The Moth Catcher

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Over breakfast they scarcely spoke. Annie wasn’t quite sure what to say. This morning it was like having a stranger in the house. Lizzie was like a paying guest who needed to be appeased. Sam had been out earlier to get the paper. He said he’d passed Vera Stanhope’s Land Rover on his way out and now it was parked on the drive at the Hall.

Lizzie looked up then. ‘Who’s Vera Stanhope?’

‘The inspector in charge of the murder investigation.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘Fat,’ Sam said. ‘Nosy.’

Lizzie gave a faint smile.

‘I think she’s rather clever.’ Annie didn’t want her daughter to get the wrong idea. She wanted Lizzie to see that Vera Stanhope was somebody to be wary about. ‘She has a way of making people confide in her.’

‘What are your plans for today?’ Sam’s question was directed at them both. Annie thought he hadn’t sensed their awkwardness. He imagined they might have a girlie day together, pictured them with their heads bent together as nails were painted; trying on clothes in the same changing room. Annie and Lizzie had never had that kind of relationship, but Sam had wanted to believe his wife when she’d said that prison could have worked a miracle.

‘I might go into Kimmerston.’ Lizzie put the emphasis firmly on the I.

‘Shall I give you a lift?’ Annie thought that might work. She could go to the library, do some shopping and perhaps they could meet up later. At least she’d know where Lizzie was and could bring her back safely. She felt as she had when Lizzie had been seven and had demanded to walk down the valley to the village school in Gilswick on her own. Annie had followed her at a distance, just to be sure she’d got there. All this is my problem, not hers. I’m a control freak – always have been.

Lizzie seemed to be considering. ‘I think I’ll walk into the village and get the bus. I could do with the exercise.’

‘Okay.’ Annie knew she’d been outwitted, but there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Give me a shout if you need a lift back. There’s only one bus in the afternoon.’

‘Will do!’ A bright, brittle smile.

Sam beamed. He seemed to be unaware of the careful words, the dance around the unspoken questions: Where will you be, Lizzie Redhead? What will you get up to, and who will you meet? ‘More toast, anyone? And I’ll make another pot of coffee, shall I?’

Lizzie left the house at the right time to catch the bus. For a moment Annie was tempted to follow her down the road, as she had on the first lone walk to school, then realized how ridiculous that would be. Hiding behind bushes, skulking in gateways. Lizzie was fitter than her and would soon leave her behind. Still, Annie might have done it if she hadn’t been aware that Nigel Lucas would probably be upstairs with his binoculars, staring down at the valley. She hated the powerlessness of staying at home, waiting for Lizzie’s return.

After breakfast she’d heard Lizzie on her phone, arranging to meet someone. Annie told herself that it was probably an old school friend, but in this febrile mood everything seemed sinister to her. It was as if they were all spies, telling half-truths, planning deception. Lizzie’s phone wasn’t out of her possession for a second. If she’d been able to sneak a look, Annie might have stooped to checking out the call record. Why can’t I relax? Why can’t I just accept everything she says?

She went upstairs as soon as Lizzie left the house. Not into Lizzie’s room. That would have seemed an intrusion too far today, but to the window on the landing, which still had a reasonable view. It wasn’t raining, but the day was overcast and gloomy and Lizzie’s jacket provided a patch of colour. Annie saw her daughter walk down the lane until she disappeared from view behind a clump of trees. Lizzie seemed to have a very jaunty stride, defiant, as if she knew her mother was watching. She only carried a small bag over her shoulder and that gave Annie some comfort. But as the slight figure disappeared, Annie felt suddenly bereft. She could believe that her girl was disappearing from her life forever. At least when Lizzie had been in prison she was contained and safe. Annie told herself she was overreacting. It was these murders. Everyone was on edge; even Janet, who was usually so calm and motherly. They were all given to strange outbursts of emotion. She couldn’t stare down the valley after Lizzie every time she left the house.

Sam was still doing the crossword. He at least seemed not to feel the need to change his routine. He looked up when Annie came into the room. ‘Shall we go into Newcastle? Have a spot of lunch somewhere nice?’

