Gallows View (32 page)

“Did she ever see you?”

“No. One day she was just gone. Simple as that. I was devastated. I’d thought it would go on forever, that she was doing it just for me. When she left it felt as if my whole life had been smashed in pieces. Oh, I did all the usual things like the other boys, but it always felt like there was something missing—it was never as wonderful as the others made out it was, as I thought it should be. Even girls, real girls . . .”

“Why did you marry?”

“It was the normal thing to do. My mother helped me, arranged introductions, that kind of thing. It just didn’t work, though. I was always thinking of this woman, even . . . I could only do it if I thought of her. When my wife left, something snapped in me. It was like a sort of fog came over my mind, but at the same time I felt free. I felt like I could do what I wanted, I didn’t have to pretend any more. Oh, I could always be with other people easily enough—I had the Camera Club and all, but it was all inside, the mist. I felt I had to find her again, recapture what I’d lost.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful. Slender and beautiful. And she had black eyebrows and long, golden-blonde hair. That excited me, I don’t know why. Maybe it was the contrast. Long, straight, blonde hair down over her shoulders. She looked like Sandra. That’s why . . . I wouldn’t have hurt her, never. And when it had gone so far, I just couldn’t go through with it.” He glanced over at Banks, who lit a cigarette and looked out of the window on the bustle of the market square.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing clear. I wanted to touch her. Make love to her, I suppose. But I couldn’t. Please believe me, I wouldn’t have hurt her, honestly.”

“But you did hurt her.”

He hung his head. “I know. I’d like to tell her, say I’m sorry . . .”

“I don’t think she wants to see you. You frightened her a great deal.”

“I didn’t mean to. It seemed like the only way.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” Jenny said.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“You need help. We’ll try to help you.”

“You?”

“Not me, but somebody qualified.”

Robin gave a resigned nod. “I didn’t mean to scare her. I would never have harmed a hair on her head, you’ve got to believe me. I thought it was the only way. I had to find out what it felt like to touch her, to have her in my power. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t.”

Jenny and Banks left him with a uniformed constable and walked out into the corridor. Jenny leaned against the institutional-green wall and took a deep breath, then she removed her glasses and loosened her hair.

“Well?” Banks asked.

“I think he’s harmless,” she said. “You heard him insist that he wouldn’t have hurt Sandra. I believe him.”

“But he did hurt her.”

“I told him that, and I think he understood. He meant physically. What more can I say, Alan? He’s suffering. Part of me hates him for
what he did, but another part—the professional bit, I suppose—understands, in a way, that it’s not his fault, that he needs help not punishment.”

Banks nodded. “Coffee?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

They walked across Market Street to the Golden Grill.

“You still seem a bit preoccupied, Alan,” Jenny said, sipping her coffee. “Is there something else? I thought you’d caught enough criminals for one night.”

“Lack of sleep, I suppose.”

“That all?”

“Probably not. There’s something bothering me, but I’m not quite sure what it is. You know we haven’t got Alice Matlock’s killer yet?”

“Yes.”

“Allott gave us a description. It’s definitely not the kids.”

“So?”

“I feel that I ought to know who it is, and why. Like it’s staring me in the face and I just can’t bring it into focus.”

“Is there some clue you can’t think of?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a whole jumble of impressions. Not to worry, another night’s sleep might do it. Maybe I’ll even try an afternoon nap and hurry it along.”

“So it’s not all over?”

“Not yet.”

“And our intrepid chief inspector won’t rest until it is?”

Banks smiled. “Something like that. I’ll tell you one thing, though. When I moved up to Yorkshire, I sure as hell expected a softer time of it than this.”

Back at the station an excited Sergeant Hatchley came rushing to meet Banks.

“We’ve got him!”

“Who?”

“Lenny Webster. The fence. Mick’s brother.”

Banks grinned. “So London came through, then?”

“Didn’t they just? Paid him a visit in the middle of the night at that address we got from the letter.”

“Yes?”

“And sure enough, he was there. Babysitting an assortment of drugs—marijuana, cocaine, uppers, downers, even some heroin.”

“Enough to put him away for a while?”

