Chapter Twenty-Four
THE EVENING BEFORE, AT THE brIEFING, Venn had decided that his first stop on Thursday morning would be to Millscombe and the farm.
He hadn’t spoken to Jake Brennan or his father on his last visit – they’d been in Barnstaple manning their stall in the Pannier Market – and he wanted to talk about the festival.
It would be useful to know if they’d seen the videos and comments Lottie had posted throughout the weekend.
One of their friends, surely, would have told them what was happening online?
He stopped briefly at Tide House. News of the murders was clearly widespread now.
Some of the reporters were still there, but their focus was as much on the other people gathered in the lane as on the police investigation.
It seemed that Lottie had been more famous than Venn had realized.
A small group of onlookers stood at the cordon, chatting, hugging and waving their phones in the air to snatch photos of the place over the gate.
Most seemed to be young women. A few were in tears.
They’d brought flowers that were already wilting in the heat, and handmade cards.
Most of the cards had Lottie’s name on the front.
Hannah, it seemed, didn’t deserve the same level of tribute.
The middle-aged police officer was still there, being patient but firm.
‘There’s nothing to see. Just let our team do their work.’
Eventually, they scattered, wandering back along the lane towards the Fisherman’s Arms, where Venn presumed their cars were parked. Perhaps, after all, murder wouldn’t be so bad for the Hoopers’ business.
Venn chatted briefly to the policeman. ‘Is that happening a lot?’
‘On and off. Lots of the journos moved on after the first day it went public. They’ve realized there’s nothing to see.
We’ve got someone posted at the back of the pub to stop the rubberneckers getting down the combe that way.
They’re the ones who think they can play detective and that they’ve only got to look at the scene to discover some vital clue we’ve missed.
’ He shook his head. ‘I blame all these true crime podcasts. Bloody nightmare.’
Venn nodded towards the group disappearing up the lane. ‘That lot didn’t cause any bother, though?’
The officer shook his head. ‘Nah, there’s been a stream of them, turning up since the news got out. They’re just sad. They all claim to be friends of Lottie Cauldwell, though none of them met her in real life.’ He looked over the gate to Matthew. ‘It seems a strange kind of friendship.’
Venn drove all the way up the track and parked at the farmhouse.
There was no break in the heatwave, and he didn’t want to arrive hot and sweaty after a walk.
He’d seen no forecast of any change in the weather.
The local news had featured wildfires on parts of Exmoor; there was already a hosepipe ban and talk of standpipes being introduced.
Everyone, even the holidaymakers, was hoping for rain.
He found the family together in the kitchen.
Jake looked unwell and pale. Perhaps Hannah’s death had finally hit home and triggered another crisis in his mental health.
Certainly, his mother was treating him as if he was a sick child.
She’d made him a couple of boiled eggs and toast soldiers and was encouraging him to eat.
They’d shouted to Venn to come in as soon as he knocked – he supposed they’d seen the approach of his car – and Jake was already on his feet.
‘Sorry.’ A mumble. ‘I’m not hungry.’ He nodded to Venn and disappeared upstairs.
Matthew could imagine him holed up in his sun-filled bedroom with its memories of Hannah. Perhaps it still smelled of her. There might be objects belonging to her left behind – her toothbrush, some underwear, a book.
‘Coffee?’ Tessa was already switching on the kettle.
‘Please.’ Venn looked towards the door through which Jake had disappeared. ‘He’s taking it hard.’
‘He was numb at first,’ Tessa said. ‘Now each day he seems to sink deeper. He’s hardly eaten since that morning you found her.’
‘Will he get some help?’
‘Maybe. If we can persuade him to see someone. Our GP’s very good.’
‘And how are you both?’ It seemed to Venn that they were exhausted too. He imagined the whole family awake at night, weird anxieties rattling around in their heads, lying tense and still, pretending to each other that they were asleep.
‘Oh, you know,’ Tessa said at last. ‘There’s nothing worse than knowing that your child is hurting, and there’s not a thing you can do to make it better. He’s our only child. We’re both fixers, Bob and me, and this is something that nobody can fix.’
Brennan looked across at Venn. ‘Until you catch the killer. That might help the boy.’ His voice was hard, challenging.
