by Ann Cleeves
‘Where are you going?’
‘To speak to a witness.’
On the track, he stopped to point the ambulance crew in the right direction. The toll keeper’s cottage was still in darkness. Matthew took a moment to check that nobody was there then made his way to Spindrift, to his home. There was still the strange clarity that felt almost like a dream. He lifted Jonathan’s car keys from the hook in the kitchen. There was a file on the table labelled ‘Woodyard Finances’. There was a coffee stain on the cover and the pages were a little dog-eared. Jonathan had obviously had the report for a while and struggled to get to the end of it. But even if he’d read every word, Matthew thought it was unlikely he’d find a record of the sum made out to Janet Holsworthy.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when he got to twenty Hope Street, but there was still a light showing through the glass panel in the front door. He knocked loudly. As usual, it was Gaby who answered.
‘What’s happened? Have you found Lucy?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We found her. Is Caroline in?’
‘Yeah, we were watching a film.’ Gaby led him through to the living room.
It was less than a week since he’d first been here, but the place, colourful, cluttered, student-chic, already seemed familiar. Caroline was on the sofa, legs curled under her. The film end-credits were rolling. He turned back to Gaby. ‘Could I speak to Miss Preece on her own, please?’
‘Of course.’ He saw she was about to make a joke, to ask why he was being so formal and dramatic, but she thought better of it. She gave one last, curious glance at the two, and then she left the room.
Caroline uncurled her legs and sat upright. ‘What’s this about, Inspector?’ She took off her glasses and polished the lenses with the edge of her cardigan, then replaced them. The only sign that she might be nervous.
‘You knew that your boyfriend had assaulted a vulnerable woman.’ This wasn’t a question. Matthew was sure Craven would have told her; he would have left the day centre immediately afterwards, run to her and confessed. That was the relationship they had.
‘I don’t think assault is the right word.’ So, she was prepared to fight. Good. He was in the mood for confrontation.
‘What word would you use?’
Silence. At last she spoke. ‘He will never do anything like that again.’
‘Can you be sure?’
‘Yes.’ She was confident that she could fix Edward Craven, that she had the power to reform him. Where had that arrogance come from? Her religious faith? A guilty and doting father who’d told his only daughter that she could achieve anything she wanted?
‘You did know that Simon Walden had found out what had happened? That he was threatening to go public? He’d been planning to leave a will in the Woodyard’s favour, but he changed his mind. He saw that as condoning the cover-up. And he was consulting a lawyer about the next step to take. He had proof.’
Her face was white. Stony. ‘Edward didn’t kill Simon.’
‘How do you know?’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Because Ed was as shocked as I was when he found out Simon was dead. And because he’d have told me. He can be a fool, a bit pathetic, but he doesn’t lie.’ The eyes behind the round spectacles were almost fanatical. Matthew saw that Edward Craven would be her mission in life. She’d be there, waiting for him when he came out of prison. She thought she could cure him and she’d make sure he was dependent on her forever. Caroline stared up at him. ‘What would you do, Inspector, if someone you loved made one stupid mistake? If there was one instant when he lost control? Wouldn’t you want to protect him?’
He didn’t answer that. He didn’t like to think about it. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d answer. ‘Somebody tried to drown Lucy Braddick tonight.’
‘I’ve told you, Inspector. Ed isn’t a killer.’ She was rattled, Matthew could tell.
‘But I think he could have been a part of her abduction, and he was certainly responsible for the capture of Chrissie Shapland.’ Because the men in charge would want him tied into the plan. Edward would be the weak link, the one most likely to break down and talk. They’d have to give him a reason not to confess, make sure he had too much to lose.
Silence again.
‘We showed Chrissie his photograph.’ Of course, Chrissie hadn’t recognized Edward Craven. In the photograph he’d been dressed in a cassock and she would have been looking at the strange clothes, not at the man’s face.
