stood up, his arms folded, and looked down at Matthew. His face was very white and a nerve throbbed in his neck. He was struggling to hold things together. Matthew thought that for all his life he’d been obeyed. He’d basked in the adoration of his congregation and he’d bullied into submission the people he couldn’t persuade to love him. Even now, he couldn’t believe that Matthew was standing up to him.
‘This is highly irregular. You can’t talk to me like this in my own home and without a solicitor present. Making wild accusations. It’s the middle of the night.’
Matthew stood too. ‘You’re quite right, Mr Salter. We need to do this at the police station and under caution. Detective Constable May will read you both your rights. You’re being arrested for the attempted murder of Lucy Braddick and the murder of Simon Walden. Ross, call the police van to take them in. No reason why the neighbours shouldn’t know what’s happening at this point. They’ll read about it in the Journal soon enough.’
* * *
When they arrived back at the station, Jen was still there, and suddenly, Joe Oldham ambled in. It was so unusual for him to be around after hours that Matthew wondered if the concussion was hitting him at last, that the boss was an hallucination.
‘I hear it’s all over,’ Oldham said. ‘Good work, everyone. I’m off to my bed now and we’ll catch up tomorrow.’ He took a half-bottle of whisky and three plastic tumblers from his briefcase, set them on the table, then wandered out again, a confused and amiable bear lost in the forest.
They gathered in Matthew’s office, with a small tot of the whisky each. Jen perched on his desk and Ross leaning against the door. All of them, it seemed, too tired to bear their own weight.
‘You should have gone home,’ Matthew said to Jen.
She shook her head. ‘I wanted to see it through to the end. To see you bring them in. We’ve got enough, haven’t we, to convict?’
‘The Salters and Craven, certainly. Lucy still had Rosa’s skirt hidden in a drawer in her bedroom. Maurice found it this evening. I’m not sure about Preece and the Marstons. They could say that what they did in covering up the assault on Rosa Holsworthy wasn’t criminal. I’m sure they’ll argue that they believed they were acting in Rosa’s best interests and in the interests of the Woodyard.’
Ross shifted his feet. ‘Do you think Walden did the right thing, stirring it up? If he’d left it alone, he’d still be alive and Lucy and Chrissie wouldn’t have been put through that trauma.’
Jen turned on him, red hair flying. ‘Is that what you really think? Just cover it up and it’ll go away? That’s what the men at the Woodyard thought. Are you one of them?’
‘No,’ Ross said. ‘No. But he was obsessed with it, wasn’t he, with the story of Rosa, and I’m not quite sure why. He had a new life. A beautiful woman. He was making friends. He’d get a job as a chef somewhere in the season if he was as good a cook as everyone makes out. I’m not sure why he let that obsession take over his life.’
‘Because he knew it was important for the truth to be told.’ Jen turned back to the room. ‘And because of the guilt he’d carried round with him since he killed the child in the road accident. I looked into the incident again. It was something his ex-wife said when she was talking to us about it. A child like that. So helpless. And the ambiguous response of the parents when they learned of Walden’s death.’ She paused. ‘The child had brain damage. She was severely learning disabled and she only had months to live. It was personal for him. He was already obsessed.’
Chapter Forty-Three
WHEN MATTHEW ARRIVED HOME, it was morning. A still, spring day. Jonathan had stayed up, waiting for him as he’d promised, but he was asleep in the rocking chair in the living room, the fire out and the curtains drawn. There was a glass on the floor beside him, but otherwise the house was tidy, the kitchen clear. Jonathan didn’t mind mess, but he knew Matthew hated coming home to it.
Matthew drew the curtains and let in the light. Jonathan stirred. He looked up at Matthew. ‘Is it over?’
‘Yes,’ Matthew said. ‘It’s over.’
‘I was thinking we might visit my parents later,’ Jonathan said. ‘Get away from the coast for a bit. Have a walk on the moor.’
‘Blow away the cobwebs.’ Matthew kept his voice light. Jonathan seldom made the trip to the farm and when he did, they were duty calls: birthdays and the run up to Christmas.
‘Build some bridges,’ Jonathan said. ‘Seeing Maurice and Lucy together I thought I should make more effort.’
Matthew knew what was coming next and got in first. ‘Perhaps I should invite my mother to Sunday lunch some day.’
‘It seems like the right time to ask her.’
There was a moment of silence. Outside the waves broke on the shore and the gulls cried.