The Moth Catcher by Ann Cleeves Page B

in for orgies or hallucinogenic drugs. We probably drink too much. Eat too much. Enjoy each other’s company. Take the occasional trip into Newcastle or Kimmerston for the pictures or the theatre. A weekend away. Perhaps it’s not so much regression as a kind of desperation. We see time trickling by and want to enjoy life while we can.’ She stopped abruptly.
    ‘But the Carswells aren’t members?’ Vera remembered Nigel Lucas’s resentment when he spoke of the people in the big house.
    ‘Oh no!’ As if the idea was unthinkable. ‘And they do still have responsibilities. Peter’s chair of the Country Landowners’ Association and sits on lots of committees. Helen is something to do with the hospice in Kimmerston and a trustee of any number of charities. Annie and I are involved in the community too, but not to the same extent.’
    ‘The Carswells don’t have grandchildren?’ Vera remembered the photographs in the living room of the big house. No babies there.
    ‘Not yet! But there’s one on the way.’ Janet got to her feet. It seemed she was eager to continue with the walk. ‘That’s why they’re in Australia.’
    Of course. Joe had provided that information.
    ‘What did your neighbours do before they retired?’ Vera knew she should move on to the detail, to questions more relevant to the investigation, but she’d always been a nosy cow.
    ‘Lorraine and Nigel Lucas? Nigel had his own business. He made a fortune when he sold it. Money’s definitely not a problem in that house. Lorraine was a teacher. Not in a school. She taught art to troubled youngsters and in prisons.’
    Vera blinked and had to reassess her image of Lorraine Lucas. Vera had seen her as a trophy wife, attractive but with little personality. It was hard to imagine her dealing with young offenders. ‘They never lived locally before they retired?’ Vera tried to remember what the couple had told her. Joe had passed on the information that Martin Benton had worked for a charity that helped offenders and their families, and she was desperate to make connections.
    ‘I don’t think so. I’m sure they were based in the South. The Midlands somewhere, I think.’ She spoke as if the South was a mysterious place with ill-defined boundaries.
    They began the walk back towards Valley Farm. Vera had to walk very fast to keep up. ‘Did you know Patrick Randle, the Carswells’ house-sitter?’
    ‘Well, I met him. Helen asked me to call in the day after he arrived, to make sure he was okay. Susan, their cleaner, was going to let Patrick in and show him the ropes, but Helen thought it would be nice if I dropped in, to welcome him to the valley. And introduce him to the dogs, of course.’
    ‘What did you make of him?’
    ‘He seemed very pleasant. Polite. Charming even. He took me up to the flat and made me tea. I said that he’d have to come to dinner one night, but we didn’t fix anything definite. I gave him our phone number in case he needed anything. That was all. I thought we’d have a couple of months to get to know him.’ Janet paused. ‘It’s still not really hit me that he’s dead.’
    They climbed out on the lane, so now they could walk side by side.
    ‘The second victim was a man called Martin Benton,’ Vera said. ‘Did the Carswells mention anyone of that name to you?’
    Janet shook her head.
    ‘He was found in the flat at the big house. Any reason for him being there? For example, were the Carswells planning to get any work done on the house while they were away?’
    ‘I don’t think so, and Susan would probably know more about that than me.’ They’d reached the houses and the dogs were chasing around the yard.
    ‘I’ve got a few more questions,’ Vera said.
    There was a brief hesitation and Vera sensed something. Panic? Hostility? Then Janet smiled. ‘Of course. Come in. Meet John and have a coffee.’
    They sat in a room at the back of the barn conversion. It seemed rather shadowy. There was a view of a