THE MATLOW MURDERS and the suspect on the run made the national newspapers the next weekend. William had them delivered to Everwell so he could read what was being said. He sat in the conservatory, drinking coffee and pulling out the pages that made mention of the South Yorkshire police.
Annie watched William through the open door of the conservatory. She could see by the slight puff of him, the brightness of his eyes, that he was buoyed by the attention that was being heaped upon his team. There was some criticism that the prime suspect had not yet been apprehended, but the police had covered all bases. It would only be a matter of time.
She must have made a noise, or else her husband sensed her presence because he laid the papers down, took off his reading glasses and turned towards her. He held out his hand to draw her into the room.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘You said you were going for a lie-down.’
‘Oh yes. Yes.’ She went over to the window and looked out into the garden. Lizzie was playing with the puppy on the lawn. Ethel and Mrs Miller were sitting on fold-down chairs watching them.
‘You’re still up to going out this evening?’
‘Out?’
‘The hospice dinner. We need to present the cheque from the money raised at the well-dressing.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’
William brought her hand to his lips. He kissed it. Annie pulled it away. She wrapped her arms about herself, pressed the hand into her side.
‘Right, then,’ said William. ‘I have a little work to finish. I’ll see you shortly.’
He picked up all the newspaper pages he’d selected but one, and left the room. A few moments later Annie heard the click of the key in the lock to the study door. She sat in the chair he’d left, it was still warm, and looked at the page he had left for her to read. It was from the Telegraph. There was a photograph of Tom and an article, written by a psychiatrist. The article was headlined: WHAT TURNS A MAN INTO A MONSTER.
Annie did not want to read it, but she was compelled to do so. The psychiatrist began by describing Tom’s underprivileged childhood, the death of his mother and the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father. She explained how his father’s constant criticism would have eaten away at Tom’s sense of self-worth and self-esteem.
Tom was incapable of overcoming his claustrophobia. No matter how often his father punished him, he could not ‘cure’ himself. In order to deal with the ensuing self-hatred, the young man was forced to develop an emotional veneer. Perhaps the only person he trusted was Edna Wallace, the octogenarian widow whose garden he tended and with whom he discussed his plans for the future.
Unfortunately, the relationship with Mrs Wallace came to an end with her death. Greenaway always maintained he did not deliberately set out to harm Mrs Wallace and went on to convince himself – and anyone else who would listen – that he was innocent. It is, of course, the nature of the psychopath to be convincing and plausible. It is why such people are so successful.
There were some quotes from the lawyer with whom Tom had corresponded from prison. Annie winced as she came to the next part of the article. It described how Tom, on his release from prison, had returned to his home town:
to try to pick up with his former girlfriend, a local woman who had rejected him after his conviction. When he discovered she was married, he went into town and met up with a prostitute who closely resembled the girlfriend. It was a chance meeting. Greenaway must have picked Jennifer Dunnock from the dozens of working girls who were congregating at strike locations. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Greenaway probably did not set out to kill that night either, but Dunnock’s availability gave him the chance to dissipate the humiliation he felt after the girlfriend’s rejection. He left the body on the moor, at a place where he and the former girlfriend used to go courting – the symbolism is too strong to be accidental.
Annie put the article down. She could not bear to read any further. She had not been named, but everyone in Matlow would know who she was. The psychiatrist was implying it was her fault Jenny Dunnock had been murdered. It was all coming out again, all her dirty laundry. She would be the talk of the town again. Oh God.
It all made sense. Everything that had happened was connected to Tom, everything tied in – and yet she knew that everything was wrong. She opened the French doors and went out into the garden. The puppy was lolloping around and Lizzie was chasing it. She lay down on the grass and let the puppy and Lizzie crawl over her. She felt the sun on her skin. She wondered where Tom might have gone, where he might be. Was he hiding up on the moor – and if so was he watching her now?