Past Reason Hated (17 page)

‘What did she have to say about him?’

‘Nothing of interest to you.’

‘She treated him very badly. Did she feel no guilt?’

‘We all feel guilt, Chief Inspector. Do you not think so?’

‘Perhaps
he
should have been your patient. He certainly seems to have his problems, thanks to his sister.’

‘I don’t choose my patients. They choose me.’

‘Veronica Shildon was a patient of yours, too, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes. But I can say even less about her. She’s still alive.’

Judging by how little Ursula Kelly had said about Caroline, Banks knew not to expect very much.

‘Was Veronica particularly upset about anything that last session?’

She shook her head. ‘Your sergeant asked me that, and the answer is the same. No. It was a perfectly normal session as far as I was concerned.’

‘No sudden traumas?’

‘None.’ She leaned forward and rested her hands on the desk. ‘Look, Chief Inspector, you might not think I’ve been very forthcoming. That is your prerogative. In my business you soon become privy to the innermost fears and secrets of the people you deal with, and you get into the habit of keeping them to yourself. You’re looking for facts. I don’t have any. Even if I did tell you what happened during my sessions with Caroline and Veronica, it wouldn’t help you. I deal with a world of shadows, of dreams and nightmares, signs and symbols. What my patients
feel
is the only reality we have to work with. And I have already told you, in all honesty, that as far as I know neither Caroline nor Veronica was in any way especially disturbed of late. If you need to know more, try talking to Veronica herself.’

‘I already have.’

‘And?’

‘I think she’s holding back.’

‘Well, that is your problem.’

Banks pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I think you’re holding back, too,’ he said. ‘Believe me, if I find out that you are and that it’s relevant to Caroline’s murder, I’ll make sure you know about it. You’ll need twenty years in analysis to rid yourself of the guilt.’

Her jaw muscles clenched and her eyes hardened. ‘Should that occur, it will be my burden.’

Banks walked out and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t feel good about his anger and his pathetic threat, but people like Ursula Kelly, with her smug generalizations and pompous, self-righteous air, brought out the worst in him. He took a couple of deep breaths and looked at his watch. Five thirty. Time to catch the end of rehearsal.

Richmond parked his car outside a pub on the main street, got out and sniffed the air. There was no reason, he thought, why it should smell so different up here, but it did have a damper, more acrid quality. Barnard Castle was only twenty or so miles from Eastvale, but it was over the Durham border in Teesdale.

According to his map, the shop should be on his right about halfway down the hill just in front of him. It seemed to be the main tourist street, with an Indian restaurant, coffeehouse, bookshop and antique shop all rubbing shoulders with places that sold souvenirs along with walking and camping gear.

The toy shop was indeed about halfway down the hill. First, Richmond looked in the window at the array of goods. Hardly any of them seemed familiar, nothing at all like the toys he had played with as a child. In fact, mostly he had had to use his imagination and pretend that a stick was a sword. It wasn’t that his parents had been exceptionally poor, but they had strict priorities, and toys had come very low on the list.

The bell pinged as he entered and a young woman behind the counter looked up from behind a ledger. He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, and she had a fine head of tangled auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders and framed an attractive, freckled, oval face. She wore a long, loose cardigan, grey with a maroon pattern, and from what Richmond could see of her above the counter, she seemed to have a slim, shapely figure. A pair of glasses dangled on a chain around her neck, but she didn’t put them on as he walked towards her.

‘What can I do for you, sir?’ she said with a lilting, Geordie accent in a slightly husky voice. ‘Would it be something for your boy, or your little girl, perhaps?’

Richmond noticed the glint of humour in her eyes. ‘I’m not married,’ he said, mentally kicking himself even before he had got the words out. ‘I mean, I’m not here to buy anything.’

She looked at him steadily, fingering the spectacles chain as she did so.

‘CID,’ he said, fumbling for his identification. ‘I spoke with the manager a couple of days ago, when you were on holiday.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah, yes. Mr Holbrook told me about you. Tell me, do all policemen dress as well as you do?’

Richmond wondered if she were being sarcastic. He took pride in his dress, certainly. He had the kind of tall, trim, athletic body that clothes looked good on, and he always favoured a suit, white shirt and tie, unlike Banks, who went in for the more casual, rumpled look.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said finally. ‘Look, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. I’m afraid he didn’t tell me your name.’

