Chapter Thirty-Five #3
Venn was trying to reconcile these groups and their hateful posts with the locals Jim Hooper gathered around him in the Fisherman’s Arms to discuss politics.
These were businesspeople who got together in winter to press for lower council rates and to get more locals voted onto the council – described by the elderly drinkers Ross had interviewed as suits.
Perhaps Jim Hooper was living out his fantasies online while his real-life activism was very much tamer.
‘Anything on Marigold, the wife?’ Venn asked.
‘Nothing that would bring her to their notice. She has a different background. Parents both teachers. She went to university, then did a social work diploma. I’m not sure what she saw in Hooper. You’d think they’d have two very different world views.’
Perhaps, Venn thought, she was looking for someone to save. People with a saviour complex could be dangerous too.
‘I’m not entirely sure how much further forward this takes us,’ he said, ‘but it’s useful. Hooper had opportunity for the killings – his wife is his only alibi – but I’m not sure about motive. I need to think about it.’
Matthew’s mind returned to the conversation he’d been having with Jonathan. ‘Did you find out any more about the rumours of corruption surrounding Armstrong?’
‘According to my sources they were no more than that – rumours.’
Venn was about to finish the call, when he came up with another question. ‘There was no connection online between Hooper and Lottie Cauldwell?’
‘Not that I’ve been told.’ Appleyard paused. ‘I can’t see them as likely allies. Do you think that they might have been members of the same virtual groups?’
‘No,’ Venn said. ‘I didn’t mean that. It had occurred to me that he might have come across her online and become fixated by her.’
Then he wondered if after all, the two might have something in common.
A kind of arrogance. A belief that the normal rules didn’t apply to them.
A sense of entitlement. A need to feel important.
Could she have been one of Hooper’s virtual supporters?
The dispute about underage drinking could have been a charade.
A game. It was clear now that Lottie had liked playing games.
But if Hooper and Lottie had been cronies, members of the same tribe, that would give the landlord even less of a motive.
Now he did finish the call. A woman was being pulled past his bench by a large, grey dog that looked like a wolf.
Matthew waited until they’d passed before calling Jen Rafferty.
He’d been bitten by a dog when he was a kid and was still wary.
Jonathan teased him about his anxiety around even the most well-behaved dogs.
‘Hello, Jen!’ He was expecting a routine update on the actions of the day, and hoped he sounded encouraging.
But Jen sounded flustered, almost panicky. ‘Oh, thank God you called back.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Paul Armstrong got in touch an hour ago. It seems that Alex, his eldest son, has gone missing.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Matthew considered sending Jonathan a text and leaving immediately.
It wasn’t so far back to Barnstaple. They’d taken slow roads down, the pretty route, and he could get back much more quickly if he needed to.
Jonathan could get a taxi back to the hotel and Matthew would collect him early the following morning.
But, in the end, it seemed cowardly and rude to leave without saying goodbye.
It would only take ten minutes to go into the pub and explain what had happened.
The place was busier now, packed with Saturday night drinkers, but he could see Jonathan and Ellen as soon as he entered.
They were still sitting at the small table at the far side of the bar.
Both had pint glasses in front of them. The band was setting up again.
Perhaps the musicians planned to continue without Ellen, because she and Jonathan seemed deep in conversation.
Matthew made his way across the room, pushing his way through the crowd. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I have to go back to Barnstaple. Something important has turned up at work.’ He turned to the woman and held out his hand. ‘Please forgive me. I’m Jonathan’s husband.’
Now he was closer, he sensed there was something uncomfortable about the scene being played out in front of him. He’d thought the intensity was intimate, but now he wondered if the conversation was verging on an argument.
Jonathan stood too. ‘I’ll come with you. We can collect up our stuff from the hotel on the way.’ The tone was brisk, almost formal.
‘Oh no!’ Matthew said. ‘I can organize a car for you in the morning. Or pick you up myself.’
‘No need for that!’ Jonathan was already on his way to the door.
The woman looked out at them both. Cool. Unflustered, despite Jonathan’s insistence that he should leave. His lack of grace.
She gave that crooked, slightly ironic smile. ‘Of course. If you feel you should go, then you must.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.’
‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’
Jonathan was on his feet but seemed reluctant to walk away now. Matthew wondered if he was going to change his mind and stay. ‘There’s a lot to think about.’
‘Of course,’ she repeated. ‘You must take your time.’ She stood up and walked back to the band, taking her place once again on the stool. She gave a little wave as the couple walked out of the bar.