Aftermath (51 page)

‘And if she goes ahead as planned?’

‘Who knows? It’s up to the jury. They’re either going to give her the same as they gave John Hadleigh, despite the vastly different circumstances, or they’re going to take her job and her situation into account and give her the benefit of the doubt. I mean, the public doesn’t want us hamstrung when it comes to doing our job, but they don’t want us to get ideas above our station, either. They don’t like to see us acting as if we’re beyond the law. It’s a toss up, really.’

‘How’s she bearing up?’

‘She’s not. She’s just drinking.’

‘Bugger.’

‘Indeed. How about the Payne investigation?’

Banks told her what Jenny had discovered about Lucy’s past.

Annie whistled. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Bring her in for questioning on the death of Kathleen Murray. If we can find her. It’s probably a bloody waste of time – after all, it was over ten years ago and she was only twelve at the time – so I doubt we’ll get anywhere with it, but who knows, it might open other doors if a little pressure is judiciously applied.’

‘AC Hartnell won’t like it.’

‘I know that. He’s already made his feelings clear.’

‘Lucy Payne doesn’t suspect you know so much about her past?’

‘She has to be aware there was a chance the others would talk, or that we’d find out somehow. In that case, she may have already gone to ground.’

‘Anything new on the sixth body?’

‘No,’ said Banks. ‘But we’ll find out who it is.’ The fact that they couldn’t identify the sixth victim nagged away at him. Like the other victims, she had been buried naked and no traces of clothing or personal belongings remained. Banks could only guess that Payne must have burned their clothes and disposed of any rings or watches somehow. He certainly hadn’t kept them as trophies. The forensic anthropologist working on her remains had so far been able to tell him that she was a white female between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two and that she had died, like the others, of ligature strangulation. Horizontal striations in the tooth enamel indicated inconsistent nutrition during her early years. The regularity of the lines indicated possible seasonal swings in food supplies. Perhaps, like Katya, she had come from a war-torn country in Eastern Europe.

Banks had had a team keeping track of all mispers over the past few months and they were working overtime now, following up on reports. But if the victim were a prostitute, like Katya Pavelic, then the chances of finding out who she was were slim. Even so, Banks kept telling himself, she was
somebody’s
daughter. Somewhere, somebody
must
be missing her. But perhaps not. There were plenty of people out there without friends or family, people who could die in their homes tomorrow and not be found until the rent was long overdue or the smell grew too bad for the neighbours to bear. There were refugees from Eastern Europe, like Katya, or kids who had left home to travel the world and might be anywhere from Katmandu to Kilimanjaro. He had to inure himself to the fact that they might
not
be able to identify the sixth victim for some time, if ever. But still it galled. She should have a name, an identity.

Annie stood up. ‘Anyway, I’ve said what I came to say. Oh, and you’ll probably be hearing very soon that I’ve made a formal request to come back to CID. Think there’s any chance?’

‘You can have my job, if you want.’

Annie smiled. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I? Anyway, I don’t know if they’ve changed their minds about CID staffing levels, but I’ll talk to Red Ron, if you think that’ll help. We don’t have a DI right now, so it’s probably a good time to make your application.’

‘Before Winsome catches up with me?’

‘She’s sharp, that lass.’

‘Pretty, too.’

‘Is she? I hadn’t noticed.’

Annie stuck her tongue out at Banks and left his office. Sad as he felt at the end of their brief romance, he felt some relief, too. He would no longer have to wonder from one day to the next whether they were on or off again; he had been given his freedom yet again, and freedom was a somewhat ambiguous gift.

‘Sir?’

Banks looked up and saw Winsome framed in his doorway. ‘Yes?’

‘Just had a message from Steve Naylor, the custody sergeant downstairs.’

‘Problem?’

‘No, not at all.’ Winsome smiled. ‘It’s Mick Blair. He wants to talk.’

Banks clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘Excellent. Tell them to send him straight up. Our best interview room, I think, Winsome.’

•

When she was packed and ready to head for London, Maggie took Lucy a cup of tea in bed the following morning. It was the least she could do after all the poor woman had been through lately.