Venn recognized the implied question.
Well? What are you doing? Why is this taking so long?
‘We have a lot of new information,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to trust me. I can’t tell you what’s happening. And I have more questions for you, I’m afraid.’
There was silence. Tessa put a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. ‘Go on then. Ask your questions.’
‘Lottie was posting little videos and comments online throughout the festival weekend. Did you see them?’
‘Sarky cow.’ Tessa sounded more resigned than angry.
‘Yeah, we saw them, but not until the Sunday morning. There was a little flutter of negative comment on our Facebook page, which was the exact opposite of what we were expecting or hoping, so we looked at them in more detail. People were reposting from Lottie’s site.
She obviously has a lot of young followers, and they were sharing the nastiness without any idea really of what was going on here.
But then there was a push back from our regulars, putting their own photos on our website and saying what a brilliant time they’d had at the festival, calling out the lass for being so bitchy and mean.
In the end, we decided she’d done more good than harm.
For us, at least. Raised our profile and generated positive comments from people who might not otherwise have bothered.
I’m not sure it did much to her reputation.
’ There was a pause. ‘Hannah was furious, though.’
‘Oh?’
‘That’s why Lottie didn’t come to our little party on Sunday night. Hannah had told her she wouldn’t be welcome.’
‘They fell out over it?’
‘I think there was a row,’ Tessa said. ‘A disagreement at least. It might have been why Hannah stayed here on Sunday night. Why she let Lottie go back to Tide House on her own.’
‘Did you see them arguing?’
Tessa shook her head. ‘But Hannah was very frosty when I asked if Lottie wanted to come into the house that night. I didn’t want to upset her mate.
After all, we’d come out of the social media battle very well.
Far more sign-ups to the farm newsletter.
More bookings. I wouldn’t have minded her being there.
’ Tessa paused and despite herself, gave a little grin.
‘I would have enjoyed having the chance to gloat.’
‘What did Hannah say?’
‘That Lottie would be getting the first train back to London on Monday. She’d drive her to the station. That she should have realized what a poisonous person the girl was. This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to destroy someone just for fun. It was time for the truth to come out.’
Venn wondered why Tessa hadn’t mentioned the falling-out before, then thought that wasn’t fair.
Everyone had been in shock and Jake had said that there’d been no row.
It always took a while for memories to surface.
‘Do you think that was why Hannah went over to Tide House so early on Monday morning? To take Lottie to Tiverton station before the rest of the family arrived?’
Tessa shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘She might have said something to Jake,’ Venn said. ‘Could I go up and ask him?’
‘I can’t see it would do any harm. The sooner this is all over, the sooner he might start getting well again.’
Venn knocked at Jake’s door. There was no response, so he pushed it open. The boy was lying on the bed but not sleeping. He was fully clothed, held in a shaft of sunlight, curled into a ball, hiding against the world, muscles tense and eyes wide open.
‘What do you want now?’
‘Answers,’ Venn said. ‘I want to know what happened to Hannah and Lottie.’
‘Really I don’t give a shit about Lottie.’ His voice was listless, sullen.
‘But Hannah? You cared about her.’
Jake sat upright, fiery-eyed and fierce.
‘What is the point of caring? It won’t bring her back.’
‘No,’ Venn agreed. ‘It won’t.’ He moved a few steps into the room. ‘But I need some answers. For myself. I can’t rest until I know how those two young women died. That’s why I can’t let you grieve in peace. I need your help.’
There was a moment’s stand-off. They stared at each other. Jake swung his legs around until his bare feet were on the floor and stood up.
‘What do you want to know?’
There were two seats by the window – one that would have been used by a nursing mother, low and comfortable, and another that might have been rescued from a classroom – and they sat on those, the chairs twisted so they faced the room, and the sun didn’t dazzle their eyes.
‘Lottie was posting unpleasant comments and videos about MillsFest on her socials.’
‘Yeah. It was all about making herself look clever.’
‘Your parents seem quite relaxed about it.’
‘Well, she was targeting quite a different audience, wasn’t she?
MillsFest was never aimed at the bright young things from London.
And most of our campers are a bit older too.
They’re not looking for a wild party vibe.
