Close to the gates to the big house Lizzie seemed to disappear. Holly stood and listened. Nothing. Holly was accustomed to the silence of the city where there was always distant traffic noise, the occasional blast of a siren. This was real silence, dense and a little frightening. Behind her she sensed movement. Perhaps it was the rustle of waterproof clothing or a careful footstep on wet grass. Holly looked behind her, but only saw the lane leading back towards the village. To her left stood the big house, invisible from here, hidden by the high stone wall and the trees where Randle had set his moth traps. To her right was a patch of scrubby bushes leading down to the river. Both provided hiding places. Holly remained still and strained to listen. It didn’t seem possible that Lizzie could have shifted position without Holly seeing. But if it wasn’t Lizzie moving behind her, then who was it?
There was silence again. Nobody was following her. The sound had been caused by an animal in the undergrowth. Vera would laugh if she could see Holly’s unease: Not really cut out for work in the big outdoors, are you, pet? Holly turned through the pillars that marked the entrance to the big house. Lizzie must have come this way. There was no other explanation.
Chapter Forty-Four
Lizzie walked slowly up the valley. Her hands were in her pockets and she had her hood up against the drizzle. She could have phoned her parents for a lift when she got off the bus, but she had other plans. She wouldn’t be going straight home. Not now. In her right pocket was the Stanley knife she’d bought earlier in the day in the cheap hardware shop in Kimmerston. She’d unscrewed it so that the blade was exposed and she rubbed her thumb against the metal.
Jason Crow had been disappointing. He seemed to have got old while she’d been in prison. He’d lost his edge. Become soft and sentimental, talking about his family as if he cared about them. Gutless. Saying he loved Lizzie, but he couldn’t run away with her, not while the kids were at university. Not until he’d sorted out the business and released his assets. Too many excuses, so she didn’t believe any of them. Then: ‘You’re playing with fire, Lizzie Redhead. Just let it go. Do you want to go back inside? You won’t get such an easy ride next time.’
If she’d had the knife then, she might have been tempted to use it on him. She shut her eyes briefly and imagined how that would feel. The rip of the blade through the skin, like scissors through fabric. That would bring Jason Crow alive again. He wouldn’t ignore her then.
Lizzie opened her eyes. She’d reached the turning to Gilswick Hall and paused for a moment, remembering childhood teas with the Carswell kids. Chaotic affairs in the kitchen: sliced white bread with honey or Marmite, mucky jars on the table, cakes from a packet. Stuff she was never allowed at home. The major had fought in the Falklands and had told stories that entranced her. If she’d been brought up in that house, where adventure was encouraged, she might be a different person. She turned into the drive and her feet crunched on the gravel. She walked slowly now and moved away from the drive, keeping to the trees. The detective’s Land Rover had been parked in here when she’d walked out to the bus in the morning, and the last thing she needed was to meet a bunch of cops. The rain wasn’t heavy, but water dripped from the branches. No Land Rover. No sign of life in the big house.
Shirley Hewarth had told Lizzie about the moth traps during that last conversation in Sittingwell. They’d talked about Patrick Randle and Martin Benton at an earlier meeting. Two dead men who’d shared a passion. And a secret. Lizzie knew what she was looking for and walked through the trees until she found the traps. Her shoes were wet from the long grass, her socks sopping. She looked at her watch. Not long to wait.
She flicked a switch and the lights came on. Long neon strips, so bright they hurt her eyes if she looked directly at them. So white that they appeared tinged with icy blue. They’d attract more than bugs that night. She squatted beside them, pulling her waterproof under her bum so that she didn’t get too wet. Then she began to rehearse the words that she’d use to the person she’d arranged to meet here. The words that she’d been planning since she’d come across the book published by the National Geographic in the prison, rehearsing them while she was lying awake in her room, listening to the other women’s breathing. She’d repeated the phrases over and over again while she dreamed of deserts, forests and wide, open skies.
Chapter Forty-Five
Vera sat in the Redheads’ living room and watched the light drain from the valley. Annie and Sam were with her, so tense that the air seemed to crackle with their anxiety like static electricity. Annie couldn’t keep still. Every few moments she got to her feet and ran up the stairs. Vera knew what she was doing: staring out of the landing window in the hope that she’d catch a glimpse of her daughter making her way up the lane. But now it was almost dark and there was nothing to see.
Vera had got Joe to check with the bus station again, to see if Lizzie had been on the last bus back to Gilswick. He hadn’t got back to her. Sam had already driven down the road to look for his daughter. Now he wanted a search party in the valley. Blue lights and sirens. ‘There’s a killer on the loose and my girl’s missing. And you’re sitting here and drinking tea.’
‘She could be in a bar in Kimmerston,’ Vera said. ‘You told me yourself that was the most likely thing she’d be up to. No need to panic yet.’ But she was panicking. Back in the station Holly was supposed to be tying up loose ends, but nobody seemed to know where she was. Joe was in Kimmerston, in case Lizzie had switched off her phone to stop her parents nagging and was celebrating six months’ sobriety by going on a bender with her mates. And Vera was here, having to make a decision about what to do next. Feeling indecisive, which was unlike her. So close to making an arrest, but not quite ready. And Lizzie Redhead primed like an unexploded bomb, out and about in the wilds of Northumberland.
Vera’s phone rang. She left the room and took the call in the kitchen. Joe.
‘We’ve tracked her movements through CCTV. When she left Crow’s house she headed to the town centre. She went to a couple of shops – one hardware store and one travel agent – then to the bus station. She got on the three-thirty bus to Gilswick. I’ve sent someone to check the shops to see what she was up to.’
‘So she should have been home an hour ago, even if she was walking slowly.’ Vera’s mind fizzed and sparked, and she thought again there was a charge in the air that was blocking rational thought.
‘What do you want me to do?’
She paused. If they brought in a large search team, the killer would go to ground. There’d be no evidence and no resolution. No real explanation. The most frustrating end to an investigation. ‘Come to the village and park there. Walk up the valley. Slowly. There might just be enough light, if you’re quick. Sam has already driven down, but he’ll only have been looking at the road. Try the footpaths that lead to the burn and the ones that go onto the hill. I’ll start from this end.’
‘Okay.’ She could tell that he was already moving.
‘Come quickly,’ she said. Now she’d decided on a course of action, she wanted to bring the thing to a close. The panic that overwhelmed the house was still making her jumpy. She had never been so uncertain. When she finished the call she stood for a moment, before heading back to talk to Sam and Annie. They’d be waiting for her, expecting some explanation. She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave them in the house on their own.