The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,66

than that. I left home with two suitcases and a bin bag when I ran away from Robbie at an hour’s notice. I know I had two kids, but everyone has more possessions than a couple of pairs of jeans.’ She paused. ‘Gaby Henry had the impression that Walden was still fond of his wife, but we didn’t find a photo of her, or of his army mates in his room. I just don’t see it. And there’s a gap in the timeline between him leaving work at the Kingsley and moving into Hope Street. According to the women, he’d been rough sleeping during that time, but I spoke to the homeless guy who hangs out at the end of the street and he only came across Walden once he’d moved into number twenty. There’s a community of rough sleepers in Ilfracombe. They look out for each other. He would have come across Walden if the man had been living on the streets.’

‘You think Walden had a house or a flat somewhere and that his stuff might still be there?’

‘I think it’s possible.’

‘Nobody has come forward to say he’d rented from them.’ Matthew set his mug back on the tray and took another biscuit.

‘But would they recognize him? After all this time? Especially if he went through a letting agency.’

Silence. Jen opened the door of the wood burner and threw on another log. Matthew was thinking. Walden was a man who’d been described by Gaby Henry as being born to cook. If he had the money, he’d want a kitchen of his own. He’d have had his own knives, and they weren’t in the Hope Street house. The women had said that he often disappeared, that he spent time on his own.

‘Why would Walden pretend to be homeless? And why would he accept that depressing room in Hope Street if he had somewhere better to live?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jen said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that all the way back from Bristol. Do you think he needed the company? Female company? I mean in an inappropriate way – like looking through bathroom keyhole weird. Gaby described him as a bit of a creep.’

‘And if we’re talking inappropriate, what was he doing chatting up Lucy Braddick? Where was he going on those trips to Lovacott? Do you think he had a place there?’ Matthew was still obsessing about Christine Shapland and made a strange illogical leap. If Walden had his own accommodation away from Hope Street, perhaps the missing woman was being kept there. But that wouldn’t work, would it? Because Walden had been killed before she disappeared, so he couldn’t be responsible for her abduction. He was clutching at straws.

‘Get Ross on all the letting agencies tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And the estate agents, in case he bought a place. Let’s see if we can trace what happened to that money.’

* * *

It was raining again when he drove home. Braunton was empty, but there was a light in the toll keeper’s cottage. Matthew wondered what the Marstons could be doing in there and thought he’d be glad when they found somewhere more to their liking and moved away. They were his nearest neighbours and, driving past, he realized he disliked them with an intensity that surprised him. Jonathan hadn’t closed the curtains and must have seen the headlights of his car as he drove towards the house, because he came outside to greet him. He stood just outside the door, turning his face to the light rain.

‘Is there any news?’ He was talking about Christine Shapland of course. Jonathan had never been this involved in any previous case. He’d listened in the past while Matthew had run through his anxieties about an investigation, offered the occasional piece of advice, but this was different. This was personal. He knew the woman and besides, the reputation of the Woodyard, his life’s work, was at stake. Before Matthew could answer, he continued talking. ‘I’m sorry. Come inside. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like this.’ Jonathan put his arm around Matthew’s shoulder and drew him in, then clung onto him. It was as if Jonathan were drowning and needed support.

Chapter Twenty

EARLY NEXT MORNING, THEY WERE IN the police station, fuelling up on caffeine, buzzing because there were so many things to do. Too many leads and possibilities, but this was better than the torture of waiting for something new to turn up.

Jen had slept deeply and felt well. If she’d been on her own the