‘Out of prison,’ Vera said. ‘Released today.’ Looking up, she could tell this wasn’t news to him. He’d been keeping tabs on Lizzie. He was still obsessed with her. Vera thought she should check to see if Jason had visited her in Sittingwell.
‘Why are you here?’ As if it had just occurred to him to ask. ‘She can’t have got into trouble already, if she was only released today.’ His voice light, as if he didn’t give a toss.
‘I’m investigating the murders in the valley at Gilswick. You’ll have seen the story all over the news. I don’t suppose you knew any of the victims?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ The answer came quickly, without thought. Even if he’d been best buddies with Martin Benton, or Shirley Hewarth had been one of his recreational shags, he’d have denied it. Not cooperating with the police would be a habit, like Vera’s need to have secrets.
‘You hear things,’ Vera said. ‘You have contacts all over the county. Anyone saying anything about the murders in Gilswick?’
‘I’m a businessman.’ Jason pushed himself off the desk and looked at his watch. ‘I don’t have those kinds of contacts.’
‘Can you think why someone would want to murder three people? Different people. A young graduate, a teacher with mental-health problems and a social worker.’ Because Jason might not mix with contract killers, but he’d make sure he knew what was going on in his patch. His livelihood depended on it.
This time he seemed to consider the question before answering. ‘Someone screwed up,’ he said. ‘An angry ex-con. People get sent to prison to sort them out, but it often makes things worse. Plays with their minds.’
‘Was that what happened to you?’
‘Nah.’ He grinned. ‘I was one of the people detention worked for. A success story. Inside once and never in trouble again.’
‘Never convicted at least.’ Now, she saw, the conversation was becoming a game again. Perhaps he was already regretting being so frank. ‘How do you think Lizzie will have handled being inside?’
‘She’s like me. A natural survivor. And she was in an open nick, wasn’t she? A doddle.’ Jason looked at his watch again. ‘Look, I’ve enjoyed the chat, Inspector, but I’ve got to go.’
They walked together through the house. Some of the finishes, and the way the rooms were laid out, reminded Vera of the Valley Farm conversions.
‘Did you have anything to do with the development in the valley at Gilswick?’
‘The two barns? And then the renovation of the farmhouse? Yes, that was done by one of my companies.’ He was standing by the front door, impatient for her to go.
‘A bit of a coincidence,’ Vera said. ‘You built the house where Lizzie Redhead’s parents live.’
‘Not really. Anything high-end, built in this part of the county, I’ve probably got a hand in it.’
She walked through the door. He grabbed a jacket from the bottom of the stairs and followed her out. So it seemed he really did have a meeting; he didn’t just want to get rid of her.
‘Lizzie Redhead,’ she said.
‘What about her?’
‘How do you feel about her now?’
She expected another flip and sarcastic comment, but this time Jason considered before answering. ‘I still dream about her. I lie beside my wife at night, but I dream about Lizzie.’
She took her time walking down the path to the road where her Land Rover was parked. Jason climbed into a sports car standing on the drive in front of the house; there was the sound of screeching tyres and he drove away. Vera looked after him, wondering who he was in such a hurry to meet.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Holly escaped back to her flat for a couple of hours. Once inside she shut the door and double-locked it, stood with her back against it and took a deep breath. Felt her pulse slow and her mind calm. She tried to work out what was happening to her. She’d never reacted this way to a case before. Usually she was the last person standing. Physically fit and mentally alert. Competitive. She could distance herself from the violence and grief she encountered. She’d trained herself not to get emotionally involved, to the point where her colleagues thought her heartless. Now she only felt clean and safe in her own home. Outside there was death and decay. And even here she realized she was haunted by a fear of dying. The image of the elderly woman with the smeared lipstick and rag doll, whom she’d seen on the Kimmerston pavement, stalked through her dreams. The brief moment of triumph that had come when she’d found the Hewarth boy’s name on the moth enthusiasts’ website had faded long ago.
She moved into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. Saw a mark on the worktop, got out the disinfectant and wiped it off. Opening the fridge to get milk, she saw a bottle of wine, was overcome by the temptation to undo the screw top and pour a large glass. Perhaps that would dull the anxiety, help her through the rest of the shift. She reached out for it, felt the icy bottle on her fingers and then changed her mind. Not even Vera Stanhope drank in the afternoon when she was on duty. With a flash of insight Holly thought pride might be her enemy, but it was also her saviour.
She took her tea into the living room. The rain had blown over and there were sudden bursts of sunshine. Outside all the colours seemed very sharp, as in a child’s painting. In the cemetery a young family was laying flowers on an old grave. The wind pulled at their hair and clothes as they walked back towards the road.
She tried to unpick the strands of her anxiety. What had happened during the day to send her rushing back to the safety of the flat? She was tired of course, but she’d learned to cope with exhaustion. She thought the news of Lorraine Lucas’s cancer had thrown her. Of all the residents in Valley Farm, Lorraine had seemed most alive.
Perhaps I’m having a kind of mental breakdown. Or a religious experience. Holly’s parents were religious. C of E, but on the evangelical side of the church. Hands in the air swaying and inspirational preaching. They’d been disappointed when Holly had shown no interest, but philosophical. ‘You might come back to it, darling. We’ll pray for you.’ Holly had made a comment to Joe once about the problems of being an atheist in a family of believers. He hadn’t said much and she’d wondered if he was a believer too.
Her phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, but it was Vera.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve just called in at home to collect a few things.’
‘Only I’ve got something that needs digging into and you’re the best person to look into it.’
Vera was waiting for her in the station. By now it was evening and the big, open-plan office was nearly empty. Discarded Coke and Red Bull tins showed how the team had kept going through the day. Only Vera seemed to have the energy to carry on thinking straight.
‘I hadn’t realized how late it was – I sent most of them away a while ago, and Joe’s just sloped off. His missus calling in the three-line whip. He lets her get away with murder. Are you okay to have a go at this? We can leave it until tomorrow if you like.’
Holly shook her head. ‘I can make a start.’
‘No hot date then?’
Holly was surprised. Vera didn’t ever ask about her personal life. ‘No hot date.’
They sat in Vera’s office, and Vera told her about the relationship between Jason Crow and Lizzie Redhead. ‘Something about the woman has got under his skin. Something weird.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s obsessed with moths? Has a trap at the end of the garden?’
Holly had meant the question as a joke, but Vera took it seriously. ‘Well, that’s a thought. I forgot to ask. Something else to look into. But he’s more obsessed by the woman, I think. She’s got him trapped all right.’ Then Vera came out with a list of instructions, sharp and detailed. One after the other, so that Holly, making notes, struggled to keep up with her.