The Moth Catcher by Ann Cleeves

been running the group. Another of our regular helpers.’
    They sat in the window of a cafe. Frank drank a double-espresso and asked for a Coke to go with it. Holly had tea, too strong for her taste. Frank did most of the talking, a continuous monologue fuelled by caffeine and sugar. ‘I’ve got an addictive personality. Better coffee than booze. That’s why I got into bother when I was a kid. I wasn’t into thieving because I needed stuff. It was the buzz, the excitement. Knowing that I might get caught.’
    ‘And you did get caught.’
    ‘Of course I did. I was stupid. Detention centre, young offenders, prison. I worked my way through them. Didn’t stop me stealing, though, and by then I’d found other stuff to give me a buzz. Heroin. I got into that inside. By that time I was needing to thieve to pay for it.’
    ‘But you’re straight now?’
    ‘Yeah. Clean and straight. I’ve got my own little business. Gardening. I was never going to be any good working indoors. And I help out at Hope when I can.’
    Holly wasn’t sure how to react. She’d never been convinced that people changed so dramatically. ‘You got friendly with Martin Benton?’
    ‘He was a gentle soul, Martin. He needed someone to look out for him.’
    ‘You supported him when he came out of hospital after his mother died?’ Holly was still struggling to think of this man as a guardian angel.
    ‘Then, but also when the Job Centre got him assessed as fit for work. The stress of teaching had made him ill and he was still getting over the last breakdown. No way could he go back to that. So I suggested that he’d be better registering as self-employed. That gets the bastards off your back, you know. He was a clever guy. He had some savings in the bank to see him through until he got set up. And he had skills.’
    ‘Moths and computers.’
    ‘And photography! Have you seen inside his office? All those beautiful pictures. He just needed the confidence to go it alone.’ Frank drained the Coke and fidgeted in his seat.
    ‘What business did he decide on in the end?’
    For the first time Frank seemed hesitant. ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Not in detail. He’d met some guy who wanted him to do some work. He wouldn’t tell me any more than that.’ There was a pause. ‘I wondered if he was getting ill again. When he was really ill he heard voices, you know. Got paranoid. Dreamed up weird conspiracy theories. He said he’d been sworn to secrecy.’
    ‘And you thought he was psychotic?’ Holly decided that this was a nightmare. Vera would want facts, not news of a madman who heard voices.
    ‘I don’t know. I’m not qualified to tell. I’m not a doctor, am I? Martin seemed sane enough, but his stories didn’t hang together. Why would he turn setting up a new business into such a mystery?’ Frank was drumming his fingers on the table.
    Holly saw that she wouldn’t keep him here for very much longer. ‘Can I get you another coffee?’
    He shook his head. ‘I’ve got work.’
    ‘Can you tell me again what Martin said about his business? Where did he meet the man who offered him the work?’
    Frank got to his feet, leaned over the table towards Holly. ‘He wouldn’t tell me. Nothing. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Frank, but I’m sworn to secrecy.” And his eyes were kind of glittery, so I wondered if he was on something.’ He looked directly at Holly. ‘Then he said that I’d be proud of him. “You, of all people, would understand.” I asked him what he meant, but he just smiled.’

Chapter Twelve
     
    Vera was hungry. Biscuits were all very well, but she hadn’t had a proper meal since the pizza the night before, and pizza never seemed very filling to her. More like a snack. She was thinking she might slide back to the village for pie and chips in The Lamb, when the door of the barn conversion on the other side of the farmhouse opened. The two Labradors she’d seen in the big house burst out, followed