‘No!’ Her response was immediate and violent. She couldn’t leave the valley until Lizzie was back. Then she thought that she was being quite ridiculous. Why shouldn’t they go into Newcastle? It might help her put things into perspective, and if she waited here she’d only fret. She kissed the top of Sam’s head. ‘But why not? That’d be fun. Give me a couple of minutes to change.’ When she looked down the valley from the landing window on her way to their bedroom she thought she saw a speck of blue, right at the end of the lane. When she came out of her room later there was no sign at all of Lizzie.

They had a pleasant day in the city, though anxiety rumbled at the back of Annie’s mind. On the way in, she’d texted Lizzie: Dad and I in Newcastle. Can still give you a lift later if you need one. There’d been an immediate reply. Laconic. OK.

They wandered round the stores in Eldon Square. Sam wanted to buy Annie a gift – clothes, jewellery, something to cheer her up – but she was intimidated by the choice. She preferred browsing in the few shops in Kimmerston. ‘Really, I’m happy just looking.’ Time seemed to go very slowly. She wondered if she’d be less stressed about Lizzie once the murderer had been caught. Perhaps it wasn’t so crazy to be anxious, when the killer of three people was on the loose. But she knew she wasn’t seeing Lizzie as a victim. She was worried about what Lizzie might do, rather than what might be done to her. She was pleased beyond belief that Lizzie had been in prison while the murders were committed. It wasn’t too hard to imagine her wielding a knife, slashing into someone’s flesh. After all, she’d attacked another woman with a broken bottle.

While Sam was looking at the kitchenware in Fenwick’s, Annie’s phone rang. She answered it quickly, hoping it might be Lizzie, but it was the young sergeant who looked scarcely more than a boy. Inspector Stanhope wanted to speak to them. Nothing urgent. She explained that they were in Newcastle. Then Ashworth asked about Lizzie.

‘She’s with friends in Kimmerston. And I really don’t see how she can help you.’ Knowing she sounded almost rude.

Sam wandered back from inspecting cast-iron pans to ask who’d called.

‘The police again. Nothing important. I said we’d be in later.’

They had lunch in a French restaurant near the Quayside. The chef had worked for them in Kimmerston for a while and seemed pleased to see them. The food was simple and well prepared. Annie found she was hungry and drank more than her share of a bottle of wine. Sam kept topping up her glass. ‘I’ll drive, and I can go into Kimmerston later if Lizzie needs a lift.’ When they came out into the city afternoon there was a grey drizzle, so they could hardly see the far bank of the Tyne. The Baltic art gallery was a block of shadow and the reflective glass of the Sage Gateshead was a faint shimmer in the gloom.

‘Perhaps that’s it,’ Sam said. ‘We’ve had our summer.’

In the car he asked Annie to phone Lizzie. ‘We might as well pick her up on our way through.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps I should just text.’

‘Don’t be daft. All this texting. Why don’t folk just talk any more?’

So she dialled Lizzie’s number, but it went straight through to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message.

‘Not answering? Halfway to getting pissed, maybe.’ Sam stared at the road. He put most of Lizzie’s troubles down to booze. Annie remembered Lizzie’s tempers when she was still a child, the yelling and the swearing. She hadn’t been drinking then. Annie thought her daughter’s problems were more complicated than either of them had realized. She sent a text: On our way back if you want a lift as we go through. This time there was no answer.

When they arrived back at Valley Farm, Vera Stanhope’s Land Rover was parked in the courtyard. ‘Blasted woman!’ Sam was mumbling under his breath. ‘I thought we might have escaped her.’ There was no light in their house, and Annie had worked out that Lizzie should be back in Gilswick and they should have passed her as they drove up the lane, if she’d got the bus.

She opened the door and shouted up, just in case she’d got a lift from a mate or a taxi, ‘Lizzie, we’re back!’

No response.

‘I told you,’ Sam said. ‘She’ll be pissed. Or worse.’ His belief in the miracle of prison seemed to be fading already. ‘Ring her again.’

Annie pressed redial on her mobile, but there was still no reply. Sam switched the kettle on. There was a tap on the back door. ‘Come in!’ they shouted together, but when they turned it wasn’t Lizzie, who would have come straight in anyway, but the huge bulk of Vera Stanhope.