wanted it over quickly.’ She looked up at Matthew. ‘It was over quickly. He had no idea what was happening.’
‘And when it was over, what did you take from Simon’s body?’
‘Anything that might identify him. His phone and his wallet. A letter with his address on. An address in Braunton.’ Grace looked up. ‘You see, Matthew, I was thinking quite clearly at that point. Perhaps I wasn’t mad after all. There can be no excuse.’
‘Did you take a key from Simon’s body?’
‘Yes, there was a key. I brought it home. I haven’t seen it since.’
‘What did you do then?’ Matthew felt suddenly relaxed, almost disengaged. This was almost over. Soon he’d be back at the house on the shore with Jonathan. They’d lie in their bed and watch the sun come up over the marsh.
‘I drove the car back here. I arrived just before Dennis. I told him what I’d done.’
‘What did Dennis say?’ Matthew tried to picture that. Grace opening the door for her husband, sand on her shoes, blood on her hands. The meeting in the dark hall, the explanation. And all the time Christine Shapland had been in the kitchen at the back of the house, watching television. Had the man been pleased? Or horrified?
‘He said that we should pray.’
There was another silence, deep and dense. Matthew couldn’t bring himself to ask what they’d prayed for. Forgiveness? Walden’s soul? Or that they wouldn’t be found out?
‘Where have you been this evening?’ Matthew made the words conversational, a polite enquiry to cover his anger.
‘We were out to dinner with friends.’ Dennis would take over now. This was dangerous for him. In Lucy Braddick’s attempted murder he was at least as involved as his wife and he would have constructed a story. Perhaps he’d convinced himself in part that it was true. But then Matthew had blundered in, climbing the dune. He would have found Lucy if the clouds had parted to let the moonlight through. But this wasn’t about him.
‘Which friends?’
‘Colin and Hilary Marston. You might know them. You’re almost neighbours. They’re newcomers to the area, but Colin has become a valuable part of the Woodyard.’
Matthew nodded. It was too soon to tell him that the Marstons had been picked up in Exeter, and though they might have let him use their house, Salter couldn’t implicate them in the attempted murders. That could wait for a formal interview.
‘Your car was seen, driving off at speed, from a parking spot behind a bank of trees. Not long after I was assaulted. Can you explain that?’
A pause. Was Salter starting to realize that he wouldn’t be able to escape this time, that his power and his charm would no longer be enough? ‘There must be a mistake, Matthew. That wasn’t us.’
‘And during the day? Have you been into Barnstaple at all?’
Dennis paused. He wasn’t sure how much Matthew knew. He wouldn’t want to be caught out in a direct lie.
Matthew continued. ‘You’ll be aware of course that most of the streets in the town are covered by CCTV.’
‘We often go into Barnstaple to do some shopping on a Saturday.’
‘Lucy Braddick was snatched from the high street. She was there with her father and she wandered away from him for a moment. Someone caused a diversion by pretending to fall.’ He paused. ‘Someone wearing jeans and trainers like those belonging to your wife.’
Dennis was still considering his answer when Matthew continued. He was tired now and these were just word games. He knew what had happened. Salter wouldn’t have managed to abduct Lucy on his own. He must have persuaded Grace to help him, and as always, she’d done his bidding. ‘Did you see Lucy and Maurice in the town and take your chance? Or did you know they’d be there? Because that’s what they do most Saturdays and you must know them. You’ve lived for years in the same village.’
Dennis stared ahead. In a neighbouring garden a dog barked.
‘How did you get the Marstons to help you?’ Matthew was in full flow now. Nothing would stop him. ‘Did you promise Colin a seat on the board at the Woodyard? The post of paid administrator? Because you never approved of Jonathan, did you? Or did you give them some story about Lucy being a danger to herself? Or tell them that she’d killed Simon Walden? They’d believe anything of a woman with Down’s syndrome. Whatever the excuse, they let you use their house to hold her.’
This time Dennis did respond. He