“Enough to put him away for a long while, sir.”

“I’ll bet he was intending to bring it all back up here to sell, am I right?”

“Exactly. And there’s more.”

“Go on.”

“It seems that young Lenny’s not as tough as he makes out, if you know what I mean. In fact, a little heavy leaning and he breaks down completely. First off, they’ve got the bloke who gave him the gun, and they found three more at his place—not duff ones, mind you. And next, Lenny sings all about his plans with Micklethwaite.”

“Moxton.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s his real name. Moxton. Larry Moxton.”

“Oh. Well, Webster knows him as Micklethwaite, and they were going to unload the stuff between them. Also, Micklethwaite put him onto the Ottershaw and Pitt jobs.”

“Right, we’d better bring Larry in then, hadn’t we?”

“Do you think we’ve got enough to nail him?”

“I think so, if we add it to what Thelma Pitt and Ottershaw have to tell us. What puzzles me is how a con-man like Larry could get mixed up with a low-life thug like Webster.”

“That’s explained in the telex,” Hatchley said. “Apparently it’s through the chap who was getting the drugs for them. He’d served time with Micklethwaite, and when he heard he was going to relocate up north he put him in touch with Lenny.”

“Ah, the old-boy network. Right little den of thieves we’ve caught, haven’t we?”

Hatchley beamed, his red balloon-face glowing with success.

“Aye, we have that, sir. Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a woman waiting in your office for you.”

“Not . . .”

“No, not that Wycombe woman. I’ve never seen this one before. Wouldn’t say who she was. Wants to see you, though.”

Curious, Banks poked his head around the office door. It was Mrs Allott, Robin’s mother.

“What’s all this nonsense about my son Robin?” she asked, puffing herself up.

Banks took a deep breath and sat down. It was the last thing he needed, another irate parent.

“Your son has been charged on several counts of voyeurism, Mrs Allott, and on one count of attempted rape. He threatened a woman at knife-point. That woman happened to be my wife.”

Mrs Allott’s tone altered not a jot. “Always look after your own, you coppers do. Well, you’ve got the wrong man this time. My Robin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Perhaps not,” Banks conceded, “but he’s behaved very badly towards women.”

“Who saw him, then? How many witnesses have you got?”

“We don’t need witnesses, Mrs Allott. Your son gave us a full confession.”

“Well, you must have sweated it out of him. You must have got the rubber hose-pipe out.”

Banks got to his feet. “Mrs Allott, it’s a cut and dried case. There’s nothing more to be said about it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“He was with me,” she persisted. “All those times you say he was snooping on women he was with me. I’ve looked after him ever since that bitch of a wife ran off and left him, the no-good hussy. I warned him about her, I did. Told him she’d only bring trouble.”

“Why don’t you give a list of the dates and times your son was with you to the desk sergeant, then we’ll see if we can match them with the incidents. I have to repeat, though, it’s no use. Your son has already confessed.”

“Under duress, I’m sure. He can’t have done those things you say he did.”

“I can assure you that he did do them.”

“Then that wife of his drove him to it.”

“Make up your mind, Mrs Allott. How could he be driven to do things you said he didn’t do?”

“He was with me,” she repeated firmly.

Banks couldn’t be bothered to tell her that, in addition to her son’s confession, he also had Sandra’s statement. It was futile. Robin’s innocence was fixed in her mind, and that was that. No amount of reason would change her opinion. She would even lie on the witness stand to save him.

“Look,” Banks said in as kind a tone as he could manage, “I really do have a lot of work to do. If you’d care to give the dates to the sergeant at the front desk . . .”

“I’m not going to be soft-soaped like that. You’re not going to fob me off with some menial. I demand my rights.”

She was clinging as tight as a limpet and Banks was nearing the end of his tether. Brusquely, he picked up a clean sheet of paper and took out his pen.

“All right, then. The dates?”

“I can’t remember the exact dates. What do you think I am, a computer? He’s always at home.
You
know, you’ve seen him there. He helps me take care of his dad.”

“I saw him there once, Mrs Allott. And he was expecting me. Are you telling me he’s at home every night?”

