The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,126

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