The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

contents of her shopping bags into the freezer. It was a chest freezer, too big for her, living on her own. Exactly the same size, she realized for the first time, as the one in which Hector had kept all his dead animals and birds, the core of his illegal taxidermy business. She’d got rid of that when he died. It had been stinking. So why had she bought another, exactly the same? Some shrink could make a big deal out of that. Or decide that she was an idle bugger with no imagination.
    And why had she agreed to do as Jack asked and chase around the county looking for Joanna? Because I’m soft as clarts. Because I enjoy happy endings and want to bring the couple together again, like I’m some great fat Cupid in wellies. Because it would be bloody inconvenient living here without them next door.
    In the kitchen she opened another beer, put a pork pie and a tomato on a plate, with a quarter of a crusty loaf and butter still in the packet, then carried the lot into the living room on a tray. The fire was low and she threw on another couple of logs. The round 1930s clock that stood on the mantelpiece said it was nine o’clock. She’d better try Tommy Wooler now. He usually caught the last couple of hours before closing in the Percy Arms in Sallyford.
    He recognized her mobile number. ‘Where are you then? Pissed and incapable and needing a lift home?’
    ‘Not a drop has touched my lips, Tommy. Well, not so you’d notice, and I’m home safe and well. I’m after some information.’
    ‘What sort of information?’ Defensive now. In his younger days he’d been a bit of a tearaway. Not malicious, just a tad wild and daft. He kept up with a couple of the bad lads he’d met in the Young Offenders Institution at Castington. Vera had never asked him about them, but that was the way his mind was working.
    ‘You picked up Joanna Tobin two days ago.’ A statement not a question.
    ‘Aye, that’s right.’ There was no suspicion in his voice. He was just relieved she wasn’t asking him about his old unsavoury acquaintances. Vera wondered what they were up to and why he was so jumpy, made a mental note to check on them. Or get Holly to do it.
    ‘ Where was it you took her?’ As if she knew really, but it had just slipped her mind.
    Tommy didn’t care any more. He just wanted to get out to the pub.
    ‘Out to the coast. Howick way.’
    ‘Where exactly , Tommy?’ She could feel her stomach rumbling, felt somehow that the pie was taunting her.
    ‘I don’t know exactly. She had to direct me. In the middle of nowhere. She didn’t have the postcode, so I couldn’t get it on the satnav. Nightmare!’ He paused. ‘She called it the Writers’ House. Strange name.’ He paused. ‘What do you want her for anyway?’
    But Vera didn’t answer. She’d replaced the phone and her mouth was full of pie.
    The next morning Jack was lurking in the yard waiting to catch her on her way to Kimmerston. She was earlier than usual and she’d thought she might miss him. How long had he been out there? He was pretending to work on his old tractor, but Vera knew fine well he was waiting to check up on her. She went up to him and stood, legs apart, hands on hips, and put on the fierce voice she used occasionally to show her team she meant business.
    ‘I’ve promised I’ll look for her. But I’ll do it in my way and in my time. I’ll tell you as soon as there’s any news.’
    He nodded, but said nothing, and Jack – who was all words, flowery and flowing, whose life was a series of stories – made this silence speak volumes. She got into the Land Rover and drove away, aware of him watching her all the way down the lane.
    In the office she googled the Writers’ House and found it at once. It seemed there was nothing sinister about the place. Unless you found poets and novelists sinister. This was a retreat for writers of all sorts, and throughout the year it hosted a number of residential courses for writers with different levels of experience. What had she been expecting? A Gothic tower, where Joanna had been trapped by a madman who’d persuaded her to fall in love with him? The pictures on the website showed a large whitewashed farmhouse. Part of it was very old, according to the advertising pitch, and fortified against the Scots who had raided across the border. One view did show a bare-stone outside wall with crenellations. And there was a small, dark chapel. But inside it was all very tasteful and not Gothic at all.