The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,8

of the story. He was surprised they hadn’t already arrived. He could imagine the Marstons spreading the news. They’d enjoy their fifteen minutes of fame. Perhaps the long walk from the toll gate had put the journos off, or perhaps the couple hadn’t known who to contact with the story.

‘No wallet or credit cards,’ Ross said.

‘You’re not thinking a mugging gone wrong? Not all the way out here?’

Ross continued. ‘There was this in the back jeans pocket.’ He held out a scrap of paper: a pulled apart envelope with a shopping list on the blank side. Tomatoes, eggs, rice, bin bags. On the other a printed address. No name. The Occupier, 20 Hope Street, Ilfracombe. Some form of junk mail. The name of the street rang a faint bell for Matthew, but he couldn’t picture it. ‘Should we check it out?’ Ross was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager for any form of action.

Matthew relented. ‘Both of you go.’ There might be a wife, kids or an elderly mother and Jen was brilliant with families. ‘Give me a ring when you’ve got something.’ He looked at his watch. It was gone six and the light was already fading. A buoy in the estuary was flashing. ‘Let’s meet at the station at eight thirty this evening and we’ll pull together all we know.’

* * *

He stood outside the gate to Spindrift and waited for a moment. The curtains hadn’t been closed and he could see the kitchen, fully lit, like a stage set. An orange pan was on the stove and a jug of daffodils stood on the green oilskin cloth that covered the table. Matthew had bought them the day before as buds and they were nearly open. And as if this was a piece of theatre, a single actor stood back-on in front of a chopping board. Hair so blond it was nearly white. A T-shirt with a logo that urged support for whales or dolphins or the entire planet. There was a chest of drawers full of the shirts and Matthew was too far away to make out the detail of the design. Jonathan, his husband and love of his life, the endless optimist, who had lifted him from depression and brought him to what felt like home. He still wasn’t sure what Jonathan had seen in him, how they could be so happy.

Matthew lifted the latch on the gate and walked into the garden. Perhaps Jon heard the noise, because he turned and he must have seen Matthew’s shadow, or a movement at least, because he waved. Inside there was the smell of good soup and new wood. Jon was replacing rotten window frames. The house was his project and once the day job was over, he spent his spare time working on it. Unlike Matthew, he had boundless energy, the build of labourer. There was sawdust in his hair and on his shoulders.

‘Good timing. I was just about to have a beer.’ Jon approached, the knife still in his hand, to kiss him.

‘I can’t. I have to go out later. Work.’ Matthew explained about the body on the beach and thought he hated work coming so close to home. ‘Weren’t you stopped at the toll gate on your way in?’

‘I took this afternoon off to get on with the window in the bedroom. Lieu time. I was home not long after midday. There was nobody on the gate then.’

‘Did you see anything unusual?’

‘Am I a suspect?’ A big grin. The question was intended to lighten the mood. He could sense Matthew’s stress.

‘A witness, maybe.’ He wasn’t in the mood for jokes. A pause.

‘Oh fuck, I’m sorry. I’d forgotten. It was your dad’s funeral. Did they let you in?’

‘I didn’t try.’

‘Oh, Matt. I knew I should have gone with you.’

Jon was brave. He would have faced out the relatives and the Brethren. He would have stood at the front, singing his heart out, and then charmed the old ladies afterwards. Matthew was a coward, more scared of embarrassment than breaking up a fight in a bar or facing an addict with a knife.

‘Dad would have hated a scene,’ Matthew said. ‘Staying away was the least I could do for him.’

‘They would have been the ones causing the scene. Not you.’ But he gave Matthew a hug to show this wasn’t something they’d fall out over.

They shared a meal – soup and freshly baked bread, cheese and a salad. Jon’s competence astounded him. How could one