They had talked well into the previous night, emptying a bottle of white wine between them, and Lucy had hinted at what a terrible childhood she had suffered and how recent events had brought it all back to mind. She had also confided that she was afraid of the police, afraid they might try to fabricate some sort of evidence against her, and that she couldn’t stand the thought of going to jail. Just one night in the cell had almost been too much for her to bear.

The police didn’t like loose ends, she said, and in this case she was a very serious loose end indeed. She knew they had been watching her and had sneaked out of her foster parents’ house after dark and taken the first train from Hull to York, then changed for London, where she had worked on changing her appearance, mostly through hair, make-up and a different style of dress. Maggie had to agree that the Lucy Payne she knew wouldn’t have been seen dead in the kind of casual clothes she was wearing now, nor would she have worn the same, slightly tarty make-up. Maggie agreed to tell no one that Lucy was there, and if any of the neighbours saw her and asked who she was, she would tell them she was a distant relative just passing through.

Both bedrooms, the large and the small, overlooked The Hill, and when Maggie tapped on the door of the smaller room she had given Lucy and entered, she saw that Lucy was already standing by the window. Stark naked. She turned when Maggie entered with the tea. ‘Oh, thank you. You’re so kind.’

Maggie felt herself blush. She couldn’t help but notice what a fine body Lucy had: the full, round breasts, taut, flat stomach, gently curving hips and smooth tapered thighs, the dark triangle between her legs. Lucy seemed completely unembarrassed by her own nakedness, but Maggie felt uncomfortable and tried to avert her eyes.

Luckily the curtains were still closed and the light was fairly dim, but Lucy had held them open a little at the top and had clearly been watching the activity across the street. It had let up a bit in the past couple of days, Maggie had noticed, but there was still a great deal of coming and going, and the front garden was still a complete mess.

‘Have you seen what they’ve done over there?’ said Lucy, coming forward and accepting the cup of tea. She got back into bed and covered herself with the thin white sheet. Maggie was grateful at least for that.

‘Yes,’ said Maggie.

‘That’s
my
house, and they’ve ruined it completely for me. I can’t go back there now. Not
ever
.’ Her lower lip trembled in anger. ‘I saw through the door into the hall when someone came out. They’ve taken all the carpets, pulled up the floorboards. They’ve even punched big holes in the walls. They’ve just ruined it.’

‘I suppose they were looking for things, Lucy. It’s their job.’

‘Looking for what? What more could they want? I’ll bet they’ve taken all my nice things, too, all my jewellery and clothes. All my memories.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get it all back.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want it all back. Not now. I thought I did, but now I’ve seen what they’ve done, it’s tainted. I’ll start over again. With what I’ve got.’

‘Are you all right for money?’ Maggie asked.

‘Yes, thank you. We had a bit put away. I don’t know what will happen to the house, the mortgage, but I doubt we’ll be able to sell it in that state.’

‘There must be some sort of compensation,’ Maggie said. ‘Surely they can’t just take your house and not compensate you?’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised at
anything
they could do.’ Lucy blew on the tea. Steam rose around her face.

‘Look, I told you last night,’ Maggie said, ‘I have to go to London, just for a couple of days. Will you be all right here by yourself?’

‘Yes. Of course. Don’t worry about me.’

‘There’s plenty of food in the fridge and freezer, you know, if you don’t want to go out or order in.’

‘That’s good, thank you,’ said Lucy. ‘I think I really would just like to stay in and shut out the world and watch television or something, try to take my mind off what’s been happening.’

‘There’s plenty of video tapes in the cupboard under the TV in my bedroom,’ said Maggie. ‘Please feel free to watch them there whenever you want.’

‘Thank you, Maggie. I will.’

Though there was a small television set in the living room, the only TV and video combination in the house was set up in the master bedroom, for some reason, and that was Maggie’s room. Not that she wasn’t thankful. She had often lain in bed unable to sleep and, when there was nothing suitable on television, had watched one of the love stories or romantic comedies Ruth seemed to favour, with actors such as Hugh Grant, Meg Ryan, Richard Gere, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock; they had helped her through many a long, hard night.

‘Are you sure there isn’t anything else you need?’

