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 anyone 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.’