reasons for mourning Simon. Caroline dropped onto the sofa beside her. ‘Did he kill himself?’ The question seemed loaded with guilt. ‘I didn’t notice he was depressed. If anything, a bit manic, I thought.’ A pause. ‘Oh, I should have realized!’
‘He was murdered,’ Gaby said. ‘On the beach at Crow Point.’ She thought she’d hit just the right tone. Not cold, but not too upset either. Caroline would never believe upset.
Chapter Six
WHEN MATTHEW GOT BACK TO THE house, Jonathan had lit a fire and was sitting on the floor of the living room, the curtains open to let in the moonlight, a glass on the low table beside him. He’d been reading but he set down the book when he heard Matthew.
‘A drink? Something to eat?’
‘I might have to hand over this murder investigation.’ It had been on Matthew’s mind since he’d left the station. He followed Jonathan through to the kitchen. ‘The victim was a volunteer at the Woodyard. And one of the people he shared a house with has a residency there.’
‘Who was killed?’
‘A man called Simon Walden. Did you know him?’
‘I recognize the name. He worked in the cafe with Bob.’ Jonathan took an opened bottle of Chablis out of the fridge.
‘Walden had mental health problems,’ Matthew said, ‘and it seems one of your trustees pulled strings to get him the placement.’
Jon frowned. ‘Whoever it was didn’t go through me.’
‘Christopher Preece? His daughter runs the project at St Cuthbert’s. She was Walden’s landlady.’
‘They must have organized it directly with Bob. He runs his own show there.’ Jonathan handed a glass of wine to Matthew. ‘They can’t take the case off you just because I manage the place. That’s crazy. It’s the first major investigation since you took over the team. Besides, Joe Oldham’s an idle bastard. He won’t want to run a case like that. He couldn’t do it! He has the sensitivity of a gnat. Imagine him stomping through the Woodyard, upsetting people.’
‘Joe doesn’t stomp.’ But Matthew could understand Jonathan’s point and he smiled.
The Woodyard was Jonathan’s pride and joy, his baby. The site was on the south side of the Taw and had once belonged to a timber firm, that had long since stopped operating. There’d been the carcass of a huge warehouse built of old brick, full of rusting machinery. There’d been plans to demolish the buildings, flatten the site and put up a retail park. At the same time the council was contemplating closing the day centre for adults with a learning disability where Jonathan worked. He’d made the imaginative leap to connect the two. Matthew had been living and working in Bristol then, but he’d been swept up by Jonathan’s enthusiasm. Most of their phone calls had included his plans for the site, his passion for bringing together different groups of people in one place – artists and adults with a learning disability – so it seemed to Matthew that the project almost embodied their love affair, the reckless, unimaginable possibilities of two alien individuals becoming one.
‘Don’t we have enough stores already in Barnstaple?’ Jonathan would rant. ‘The high street’s already all charity shops, hairdressers and estate agents. Why not use the timber yard as a community hub? Let’s have an arts centre, a cafe, a place for people to meet and explore ideas. And my people from the day centre can be there too, right at the heart of things instead of being hidden away from view as if we’re somehow ashamed of them.’
Jonathan had formed a committee, pushed through the plans, persuaded the Lottery Fund to give them cash and had raised match funding. Now the Woodyard was just as he’d imagined. There was a theatre and studio space, a bar and a cafe. The day centre for adults with a learning disability was there too, in a space converted from one of the smaller buildings. And he managed the whole place. Matthew couldn’t have been more proud.
Today, though, Jonathan’s involvement with the Woodyard might provide complications. ‘I might have to hand the case over,’ Matthew repeated. ‘My choice, not Oldham’s.’
‘Well, don’t do anything until he forces your hand! You want to work this, don’t you?’
Matthew thought for a moment. ‘Yes. I definitely want to work it.’ A pause. ‘I’m just not sure it would be right.’
‘I love you to bits, you know that.’ Jonathan had an accent that Matthew had struggled to define when they first met. Jon had been brought up on Exmoor, a farmer’s son. No university