Mum and Dad were angry at first but soon saw it wouldn’t make a real difference to the business. Then, it was just a bit of a laugh.’
‘Hannah was angry, though?’
‘Yeah. She thought it was rude. A kind of betrayal.’ He looked at Venn. ‘Hannah had always seen Lottie as super cool, the leader of their little gang. It was as if Lottie had done her a favour by coming down to stay with her in Tide House.’
‘And after the posts, she saw Lottie as a spoiled and entitled girl, who was making fun of her friends? And her?’
Jake nodded, pleased, it seemed, that Venn understood.
‘Hannah wanted Lottie to leave,’ Venn said. ‘Is that why she went back to Tide House so early on Monday morning? To take her to the station?’
‘I suppose.’ Jake paused for a moment. ‘I knew she wanted Lottie to leave, but I thought she might have come to say goodbye before heading out to Tiverton. I’d expected her to be here in bed when I got back that morning after clearing the site.
Sleeping. I’d imagined waking her up.’ For a moment the boy seemed lost in his dream.
‘I don’t suppose she left you a message on your phone?’ Because, Venn thought, wasn’t that what young people did? They texted or messaged through WhatsApp. WhatsApp was tricky for the tech team, encoded. They still hadn’t found Hannah’s mobile.
Jake shook his head. ‘She was old-fashioned like that. Often, she’d just leave a note.
She had wonderful handwriting. She knew I loved it.
When she was in London, we kept in touch by email, but then I’d get something in the post. A postcard, with one funny comment on it.
Something to cheer me up. Occasionally, a long letter. ’
‘Did you keep the letters?’
‘Not all of them.’ Jake looked warily at Venn. Did he expect the detective to demand to see them as well as the emails?
‘Did she ever mention a girl called Elizabeth Kinzalow?’
Jake frowned. ‘Kinzalow. Like the couple who stayed in one of the glampers?’
‘Yes.’ Matthew held his breath for a moment. The letters would be more intimate than an email exchange. Of course Jake would be reluctant to talk about them.
The boy shook his head. ‘I can’t remember. Hannah did mention other people occasionally, but I was only really interested in the personal stuff. The things about us.’
How self-absorbed the young are! Matthew thought, then he reconsidered. Or people of any age who are in love.
‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘if you’d mind rereading them for me to see if there’s any reference to Elizabeth. Or to anything that might be relevant to the case. It would be helpful.’
The boy didn’t immediately respond, and Matthew was worried that he might refuse.
‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘I’d like to.’
‘I might have to see them later. You do understand?’
Jake nodded.
‘Hannah didn’t leave you a note on Monday morning?’ Venn asked. ‘Some explanation about why she left without finding you to say goodbye?’
‘No.’ Jake thought for a moment, then he stared across at Matthew.
‘But she would have done. I didn’t look.
I was expecting her to be here, and then I was so anxious.
And you came with the news that she was dead …
’ His voice tailed off. Venn could tell that he was suddenly wracked with doubt and guilt.
Perhaps he was haunted by the possibility that he might have saved her.
‘Could there be one, do you think? Is it possible that you missed it? Where would she have left it?’
‘She’d have pinned it here on the corkboard.’ A pause and a confession. ‘I kept all her postcards there, and she did some great sketches and cartoons.’
The corkboard was fixed to the wall, over a small chest of drawers.
Venn let Jake scour the contents but peered over his shoulder.
There was a postcard of Big Ben and another of the London Eye.
London images which must have come from Hannah.
Then a cartoon of Jake, binoculars round his neck, staring out at an unlikely bird.
Some kind of in-joke, Matthew suspected.
‘No.’ Jake was disappointed. ‘There’s nothing new here.’
‘Just a minute.’ Matthew pulled out the chest of drawers and looked behind.
And there it was. A scrap of paper, with the pin still attached to one corner.
Hannah must have been in such a hurry that she hadn’t pushed it far enough into the board and it had dropped out.
He put on gloves and lifted it out by the pin.
He held it so Jake could read it. It had been meant, after all, for the boy.
Gone to sort out Lottie, once and for all. I’ll catch up with you later this morning. Love you! And a big X.
Matthew looked across at Jake and saw that he was weeping.