‘I can’t think of anything,’ Lucy said. ‘I just want to feel
safe
and comfortable so I can remember what it’s like.’

‘You’ll be fine here. I’m really sorry I have to leave you so soon, but I’ll be back before long. Don’t worry.’

‘It’s okay, honest,’ said Lucy. ‘I didn’t come here to interrupt your life or anything. You’ve got your work. I know that. I’m only asking for sanctuary for a short time, just till I get myself together.’

‘What
are
you going to do?’

‘No idea. I suppose I can change my name and get a job somewhere far away from here. Anyway, not to worry. You go to London and have a good time. I can take care of myself.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’ Lucy got out of bed again, put her cup of tea on the bedside table and went back towards the window. There she stood, providing Maggie with a rear view of her finely toned body, looking out across the road at what used to be her home.

‘I must dash, then,’ said Maggie. ‘The taxi will be here soon.’

‘Bye,’ said Lucy without turning round. ‘Have a good time.’

•

‘Okay, Mick,’ said Banks. ‘I understand you want to talk to us.’

After his night in the cells, Mick Blair didn’t at all resemble the cocky teenager they had interviewed yesterday. In fact he looked like a frightened kid. Clearly the prospect of spending several years in a similar or worse facility had worked on his imagination. He had also, Banks knew through the custody sergeant, had a long telephone conversation with his parents shortly after his detention, and his manner had seemed to change after that. He had
not
asked for a lawyer. Not yet.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘But first tell me what Sarah said.’

‘You know I can’t do that, Mick.’

In fact, Sarah Francis had told them nothing at all; she had remained as monosyllabic and as scared and surly as she had in Ian Scott’s flat. But that didn’t matter, as she had been mainly used as a lever against Mick, anyway.

Banks, Winsome and Mick were in the largest, most comfortable interview room. It had also been painted recently, and Banks could smell the paint from the institutional green walls. He still had nothing from the lab on Samuel Gardner’s car, but Mick didn’t know that. He said he wanted to talk, but if he decided to play coy again, Banks could always drop hints about fingerprints and hairs. He
knew
they had been in the car. It was something he should have checked at the time, with Ian Scott having a record for taking and driving away. Given Scott’s other offence, he also had a good idea what the four of them had been up to.

‘Would you like to make a statement, then?’ Banks said. ‘For the record.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve been made aware of all your rights?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, then, Mick, tell us what happened that night.’

‘What you said yesterday, about it going easier with me . . .?’

‘Yes?’

‘You meant it, didn’t you? I mean, whatever Sarah said, she might have been lying, you know, to protect herself and Ian.’

‘The courts and the judges look favourably upon people who help the police, Mick. That’s a fact. I’ll be honest. I can’t give you the exact details of what will happen – it depends on so many variables – but I
can
tell you that you’ll have my support for leniency, and that should go some distance.’

Mick swallowed. He was about to rat on his friends. Banks had witnessed such moments before and knew how difficult it was, what conflicting emotions must be struggling for primacy inside Mick Blair’s soul. Self-preservation usually won out, in Banks’s experience, but sometimes at the cost of self-loathing. It was the same for him, the watcher; he wanted the information, and he had coaxed many a weak and sensitive suspect towards informing, but when he succeeded the taste of victory was often soured by the bile of disgust.

Not this time, though, Banks thought. He wanted to know what had happened to Leanne Wray far more than he cared about Mick Blair’s discomfort.

‘You did steal that car, didn’t you, Mick?’ Banks began. ‘We’ve already recovered a lot of hair samples and fingerprints. We’ll find yours among them, won’t we? And Ian’s, Sarah’s and Leanne’s.’

‘It was Ian,’ Blair said. ‘It was all Ian’s idea. It was nothing to do with me. I can’t even fucking drive.’

‘What about Sarah?’

‘Sarah? Ian says jump, Sarah asks how high.’

‘And Leanne?’

‘Leanne was all for it. She was in a pretty wild mood that night. I didn’t know why. She said something about her stepmother, but I didn’t know what the problem was. To be honest, I didn’t really care. I mean, I didn’t want to know about her family problems. We’ve all got problems, right?’