The Moth Catcher (37 page)

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.

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.

‘Good news,’ she said briskly. ‘Lizzie got on the bus in town and headed out to Gilswick. It’s possible that she met up with a friend from the valley, don’t you think? That she’s in The Lamb, catching up. Or in one of the houses in the village. Waiting for the rain to clear. She probably has no idea that you’re worried.’

They stared at her. Annie just looked distraught. Vera couldn’t tell what was going through Sam’s mind. ‘Maybe you’d like to check?’ Vera said. ‘Drive down to the pub and see if she’s there.’

‘We could phone Gloria.’ It seemed Sam had decided that Vera had nothing useful to contribute. ‘That makes more sense.’

Annie tugged at his sleeve. ‘No. Let’s drive down to the village. I can’t stand waiting. This house . . . And there might be other people there who were on the bus. We might even bump into Lizzie on the road.’

Vera stayed where she was until she heard their car drive away, then she went outside. In the other houses facing onto the courtyard the curtains had been shut against the weather. Everything was quiet. The rain was gentle and persistent. She pulled up the hood of her jacket and started down the track, allowing her eyes to get used to the gloom. She had a torch in her pocket, but didn’t need it yet.

She turned onto the footpath leading to the hill where Shirley Hewarth’s body had been found and stood for a moment, listening. Again she was struck by the fact that it was impossible to see the Valley Farm development from here. It was only a few minutes’ walk away, but she could be miles from human habitation. There was no sound. No movement. She started on down the lane towards Percy and Susan’s house, walking on the grass verge so that her footsteps made no noise. When she got to the trees there was less light and it was only the gleam from an elaborate lamp on the outside wall of the bungalow that kept her on the road. The couple hadn’t drawn their curtains and she stood very still, looking in. Percy was standing in the kitchen with a mug in his hand. Vera couldn’t see Susan. The rain had stopped and the sky seemed to be clearing a little.

She walked on more quickly, seeing her way more easily. The next turn-off was the drive to the Hall. Because of the twist in the track and the trees, it was impossible to see the house. But in the distance there were lights. Blue-white and ghostly and close to the ground. Patrick Randle’s moth traps. It was the last thing she’d been expecting to see, as if the young man had come back to haunt them.

Vera stopped again and listened. Voices. Indistinct and too far away for her to make out the speakers. At this distance they were more like whispers. Lovers’ caresses. At first she wondered if the sound was just caused by the wind in the branches.

She didn’t move. She wished she knew where Joe was. She didn’t want him stumbling along the road, all heavy boots and shouting. This was a delicate situation. She thought again that Lizzie was like an unexploded bomb. A sudden movement or a loud noise might set her off. Vera took her phone from her pocket and switched it to silent. Then she tapped out a text to Joe:
Lizzie in Gilswick Hall close to the moth traps. Approach carefully. No fuss. No noise.
She hit ‘Send’ and the message disappeared silently into the ether. Vera listened again, but the conversation under the trees seemed to have stopped.

She was a heavy woman, but years of acting as Hector’s lookout had made her quiet on her feet. The damp undergrowth cushioned her tread. Still the violet lights of the traps seemed to dance in the distance. She walked, but she didn’t seem to come any closer. Then suddenly she could see them in a clearing ahead of her and the voices had started again. Intense. Two figures were standing just beyond the traps. They were of a similar height. Both dressed in waterproofs and boots. Dark shadows in the fading light and impossible to identify. Vera slid behind the wide trunk of a beech and listened.

‘It’s up to you.’ A woman’s voice. Apparently reasonable. Persuasive and clear. Loud enough so that Vera could hear. ‘Your choice. You can afford it. Who need ever know?’

Silence.

Vera felt the rough bark of the tree against her back even through her coat. She didn’t dare move to see the figures more clearly. She didn’t need to look.

‘You don’t understand.’ The shadow was bulky, bull-headed, thick-necked.

‘Just give me the money and I’ll be away. You’ll never see me again.’ Her voice was still reasonable, but Vera could tell that the speaker was losing patience now. There was a scuffle and a little scream. At that moment the security lights at the big house went on. The timer must have been triggered and the whole grounds were flooded with a white light.

As if lit by a spotlight and like a character in a Victorian melodrama, Nigel Lucas stood at the centre of the clearing. He had one arm round Lizzie Redhead’s throat and the other was raised to strike. He had a Stanley knife in his hand; Vera thought he must have grabbed it from Lizzie just before the lights came on. Everything seemed to happen very slowly. Vera came out from behind the tree, but she was too far away to stop the attack and Lucas seemed so angry that he appeared not to hear her yelling. It was like a nightmare; she was running, but seemed rooted to the ground. Tied down. Impotent. She knew she wouldn’t get there in time. She imagined the conversation with Sam and Annie:
I’m really sorry. There was nothing we could do.
The parents’ pale faces and their staring reproach.

Then, still as if in slow motion, another figure appeared. A dark shadow silhouetted against the bright security light. It took Vera a moment to recognize Holly. Lucas released Lizzie and lunged at the newcomer; the thin blade of the knife reflected the light and then disappeared, buried into Holly’s clothing. Or into her body. Someone was screaming, and it took Vera a moment to realize the sound came from her own voice. Panic pushed her on. She’d almost reached the group, when Holly kicked out with her feet. Lucas fell to the ground, his face in the sodden leaves, and Holly was sitting on top of him, twisting the knife from his grip. Lizzie Redhead started running away through the trees.

‘Stop her!’ Holly’s face was white in the unnatural light. Vera looked for blood, but saw none.

‘Never mind Lizzie bloody Redhead. Joe’ll get her. Did he hit you?’

Holly seemed not to hear.
Am I really here?
Vera thought.
Or am I some sort of ghost? Invisible and completely powerless. Can they all manage fine without me?

She helped Holly pull Lucas to his feet.

‘I’m fine,’ Holly said. ‘A scratch.’

Lucas looked up at Vera. Even with his face smeared with mud, he managed to turn on the automatic smile. There was still the need to be believed. ‘Inspector, please don’t be misled. Did you see what happened? These young women assaulted me.’

‘Is that what happened when you were a prison officer?’ Vera was still panting after the run, still shaking with anxiety, and she couldn’t stop herself. ‘All those lads you abused in the detention centre. Had they assaulted you too?’

She was aware of footsteps to her right and saw Joe Ashworth making his way from the drive. He had grabbed Lizzie by the arm and was pulling her after him.

‘Read him his rights and get back up, then take him to the station, Holly.’ Vera felt suddenly very tired. ‘Joe, get Lizzie to her parents. They’re in Gilswick. If not there, then back at the house. I’m going back to Valley Farm to tell this man’s wife that her husband’s a triple-murderer.’ She thought it was the least she could do.

Vera found Lorraine in her studio at the back of the house. She was working at an easel and an anglepoise lamp shone straight onto the painting. Lorraine looked up as Vera walked in. ‘Is it over?’

‘Did you know?’ Vera sat on a wooden rocking chair with a patchwork cushion.