‘Perhaps in another context then?’ Vera poured herself a glass of water and sipped it.
Lucas shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I don’t think I can help you.’
‘Your wife worked in prisoner education. That might have been a point of contact between you. When she was a probation officer Mrs Hewarth was in the welfare department of a number of institutions.’ Vera maintained a polite persistence. Stubborn. Hoping to make him so irritated that he’d give something away.
‘That was when we lived in the South,’ Lucas said. ‘And Lorrie certainly didn’t bring her work home.’ He paused. ‘She was ill not very long after we married. Breast cancer. She took early retirement. Part of our decision to move north and settle in the valley. Luckily she’s well now.’
Vera didn’t respond to that. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Jason Crow.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Jason Crow. The builder who worked on your house. He’d converted the barns and you employed him to do the renovations. So I understand. According to the inspector who checked the building regs.’
‘Is that what the boss is called? The company’s name is Kimmerston Building Services. That’s what’s on their letter-heading and written on the side of their vans.’ Lucas tried a small smile. ‘That’s who I wrote the cheque out to. Cost me a bloody fortune.’
‘So you never met Mr Crow?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Friday afternoon.’ Vera changed the subject without a beat, and for a moment Lucas looked confused.
‘What about it?’
‘Let’s go through your movements again.’
‘I’ve already given a statement. Someone came to the house on Saturday afternoon.’ He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead.
‘I know, pet. I’ve got it here.’ She set the document in front of her. ‘Just humour me, eh? Go through it again. Starting at lunchtime.’
‘Lorrie and I had lunch at home. She stayed in her studio to finish a painting. We were having our friends round that evening, so I popped into Kimmerston to buy the booze and some nibbles. I showed your colleague the supermarket receipt. It’s timed at 4 p.m.’ He was starting to get exasperated. In her head Vera cheered.
‘And later?’
‘I came home. Lorrie and I had a cup of tea together. With some of Annie’s biscuits. She and Sam bake as if they’re still running a restaurant business and give most of their stuff away.’ He paused. Vera let the silence stretch. ‘Then we went to The Lamb in the village. Percy Douglas was there and we had a chat. Always full of stories about the old days, is Perce. He’ll tell you he was chatting to us. We had one drink. It was just to get Lorrie out of the house because she’d been in all day. Then back to prepare to party.’
‘What time did you arrive back from the supermarket?’
‘About quarter to five. I didn’t have time to kill anyone!’ He looked round at them as if he’d cracked a joke and was waiting for the laughter. None came.
‘Did you leave the party for any reason?’
‘Once, to look at the stars. That’s still a novelty, Inspector. It’s the first time I’ve lived anywhere without street lights.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘I called Lorrie out to see them. I love my wife. We were middle-aged when we got together and I’d given up finding anyone to share my life with. Standing there outside our dream house in the company of Lorrie, surrounded by the darkness, was pretty special.’
Lorraine Lucas looked frail and insubstantial. Her skin stretched tightly over her cheekbones. She wore a thin blue smock laced with silver thread, but had wrapped a hand-knitted jacket over the top. Even here in the warm kitchen it seemed she felt cold.
‘Can we get you anything?’ Vera thought the woman needed feeding. She had the ridiculous notion that if they gave her wholesome bowls of soup, hearty and warming, she’d get better.
Lorraine shook her head. Even that seemed to take an effort. ‘Sorry. It’s not such a good day.’
‘Maybe you should tell your husband that you’re not well?’ They could have been on their own at the table. Holly and Joe seemed part of the furniture, along with the rush mat in front of the Aga and the crockery in the dresser.
‘It might come to that. In days, rather than weeks. But I’d prefer to wait until things are back to normal, until you’ve caught your killer. Do you think that might be soon?’
‘Very soon. But I need your help first.’
Lorraine didn’t answer, but gave a little shrug of acquiescence.
‘Tell me how you came to work in the prison.’
Lorraine leaned back in her chair. ‘I was a teacher in a big comprehensive in Essex. Coping. Loving it, actually. The performance. I managed to hold the students’ attention and occasionally there was a star. A kid with passion for art, who saw the world differently from the rest of it and managed to capture the vision.’ She looked up and grinned, self-mocking. ‘Listen to me! I sound like one of those adverts to persuade gullible young people into the profession.’
Vera said nothing. Outside, water dripped from a leaking gutter and she saw that it was raining more heavily.
Lorraine closed her eyes briefly. ‘Then there was a divorce. Nothing unusual. My husband fell for a younger woman, a colleague. It was all rather banal. But it knocked my confidence. Suddenly I couldn’t stand up in front of a class and control the little sods. The anxiety kept me awake at night. I needed a more amenable audience.’
‘And prison provided that?’
‘Offenders are unlikely to kick off, if there’s an officer standing in the corner.’ She paused. ‘Usually it was the adult equivalent of child-minding. Providing meaningful activity, in the jargon, though actually it was pretty meaningless. Sometimes there was a man with a spark of interest. But it was a way of earning a living without the stress of being in a school.’
‘How did you meet Nigel?’ Vera thought the question was hardly necessary. Lorraine was telling her life story, was glad to have the chance perhaps, as her time ran out.
‘It was at a social event. An awards-do for arts and crafts created in prison. Nigel’s company was one of the sponsors and I had a student shortlisted. It was one of those dinners where the food’s dreadful and the speeches go on forever, and everyone survives by drinking too much cheap wine. We sat next to each other and started talking. He was very charming and thoughtful.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It wasn’t love at first sight. Not for me. But I’d had that with my first husband, and look how that had ended.’ Another pause. ‘Honestly, it helped that Nigel was rich. I liked everything that went with that. The lack of worry. The treats, like weekends away in Paris. Meals in the very best restaurants. I got used to being spoiled.’
‘What’s not to like?’ But Vera thought she couldn’t sell her independence so cheaply. ‘You carried on working, though?’
‘Until I was ill. It was a matter of pride, I think. I didn’t want to be entirely a kept woman. And there was no question of children. We were both in our mid-forties when we met.’
Another silence. Outside the drip of water, regular as the ticking of a clock.
‘Did you ever meet Jason Crow?’ The question sounded rather brusque after Lorraine’s gentle telling of her life story, and Vera added, ‘He owns the company that renovated these buildings.’
Lorraine looked up and stared at Vera. Her eyes blue and glittery like her blouse. ‘No, I don’t think so, but Nigel dealt with all that. He’s the practical one in the relationship. He looks after me very well.’
Chapter Forty-One
Janet O’Kane looked old. The white streaks in her wire-brush hair seemed more pronounced. Vera decided it had been a stroke of genius to bring the witnesses to the big house. At home it had been possible to define them by their surroundings; here the layer of domesticity had been stripped away from them. Janet seemed tired but very alive, rather wired. And now that she was without her talk of hens, dogs and garden she was clearly fiercely intelligent. Vera saw the woman she’d been before retirement.