‘He was scared,’ Caroline said. ‘They bullied him. They said it was vital to find the evidence Simon had been holding, the evidence that could lead to Edward’s arrest. They told him that Lucy was the key to finding it.’
‘He’d already assaulted a woman with a learning disability, but they put another in danger.’ Perhaps it was the blow to his head, but Matthew felt his mind fizzing with rage, not just about Craven and the person who’d knocked him out on the dune but the group of powerful men who’d been so thoughtless about the results of their actions.
‘She wasn’t in danger!’ Caroline was almost shouting now.
Matthew ignored her and continued talking. ‘Edward picked up the wrong woman, though, didn’t he?’
She nodded. Matthew thought part of her despised the man’s incompetence. She continued quickly: ‘He let Christine go, though, and then he phoned the police and pretended to have seen her from the Lovacott bus. He knew that you’d find her.’
After holding her for two nights, scaring her witless and putting her mother through hours of misery.
‘And this morning? Did he take Lucy?’
‘No! He was in the church office, having meetings with parishioners. Just as he told you. You can check with them.’
‘He’ll be at the police station now, and he’ll be charged with rape and abduction.’ Matthew stood up. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come to the house in Hope Street. Perhaps because this was where the investigation had started, because he’d felt that Caroline should be forced to take some responsibility for the events that had rolled out. If she’d persuaded her boyfriend to admit to the assault on Rosa immediately after it had happened, a man would still be alive.
‘I’ll come with you!’ She was on her feet too, scrambling for her bag.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough damage already. Don’t you?’
* * *
When Matthew returned to the police station, Edward Craven was being interviewed. He’d been held in a cell until Ross and Jen had returned.
‘Jen’s talking to him now,’ Ross said. ‘She got a lift from the hospital. Maurice is there and Jonathan’s still with Lucy. Apparently, Craven seemed almost pleased to see the arresting officer. Like it was a weight from his mind.’
Or an albatross falling from his neck.
‘Is Preece still here?’
‘Yes. He’s called a fancy solicitor.’ Ross paused. ‘All these respectable people…’ He could scarcely get his head around it. He’d been brought up to believe that respectable people could do no wrong.
‘It’s the respectable ones who have most to lose. That’s why they got tangled up in the conspiracy to hide what happened. If they’d told us about the assault when it happened, the Woodyard would have hit the headlines for a few days and then it would have all been forgotten.’
‘It’s a bloody shame you and Jonathan were away when Rosa Holsworthy was assaulted.’
‘I know.’ Because Jonathan wouldn’t have cared about the Woodyard’s reputation. He’d have been only concerned to protect the people in his care.
A phone rang. Ross answered.
‘British Transport Police have picked up the Marstons. They were at St David’s station in Exeter, waiting for the first train north. They’ll hold them in Exeter overnight.’
‘Do we know how they got to Exeter?’
‘Taxi, according to the guy I spoke to.’
‘We need to talk to the driver, find out what time he picked them up. It’
s possible that they gave up the use of their house, but I don’t see that they can have played any part in the abduction or attempted murder of Lucy Braddick. Marston might have been proud to be consulted in the role of legal advisor, but he wasn’t so emotionally involved in the success of the Woodyard that he’d think it was worth killing for. I think Walden’s murder so close to their home seriously freaked the couple out. That’s why they had such a morbid curiosity about what went on there, why they tried to be so helpful.’
It was two in the morning. Matthew was still in the big office with the remaining members of the team, but he phoned Jonathan. He didn’t have the energy to walk to his own office. ‘Are you home?’
‘Yes, they let Lucy go back to Lovacott with Maurice. Poor chap, the shock nearly killed him. He looked ten years older. But so glad to have his daughter back.’ A pause. ‘She’s looking after him, not the other way around. He seems more of a victim than she does.’
‘Go to bed,’ Matthew said. ‘I won’t be done here for hours.’
