The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,28

own right. Matthew had been to the Woodyard before, with Jonathan, to see plays and to attend exhibition openings. But only occasionally and only after he’d moved to Barnstaple permanently. They still weren’t much recognized as a couple in the town. Their worlds were very different. At first it had been an ordeal, presenting himself in public as Jonathan’s partner, smiling and shaking hands. After all, what did he know about art or theatre? Sometimes the anxiety that he would say the wrong thing or express an opinion that was foolish swallowed him up, made him want to run away or lock himself in the lavatory. Now he was here as Inspector Matthew Venn, investigating a murder, and he had to take centre stage.

They’d bought coffee and sandwiches in the cafe and were sitting on one of the benches outside the building. There was a view of the river and the tide coming in, that distinctive smell of salt, mud and decay. A group of older volunteers was tidying, sweeping up debris that had gathered on the grass over the winter, but nobody was near enough to overhear.

Matthew spoke first. They were close enough to hold hands, but he was here as a police officer and not as a husband and his words sounded oddly formal. ‘You think Lucy Braddick is a reliable witness?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve known her for ages. Since when the old day centre was still going.’

‘Jen’s just phoned with confirmation that Walden worked in the kitchen here. That must be where Lucy first saw him.’ Matthew paused. ‘How well do you know Christopher Preece? I didn’t like to ask in front of Maurice.’

‘He’s on the Woodyard board and without a donation from him, we probably wouldn’t have got match funding to renovate the place. You must have heard me talk about him and you’ve met him a few times. He was there at the beginning, at those first meetings in the flat.’ Jonathan paused. ‘He was behind the mental health project at St Cuthbert’s too. There’s something of the passion of the convert about him. The ruthless businessman who suddenly found a social conscience. Sometimes he can come across a bit arrogant. As if he has all the answers.’

‘I met Christopher’s daughter, Caroline, this morning. She seems pretty driven too. She shares a house with one of your workers. Gaby Henry?’

‘Gaby’s amazing. We appointed her as artist in residence, but she’s brought the whole place to life. Her work’s stunning. One day it’ll put this place on the map.’

‘You, this, it’s all too close.’ Matthew felt the words come out as a cry. ‘You do see now that I’ll have to declare an interest?’

‘Of course you should. But don’t withdraw from the case just yet. You’re better at your work than anyone I know and your investigation might lead you in an altogether different direction. Surely the answer is more likely to lie in St Cuthbert’s than here?’

Matthew could understand the sense in that, but he thought this case was complicated, twisted, the threads unlikely to be quickly untied.

* * *

Gaby Henry had arranged to meet him in one of the meeting rooms. She’d been running an art appreciation class and had obviously been showing a series of images on a screen. The group reminded him of the friends Jonathan sometimes brought home – they had intelligent, earnest faces. The women wore loose floral dresses, the men jeans and sweaters. Informal but at the same time a uniform. Matthew watched through the glass door as Gaby wrapped up the meeting. ‘That was fabulous,’ she said. ‘Thanks so much for your attention.’ She stood at the door as they drifted out and waited until they were out of earshot before speaking to Matthew.

‘Thank God that’s over for the week,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met such a boring, pretentious bunch!’

He couldn’t help smiling. He often thought the same about Jonathan’s arty friends.

Gaby led him back into the room. ‘Do you know what happened to Simon yet?’

‘Not yet.’ Matthew paused for a moment. ‘We have discovered that for the last week or so he’d been taking a bus to Lovacott every afternoon. Did he have friends there?’

Gaby shook her head. ‘I don’t think he had friends anywhere. I realized he’d been home late a few times, but often we were back late too, so we didn’t notice. We just assumed he was in.’ She seemed to be thinking. ‘We didn’t see him much, poor bastard. Only Friday nights when he cooked