Free The Moth Catcher by Ann Cleeves Page B

but Nigel got in first. ‘We don’t have time to be bored, Inspector. There’s something going on in the valley every day. Life’s one big impromptu party, here in the farm conversions. One of our neighbours calls us “the retired hedonists’ club”. We all took early retirement. Kids flown the nest. Those of us who had kids . . . We all have reasonable occupational or private pensions. This is the time of life when we can enjoy ourselves.’
    Lorraine had been staring out of the window, but looked back into the room. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t speak like that, Nige. Not when there’s been a murder.’ She paused. ‘Two murders. The inspector says they found another body in the house-sitter’s flat.’
    There was a moment of silence. Vera thought they were trying to find a suitable response. Something tasteful, after Nigel’s boast of indulgent pleasures. She almost felt sorry for them.
    ‘The man in the big house was middle-aged,’ she said. ‘Grey hair. Glasses. His name was Martin Benton. Does that mean anything to you?’
    Again it was Nigel who answered. ‘We don’t mix much with the Carswells. I mean, they’re pleasant enough when we meet them in the lane. But they’re almost aristocracy, aren’t they? Their family has had that place for generations. We might have got them out of a fix financially by buying the farmhouse, but they’re not going to ask us down to the Hall for dinner.’ There was a brief hint of resentment and then he smiled again.
    ‘I don’t think Mr Benton was a friend of the family, either,’ Vera said. ‘You didn’t see anyone of that description in the lane yesterday?’
    ‘No.’ Lorraine had the coffee cup poised between the tray and her mouth. ‘But we probably wouldn’t. He wouldn’t come past here to get to the Hall.’
    ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon?’
    They looked at each other. ‘I went into Kimmerston to do some shopping,’ Nigel said. ‘Stocking up. It doesn’t do to run out of milk all the way out here.’ As if he lived in a remote community halfway up the Amazon.
    ‘And you, Mrs Lucas?’
    ‘I was here,’ she said.
    ‘In the house?’ Vera was about to ask if there’d been any phone calls to the landline, any visitors to corroborate the story.
    ‘No. Outside. The garden at the back leads onto the hill. I was sketching the view across the valley.’
    ‘So you’d have seen anyone driving up the lane? Or out walking?’
    ‘I suppose so.’ Though she seemed uncertain. Everything about her seemed a little unfocused. Vera wondered if she had a hangover, or if she was taking prescription drugs. ‘I get lost in my work.’
    ‘Well, did you see anyone at all?’ She tried to keep the impatience from her voice.
    There was a beat of hesitation, the little frown again. ‘No. No, I don’t think I did.’
    Vera got to her feet. ‘One of my colleagues will be along later today to take a statement. If you can remember anything else – even if it seems to have no importance at all – please let us know.’
    They walked out through the grand kitchen and Vera paused there for a moment. ‘Your neighbours, the other members of “the retired hedonists’ club”. What can you tell me about them?’
    Nigel rubbed his hands together. Vera wondered if he was real. Surely there was more to the man than this caricature who seemed to have stepped out of a 1970s sitcom.
    ‘The O’Kanes are in the house to our right. John’s a retired academic, a history professor. She was a kind of social worker. Divorce-court mediation – something of the sort. You know the type.
Guardian
readers. They keep hens. She’s a veggie.’ As if there was nothing more for Vera to know. He paused for a moment. ‘Lovely people, though.’
    ‘And the house on the left?’
    ‘Annie and Sam. They ran their own business in Kimmerston, before they sold up and moved out here. They’re local. Know everyone in a ten-mile radius of Gilswick. Great if you need a plumber in a