“Yes.”

“Including Tuesdays?”

She thought for a moment, a wary expression flickering over her pinched face. “Tuesdays. He goes to the Camera Club on Tuesdays. With his friends. Any of them will tell you what a good boy he is.”

Banks could think of one who certainly wouldn’t, but he said nothing. In fact, Mrs Allott’s presence began to recede far into the distance as the subject of his recent brooding came slowly into focus. She had given him an idea. It still wasn’t fully formed yet, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, but the lens was definitely closing in.

He forced his attention reluctantly back to the business in hand.

“So what you’re telling me, Mrs Allott, is that every night of the week except Tuesdays, Robin was with you from the moment he left work till the moment he went again the next morning?”

“That’s right.”

“He never went out?”

“No.”

“All right,” Banks said, losing interest in her lies again as his idea came into sharper focus. “I’ll get somebody to take your statement, Mrs Allott. You can go home now.”

She got to her feet and flapped out of the office.

Almost as soon as she had slammed the door, Banks forgot her. He reached for a cigarette, asked Craig to send up some of the
special
new coffee, and slouched deep in his chair to think.

One hour, three cigarettes, and two cups of black coffee later, he knew what had been bothering him and what to do about it. He snatched up the phone and dialled the front desk.

“Put Sergeant Hatchley on,” he snapped. He knew that Hatchley had a habit of chatting with Rowe.

“Sir?” Hatchley answered.

“Sergeant, I want you to go to Sharp’s place and ask Graham Sharp to drop by and see me right away. Tell him it’s to do with his son’s statement and it’s urgent. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t take no for an answer, Sergeant. If he grumbles about locking up the shop and losing business, remind him what a difficult position young Trevor’s in.”

“Right,” Hatchley answered, “I’m on my way, sir.”

“Trevor Sharp’s been bound over to the youth authorities,” Richmond was saying. “Do you want me to get him over here?”

“No,” Banks answered. “It doesn’t matter. How’s Webster?”

“The last I heard, sir, he’s in fair shape. The surgeon managed to save that finger. Have you seen my report?”

“No, I haven’t. It’s been a busy morning. No time for reading. Give me a summary.”

“It was just to tell you that Vic Manson got some good prints from the jewellery, sir. It seems the lads must have handled it at home after the burglaries, when they felt safe.”

“And?”

“And both Sharp’s and Webster’s prints showed up, sir.”

“We’ve got the buggers, then.”

“Looks like it, sir. Webster’s been doing a bit of talking, too. That shock to his system has shaken his ideas around no end. The doc won’t let us talk to him for long yet, but he’s already told us it was him and Sharp did the jobs.”

“Good work,” Banks said. “Could you bring in Allott for me, please?”

“The peeper, sir?”

“Yes. Robin Allott. Bring him up.”

“Very well, sir. I’m afraid his mother’s still downstairs on the bench. Refuses to leave until she sees the superintendent.”

Banks scratched his chin. It was itchy because he hadn’t shaved that morning. “I wouldn’t wish her on him,” he said. “Try and get rid of her. And whatever you do, make sure she doesn’t see her son coming up.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

A few moments later, Robin Allott was escorted into Banks’s office and told to make himself comfortable. Allott still couldn’t meet the inspector’s eyes, and Banks almost felt like telling him to stop dwelling on it, that it was all over and done with. But he didn’t. Why let the bastard off the hook after what he’d done to Sandra? If she hadn’t already known Allott, Banks thought, there wouldn’t have been any pity in her feelings towards him.

About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Banks opened it to Sergeant Hatchley with an anxious Graham Sharp in tow.

“What is it, Inspector?” Sharp demanded angrily as he charged across the threshold. “Your sergeant told me it—”

And he froze. As the newcomer entered the room, Robin Allott had turned to see what the commotion was, and his jaw dropped in immediate recognition.

“That’s him!” he said, pointing at Sharp. “That’s the man I saw!”

Graham Sharp looked at him, then at Banks. His face drained of colour and he reached out to support himself on the edge of the flimsy desk. Banks gestured to a confused Hatchley to stay and to pull up a chair for him.