He’d just clicked off his mobile when the phone on Ross’s desk rang again. Ross put his hand over the receiver to pass on the message. ‘Gary Luke’s in an unmarked car on the square in Lovacott. The Salters have just returned home. They drove round once as if they were checking to see if anyone was watching the house, but they’ve gone in now. Do you want him to pick them up?’
‘Not yet. We’ll go and speak to them there and bring them back with us. You come with me, Ross.’ He thought he’d fall asleep at the wheel and anyway, he needed someone with him to keep him straight and controlled. He was too close to the Salters to be impartial, too close to losing his temper. ‘Tell Luke to stay there, though. I’ll doubt they’ll be going anywhere else tonight, but just in case.’
Chapter Forty-One
JEN RAFFERTY SAT OPPOSITE EDWARD CRAVEN in the interview room. It was chilly – the heating must be on a timer at weekends – and she was hungry. She’d offered to get the duty solicitor for Craven, but he’d refused. A uniformed officer she scarcely knew sat beside her. The recorder was running and she’d identified everyone present for the machine.
The curate looked impossibly young, much younger than his real age, which she knew now was twenty-seven. He was wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt, a tweed jacket, and looked, she thought, like a posh Oxbridge student in a nineties time warp. His black shoes were highly polished. Jen supposed he’d wear those for work. He looked as if he’d been crying. She struggled to push away the pity, to think instead of Rosa, confused and hurt, of Janet Holsworthy, who’d been intimidated and humiliated by three powerful men.
‘Tell me what happened.’ She’d learned from Matthew that open questions worked best with suspects like Craven.
‘Jonathan was away on holiday. What he called a honeymoon. He’d decided that the Woodyard day centre clients should have key workers, people they could chat to about any worries. Not the care staff they met every day. In case one of the staff was bullying, being abusive.’ He looked up and she saw the blush rise from his neck. He understood the irony in what he was saying. ‘Jonathan was Rosa’s mentor, but because he was on holiday and I was there on a visit, they suggested that I speak to her instead.’
‘I understand.’
‘They shouldn’t have asked me to do that. They shouldn’t have put me in that position. It wasn’t what I was trained for.’ Still making excuses, making up a story to spread the blame.
Jen felt the pity drain away completely. ‘You’d already been DBS checked and you could have refused if you felt uncomfortable in the role. I don’t think the Woodyard can take responsibility, do you?’ He didn’t answer and she continued. ‘Where did you meet her?’
‘One of the small meeting rooms had been specially chosen for the sessions. It was furnished to be homely, welcoming. A couple of armchairs. Wallpaper. Rosa was already there when I arrived. She smiled and asked me if I was all right. As if I were the client and she were looking after me. I sat on the arm of her chair, because I thought that was what she wanted. That was how it seemed. I couldn’t help it. She was so…’ he struggled to find the word ‘… available. She smiled again. It wasn’t an innocent smile. It was suggestive. Sexy.’ That was clearly not a word he was accustomed to saying. Another excuse. Another justification. Jen forced herself to stay silent. She wanted to put him straight, to yell at him the things she’d never had the courage to tell her husband: How dare you blame the victim! You were the one with the power. It was nobody’s responsibility but your own. But she imagined her lips zipped shut. Stuck with super-glue. The man would condemn himself with his own words.
Craven was talking again. ‘I put my arm around her shoulders. I thought it might calm her.’ A pause. ‘She was very soft.’ He stopped, looked up. ‘That sounds as if I’m making excuses. I’m not making excuses.’
Oh, but you are. That’s just what you’re doing. Still Jen stayed silent.
‘I wanted to touch her. And I did. I should have had more control, I know that. And then it was all over. Very quickly. And I felt so ashamed and disgusted. I was crying.’ He looked up.
‘Did you rape her?’
‘I didn’t think I had. That wasn’t what it felt like. I didn’t think I’d hurt her.’
‘You did hurt her.’
He nodded, but she still wasn’t sure that he accepted his guilt. ‘You had sex without consent. We need to be clear about this. That was rape.’
