
‘Handy.’
He nodded. Vera waited. ‘She likes some of them better than others. The Prof. can be a bit particular. He doesn’t like her moving the stuff on his shelves, then complains because there’s a bit of dust left.’ Another pause. ‘He’s a proper writer. He’s had real books published. Not fiction. Historical stuff.’
‘What about Janet? His wife?’
‘Susan says she’s a bit of a doormat. It’s almost as if she’s scared of him.’ He looked up. ‘But you don’t want to take too much notice of what Susan says. She’s never been one to let the truth stand in the way of a good story.’ He gave an awkward little laugh. ‘I tell her she should be a writer herself.’
Vera smiled too. ‘You must remember the farmhouse up there when it was still working. The place where the Lucas family lives now.’
‘I used to work there. Contract mostly. And my dad before me. He was a moudy man.’
Vera grinned. ‘Eh, I haven’t heard that word for years! You’d get in the moudy man to clear your land of moles and pests.’
Percy nodded. ‘You wouldn’t recognize the house now. It’s all been tarted up. You’d never guess it was ever a working farm.’ A pause. ‘A chap called Heslop used to be the tenant farmer. Spent all his adult life there, struggling to make a living from the place. He only gave up when his wife couldn’t stand it any more and forced him to shift to the town. He died six months later. He’d be turning in his grave if he could see what they’d done to the place.’
‘You’ve been inside?’
‘Nigel Lucas had a party last Christmas and invited most of the village.’ He gave a wicked grin. ‘I think they were hoping the Carswells would show, but the major and his wife were down south visiting their daughter. So Nigel had to make do with the plebs.’
‘He’s a bit of a social climber, is he?’
‘Cash is no object,’ Percy said. ‘Susan says their kitchen cost more than a man’s wage for a year. But I don’t think that’s enough for Nigel. He’d like to get in with the county set. It’ll never happen, though. Round here you need to be born to it.’
‘How did he make all his money?’ Vera leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She thought this was as happy as she got, digging around into the background of her suspects. Perhaps she was a bit of a historian too.
‘He had his own business. Burglar alarms. That sort of thing, I suppose. Sold it and made a fortune, apparently.’ Percy paused again. ‘Susan says he’s been accepted as a magistrate. She saw the letter when she was cleaning last week.’