The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,65

the washing machine and was staring at it when she heard footsteps on the stairs to the basement and Caroline was there, standing right behind her. She took in the damp washing, saw immediately what it was, and then noticed the key.

‘What’s that?’

‘It must be Simon’s.’ What else could she say?

‘You’ll have to show the police,’ Caroline said. She used that bossy, big-sister voice that usually Gaby didn’t mind. Today it grated on her nerves and made her want to swear. ‘It could be important.’

‘I suppose it could.’ Gaby felt helpless standing there with the washing half folded in the basket. She’d railed against Simon and now she felt like weeping.

‘I’ll take it.’ And Caroline tucked the key into her little black handbag before Gaby could reply.

Chapter Nineteen

AFTER THE EVENING’S BRIEFING in Barnstaple, Matthew was discouraged. He felt the old insecurity biting at his heels, telling him he was useless, an impostor in the role of Senior Investigating Officer in this case. Perhaps Oldham would have made a better fist at it. They had so much information now that he should have formed some idea about who might have killed Walden, some notion at least of a strong motive, but there was nothing substantial, nothing to act on. Too many stray leads that needed to be followed up. And Christine Shapland was still missing. There’d be another night of anguish for her mother. Another night of Matthew knowing he’d let his mother down.

On the way out of the police station, Jen Rafferty stopped him. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a drink?’ A pause. ‘A chat. I could do with running some ideas about Walden past you. Today in Bristol, it was as if they were talking about a different man from the homeless guy who turned up pissed at the church. But I didn’t want to discuss it in there.’ She nodded back at the building. ‘It’s all too complicated and I find it impossible to think straight with an audience.’

‘Okay.’

‘Would you mind coming back to my house? I’ve hardly seen the kids since all this started. I probably won’t see them tonight. By this time, they’ll be holed up in their rooms. But at least I’ll know I’m there. I’ve got wine.’ Noticing his hesitation, she grinned. ‘Decaf coffee, herbal tea…’

He looked at his watch. It was already nearly ten and he’d been looking forward to being home, to being with Jonathan. But he trusted Jen’s instincts and was still weighed down by the sense of duty, drummed into him in childhood. ‘Sure. Just half an hour, though. I need my beauty sleep.’

* * *

He sat in Jen’s cottage. She’d lit the wood burner before running upstairs to check on her children and putting on the kettle, and the small room was already warm. She’d lit candles and switched off the big light. The edges of the space drifted into shadow. He felt himself grow drowsy and was almost asleep when she came in with a tray, mugs, a packet of biscuits. Her Scouse voice shook him awake.

‘Only digestives. The bloody kids ate the chocolate ones.’

He stretched, tried to focus. ‘What’s been troubling you?’

‘It’s Walden. When we first ID’d him, I had him pegged as a rough sleeper, a drunk, who’d been scooped up by a well-meaning do-gooder and helped to put his life back together. But I don’t think he was ever like that. I mean, I think he was a drinker and there must have been a moment of crisis when he turned up at the church and met Caroline, but he must still have had money somewhere. He can’t have drunk away two hundred thousand pounds. That’s a fortune! Besides, while he was working at the Kingsley he still had an income.’

‘He could have been a gambler. Reckless.’

She shook her head. ‘Nobody’s mentioned that. His business started falling apart because it expanded too quickly, but everyone put that down to Kate’s ambition, not because Walden was spending wildly. His wife or his mate would have told me if he’d had a gambling problem.’

‘What are you saying, exactly?’

‘That I’m not convinced he was homeless when he landed up at the church. He might have been lonely and depressed, but at the end of the season in North Devon, it’s not that hard to find a landlord prepared to let you stay in a holiday rental. Besides, that tiny room in Hope Street was almost empty when he was staying in it. He must have accumulated more stuff