‘I take it you had the accounts properly audited?’
‘What are you suggesting, man?’ Laidlaw’s voice was quiet, but he was angry enough to bunch one hand into a fist on the table.
‘Two people involved in your organization have been killed. I’m trying to find a reason. If someone had been fiddling the books, that might provide a motive.’
‘Nobody’s been fiddling the books. We run that place on a shoestring. The people working there put in more than they took out. I know damn fine that Shirley worked double the hours she was contracted for.’ When Laidlaw spoke, Joe pictured his father preaching. Both men full of righteous indignation, fuelled by class resentment.
‘What about Martin Benton?’ Joe asked. ‘Did you know him?’
‘I was on the interview panel that appointed him for the temporary IT post. That was Shirley’s idea. She said they were wasting time on admin when they could be working face-to-face with clients. I saw him in the office a couple of times after that, but I never felt I knew him.’
‘He was your chosen candidate?’ Joe was finding the interview trickier than he’d expected. Laidlaw had years of experience as a local politician. Not giving a straight answer was wired into his DNA.
‘He seemed to work wonders in the place when he was on the short-term contract, and had the commitment to come back as a volunteer.’ Laidlaw frowned. ‘Besides, Shirley vouched for him and that was good enough for me.’
Joe wondered if Laidlaw had been distracted by the lacy bra too. If, in his later years, he’d seen the possibility of a different sort of life, one not restricted by Christian socialist morality. ‘But what did you think of Benton when you interviewed him?’
‘Why, he seemed a nondescript man,’ Laidlaw said. ‘No personality. As soon as he walked out of the door I’d forgotten what he looked like or how he’d answered his questions. But he was the best qualified and Shirley wanted him, so we gave him the post.’
‘When did you last see Shirley?’
‘About a fortnight ago. A trustees’ meeting.’ Laidlaw paused. ‘I had a call from her since, though. Friday lunchtime.’
Joe looked up sharply. ‘What was that about?’
‘She wanted to fix up a meeting. Nothing urgent, she said, but she could use some advice.’ Laidlaw paused again. ‘I felt flattered, you know. Usually she was dishing out advice, not asking for it.’
Joe thought there was the beginning of a pattern here. Shirley had set up a meeting with her ex-husband too. How had she thought these older men could help her?
Laidlaw was continuing. ‘I told her I was free that afternoon. Doreen has the Women’s Guild on a Friday afternoon, so I could call into the Hope office after I’d dropped her off at the chapel. But Shirley said she already had a meeting and could we make it early next week.’
‘Did she tell you who she planned to visit on Friday afternoon?’ Joe tried to keep his voice easy, but could hear the excitement in it.
Laidlaw was scathing. ‘Do you think I’m daft, lad? I’d worked out she might have arranged to meet her killer. If she’d given me more details, don’t you think I’d have told you?’
In the silence that followed Joe’s mobile rang, startling them both. Joe thought Laidlaw was more tense and nervy than he was letting on. He answered his phone. It was Vera, chirpy. ‘Can you get yourself back here? Billy Cartwright’s got some news.’
Driving back to the police station Joe found his mind wandering to the first time he’d met John Laidlaw. It had been at his grandfather’s funeral. His grandad had been ill for months: lung cancer, probably caused by smoking Capstan Full Strength tabs and spending his early years underground in the pit. Joe had been a young boy and could just remember the occasion. The chapel full of old men. John Laidlaw had done a reading. On the way to the crem, Joe had asked his father what it was like to be dead. ‘We can never know for sure,’ his father had said. ‘It’ll be everyone’s last big adventure.’ Even as a child Joe had been surprised. He’d heard his father preach about life in the hereafter and had expected something more positive. More certain.
Back in the station, Vera was in the office with Holly. ‘Billy’s pretty sure he knows where Shirley Hewarth was killed. He thinks she was stabbed in her own car. There’s blood on the driver’s seat and the wheel. And then more blood in the boot.’
‘That doesn’t mean Shirley was stabbed inside the car.’ Holly was frowning. ‘The blood on the driver’s seat and wheel could have come from residue on the murderer’s clothes.’
‘So it could, Hol.’ A wide smile from Vera to show them she’d got there already. ‘But the important point is that she could have been stabbed anywhere, then the killer stuck her in the boot and dumped her in the valley.’
Joe wondered why it had been done that way. ‘Could we be looking at a different murderer? Could the body have been left in the valley so that we made the connection with the first two victims?’
‘Eh, pet, that’s a bit elaborate for me. I’m a simple soul. A body turns up a spitting distance from two other murders and I assume they’re connected. Especially when there’s already a link between the victims.’ Vera suddenly got to her feet and grabbed her bag from the desk. ‘Come on, you two. Let’s get out there before the rain comes. Let’s a have a ferret around the valley and see what we come up with.’
‘You think that’ll help?’
She grinned at him. ‘It can’t do any harm and I’m going stir-crazy in here. Think of the time when we worked together on that case in the National Park. It was years ago, Joe. The one with those women doing an environmental survey. They talked about ground-truthing. Checking that their data matched what was actually happening in the field. Sometimes it’s important to do that in policing too.’
Joe said nothing. He could remember the case, but he wasn’t quite sure what Vera was on about.
The three of them squeezed into the front bench-seat of the Land Rover. A bank of cloud covered the sun as they drove out of the town. When they reached Gilswick there was a sudden downpour, the rain bouncing off the dry soil, forming a pool of water in the road close to where Randle’s body had been found. He wasn’t surprised when Vera turned into the drive of the big house. Under the trees it was almost dark. Joe sensed Holly, tense and uncomfortable, beside him. He thought briefly that she seemed even more uptight during this investigation than usual.
Vera was speaking again. ‘I think the killer used Randle’s car to dump his body in the ditch. No other vehicle’s been reported in the valley.’
‘Have Forensics come up with anything to support that?’ This was Holly’s first contribution since they’d left the station.
‘No blood in the boot, but maybe the murderer was more careful the first time. He’d had time to plan it.’ Vera grinned. ‘And as the car belonged to Randle, we would expect to find evidence that he’d been in it.’
Holly didn’t reply and Vera went on. ‘My theory is that after getting rid of Randle’s body, the killer brought the lad’s car back here and left the keys in the ignition. We always thought that was a bit odd. Even out in the wilds, most of us lock our cars and it would have been a habit for Randle.’ She brought the Land Rover to a sudden stop, so it skidded a little way in the gravel. ‘The big question’s this: was Benton already dead by then? And if so, why move Randle’s body to the ditch?’