Still he seemed unable to accept the fact of his guilt. ‘I told her how sorry I was.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I tried to explain that it was our secret. I wouldn’t tell anyone if she didn’t. She just smiled and asked me again if I was all right.’
‘And then?’
‘I wasn’t sure what I should do. I went to find Caroline. She’d just finished a session with a client and we went for a walk along the river. She could see I was upset. I said I’d have to tell my boss, or the bishop. I couldn’t dream of being a priest now. I’d have to resign.’ He paused. ‘There was a cold wind blowing across the water. I remember that. Hail that stung my face. And do you know? Part of me was relieved to be going, to be leaving the priesthood, the parish. Because I don’t think I’d make a very good priest. I find it overwhelming. The demands. I’m too confused. Too weak.’
‘But Caroline persuaded you?’
‘She said it was my duty to stay. I had so much to give.’
And you’ve always done what Caroline told you.
‘She said she’d be strong enough for both of us.’
‘So, you carried on with your life and said nothing.’
‘Yes!’ He looked up at her. ‘And I thought she was right. Really, that seemed the brave thing to do. The least easy.’
‘When did you know that the incident hadn’t just gone away? That Rosa’s mother had found out?’
‘Christopher Preece asked to see me. He called me to his house. I thought he might call in the police, or at the very least demand my resignation, but he said the work that was happening at the Woodyard was more important than me, more important than my conscience. I had to stay away, never come to the place again, never mention what had happened with Rosa to anyone.’ He paused. ‘I promised. What else could I do?’
‘Did he ask you to stay away from his daughter?’
‘No!’ That seemed to astonish Craven as much as it did Jen. ‘He didn’t ask that of me.’ A pause. ‘He said I made her happy and that was all he’d ever wanted.’ A pause. ‘I think he liked the power he had over me. He said if I ever did anything to upset her, he’d tell the police.’
‘Tell me about the abduction of Christine Shapland.’ Jen wondered what the time was and glanced at her watch. Outside it was still quite dark. She wished she’d had the chance to phone the kids before she started the interview; they’d both be well asleep by now.
‘That was horrible! A terrible mistake!’
‘You picked up the wrong woman.’
&nbs
p; ‘Preece phoned me, told me my actions had come back to haunt me, to haunt the Woodyard. He said Lucy Braddick had proof. There was an item of clothing with semen stains. A skirt. She’d know where it was.’ The blush again as if the words were worse than the action of abducting a vulnerable adult. ‘He said I should pick up a woman with Down’s syndrome, who’d be wearing a purple cardigan. I should say I’d been asked to give her a lift to Lovacott but I was to take her to a flat in Braunton.’
‘Who gave you the key to the Braunton flat?’
‘Nobody. They said it had been left there, under a slate, next to the door.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was to ask her to give me the clothes she’d stolen from Rosa, or to tell me where they were, and then I was to let her go. But yes, I got the wrong woman. I couldn’t even get that right. She didn’t understand the questions I was asking. It was a nightmare! I didn’t know I had the wrong woman until I got a phone call. I asked what I should do and they said it was my mess and I should sort it out.’
Jen thought about that. Preece had known that Craven had abused one vulnerable woman, but he’d set him up to be alone with another, in a situation where she’d be scared and powerless. ‘Did you touch her?’
‘No!’ The question seemed to horrify him. ‘Of course not. I was scared and I just wanted it to be over. I was panicking. I left her in the flat with food and drink. I knew Preece would be angry if I didn’t get what he wanted, but it was horrible. Such a mess. I just wanted to run away, but I couldn’t do that.’ He looked up. It was almost as if he wanted Jen’s approval. ‘I did the right thing in the end.’
Again, she forced herself not to respond, to keep her voice even. ‘You took Christine to Simon Walden’s flat. He’d already died by then.’ She paused for a beat, looked straight into his eyes. ‘Did you kill him?’