‘Of course not.’
He still dressed like a younger man. Expensive jeans. Designer stubble not grown long enough to show the grey. Vera wondered if he dyed his hair. She wouldn’t be surprised. He must miss his audience of attentive students and young lecturers.
‘This is a terrible business. I’m not entirely sure how we can help, though.’
‘What attracted you to the house in the valley?’ She couldn’t see why he’d have given up his coterie of friends, the bars and restaurants that seemed to be his natural habitat.
‘Janet felt we needed a move, and I could see the attraction. I needed to concentrate on the new book. Where we lived before there were too many distractions. I had the feeling that this was my last chance to write something of value. Something that might outlive me. A book to define a place and a period in time.’ He frowned. ‘That probably sounds ridiculous to you, Inspector. Overblown. But it’s been my ambition since I was a young man and I’ve never achieved it. If I could focus on the writing, I have a sense this book might just come close.’
‘So you were happy to move.’ Vera wondered what her legacy might be. She’d locked up a few criminals. Trained a few good coppers. Perhaps that was enough.
‘It was a joint decision,’ O’Kane said. ‘Jan has always had a romantic hankering after the good life. She saw the site first, when it was still not much more than a barn, and came back raving about it. The view. The peace.’
‘How do you get on with your neighbours? With your fellow retired hedonists?’
‘We rub along very nicely on a superficial level. Socially, you know. A few drinks on a Friday night. Major Carswell’s an amateur historian, so perhaps I have more in common with him than with the others.’
Snob.
‘These murders…’ Vera looked at him. ‘Are you certain you haven’t come across any of the victims before?’
‘I saw the house-sitter once in The Lamb and we had a bit of a chat.’
‘You didn’t tell us that before.’ Her voice so sharp that he seemed almost chastened.
‘Didn’t I? Sorry. But perhaps you didn’t ask.’ He paused. ‘I escape to The Lamb sometimes after a day at the computer. I need other company. Background noise. I’ve decided I’m more of a city boy after all.’ He made another attempt at the winning smile.
‘What did you and Patrick talk about?’ Vera thought this was the first person she’d met, besides Patrick’s mother, who’d had any real conversation with the young man.
‘Academic life. He was hoping to return to Exeter to do postdoc research and I asked him why he’d decided to take a break. I wondered if he had aspirations to be a writer too. There was something about him. A way he put words together.’
‘What did he say?’ Vera tried to imagine herself in the pub. Gloria would be behind the bar gossiping. Percy and the other old boys would be huddled over their domino board. Patrick was in a strange place where he didn’t know anyone. The retired professor might seem the closest he’d get to a kindred spirit in his new home.
‘That he might write something one day,’ O’Kane said. ‘That he had a brilliant story to tell. But that wasn’t why he’d come to Gilswick.’
‘Did he tell you what had brought him to the place?’ Vera found she was holding her breath.
‘Not really. He said he was doing his own kind of research.’
‘Did he mention Martin Benton?’
O’Kane shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘Can you tell us anything else at all about your conversation?’ Vera was losing hope that she’d gain anything useful from the man. She looked out of the window. There was still a fine rain blocking the view of the garden.
‘He said he was going to set some moth traps under the trees here. He invited me to come down one night and see what he’d caught. I said I’d like that. I wasn’t really bothered, but it sounded like a diversion. And he was so keen. It seemed a real passion. I could tell it would please him.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Joe sat next to Vera in the kitchen at the Hall and watched her perform. This was a masterclass in witness interrogation. The individuals who’d seemed little more than puppets previously – the dutiful wife, the jolly husband, the dying artist, the grumpy academic – seemed to become real in front of his eyes. Her words blew life into them. He resented the skill, which seemed to come to Vera so easily.
When John O’Kane had left the room Vera sat back in her chair. ‘What did you make of that? Not just the professor, but the whole bunch.’
‘It makes the “retired hedonist” thing sound a bit hollow,’ Holly said. ‘A sham. They all seem pretty miserable.’
‘The effect of having three murders on your doorstep, do you think?’ Vera was bright-eyed. She knew she’d conducted the discussions brilliantly. ‘You can see that might be a bit of a downer.’
‘If anything, you get the sense that the killings just provided some relief from the boredom.’ Holly was looking down at her notes. ‘Janet O’Kane seemed genuinely upset, though.’
‘What have you got to contribute, Joe?’
He turned to his boss and his mind emptied, all rational thought flushed away. Sometimes Vera had that effect. He’d described the experience to Sal and she’d laughed. ‘Sounds like a kind of intellectual enema,’ she’d said. ‘Like colonic irrigation, only of the brain.’ Now the vacuum in Joe’s mind didn’t seem so funny.
‘They all had some contact with Jason Crow, even if it was only through his company,’ he mumbled at last. ‘Seems another weird kind of coincidence.’ He knew his offering was pathetic.
‘Aye, well, you know what I think about coincidence…’ Vera looked at her watch. ‘Where are Annie and Sam? And it’d be good to chat to the terrible Lizzie, if she’s there too. I’d like to meet her for myself. You did phone and ask them to get their arses down here?’
‘They were out,’ Joe said. ‘I left a message on their answerphone.’
‘Well, phone again. Let’s talk to them while I’m on a roll. And if there’s nobody there now, try their mobile number. With a fair wind, we could have this over by this time tomorrow.’ She shut her eyes. A fat, complacent Buddha, keeping her own counsel and her thoughts about the case to herself.
Joe went outside to ring the Redheads. He’d visited a demented elderly aunt in a care home once and the calls of the woodpigeons in the trees sounded like the moaning of old people there. Gentle and plaintive. He stood in the shelter of the house. Through the window he saw that Vera hadn’t moved. There was no reply from the Redheads’ house phone and so he tried Annie’s mobile. She answered immediately, obviously not recognizing his number. ‘Yes?’ The voice almost panicky.
He explained that the inspector would like to see them in the big house at their earliest convenience.
‘We’re in Newcastle for the day, Sergeant. I’m afraid we won’t be back until later this afternoon. That is alright? Nothing else has happened?’
‘No, nothing else.’ Because what more could he say? Vera might have demanded their presence, but he couldn’t insist that they return to Gilswick immediately just to suit her. Annie was about to end the call. ‘Perhaps we could talk to your daughter?’ he said. ‘Will she be at home?’
‘No.’ The answer came quickly. ‘She’s visiting friends in Kimmerston. And I don’t know how Lizzie can help you. She wasn’t even here when these dreadful things happened. I think you should leave her alone.’
They ended up in the pub for a late lunch. Joe thought there were other things they could be doing; it was ridiculous to be hanging round in the valley just to wait for Sam and Annie Redhead to return. Vera had gone gnomic on them. Turned in on herself. Uncommunicative. They sat in the corner of the lounge and he could tell she was earwigging the conversation in the bar. Percy Douglas was there with an elderly mate, talking about the good old days when the Carswell estate still sustained tenant farmers and there were decent EU headage payments for sheep. Holly was rereading the notes she’d made during the interviews. Joe felt excluded. If Holly hadn’t been there, Vera might have talked to him.