She smiled. ‘It’s Rachel, Rachel Pierce. Pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand. Richmond shook it. He noticed there was no sign of either a wedding ring or an engagement ring.

She seemed to be laughing at him, and it made him feel foolish and disconcerted. How could he question her seriously when she looked at him like that? He remembered his training and aimed for the correct tone.

‘Well, Miss Pierce,’ he began, ‘as you may be aware, we are investigating—’

She burst out laughing. Richmond felt himself flush to the tips of his moustache. ‘What the . . .?’

She put her hand to her mouth and quietened down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, seeming more than a little embarrassed herself. ‘I don’t usually giggle. It’s just that you seem so stuffy and formal.’

‘Well, I’m sorry if—’

She waved her hand. ‘No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I know you have a job to do. It’s just that it gets a bit lonely in here after Christmas and I’m afraid that seems to affect my manners. Look,’ she went on, ‘it would make this a lot easier for me if you’d let me lock up and make you a cup of tea before we talk. It’s near enough closing time already and the only customer I’ve had all day was a young lad wanting to exchange his Christmas present.’

Richmond, encouraged by her friendliness, smiled. ‘If you’re closing anyway,’ he said, ‘maybe we could go for a drink and a bit to eat?’

She chewed on her lower lip and looked at him. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just give me a minute to make sure everything’s secure.’

In ten minutes, they were sitting in a cosy pub, Richmond nursing a pint and Rachel sipping rum and coke.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, sitting back and folding her arms. Grill away, Mr CID.’

Richmond smiled. ‘There’s not much to ask, really. You know Charles Cooper?’

‘Yes. He’s the general manager.’

‘I understand he’s been very busy lately making sure everything was in order for Christmas.’

Rachel nodded.

‘Do you remember December the twenty-second?’

She wrinkled her brow and thought, then said, ‘Yes. He was here that day sorting out some stock problems. You see, Mr Curtis, the manager, had forgotten to reorder some . . . But you don’t want to hear about that, do you?’

Richmond wasn’t too sure. He felt like pinching himself to see if he could escape the way just listening to her voice and watching her animated face made him feel. He tried it – just a little nip at the back of his thigh – but it did no good. He took a deep breath. ‘How long was he at the shop?’ he asked.

‘Oh, a couple of hours, perhaps.’

‘Between what times?’

‘He got here about four, or thereabouts, and left at six.’

‘He left at six o’clock?’

‘Yes. You sound surprised. Why?’

‘It’s nothing.’ It was, though. Unless he had gone to another branch – and neither Cooper nor his wife had mentioned anything about that – then he had left the shop at six and not got home until eleven. Where the hell had he been, and why had he lied?

‘Are you sure he left at six o’clock?’ he asked.

‘Well, it can’t have been much after,’ Rachel answered. ‘We closed at seven – extra hours for the holiday period – and he was gone a while before then. He said he’d try to shift some stock over from the Skipton shop before Christmas Eve.’

‘Did you get the impression he was going to go to Skipton right then?’

‘No. They’d be closed, too. Wouldn’t be any point, would there?’

‘Presumably, if he’s the general manager, he’s got a key?’

‘Yes, but he doesn’t go carrying boxes of toys around, does he, if he’s the general manager. He gets some dogsbody to do that.’

Richmond fingered his moustache. ‘Maybe you’re right. What was your impression of him? Do you know him well?’

She shook her head. ‘Not well, no. He’d drop in once in a while. We might have a cup of tea and a chat about how things were going.’

‘That’s all?’

She raised her left eyebrow and squinted her right eye almost shut. ‘And just what might you mean by that?’

‘I’m not sure, really. He didn’t make a pass at you or anything?’

‘Mr Cooper? Make a pass?’ She laughed. ‘You obviously don’t know him.’

‘So he never did?’

‘Never. The thought of it . . .’ She laughed again.

‘Did he ever talk about things other than business? Personal things.’

‘No. He kept himself to himself.’

‘Did you ever hear him mention a woman called Caroline Hartley?’

She shook her head.

‘Veronica Shildon?’

‘No. He hardly ever mentioned his own wife, only when I asked after her. I’d met her once or twice at company do’s, you see, so it’s only polite to ask after her, isn’t it?’

‘Was there anything odd about him at all?’ Richmond asked. ‘Think. Surely you must have felt or noticed something at some time?’

Rachel frowned. ‘Look, there
is
something . . . but I don’t like to speak out of turn.’

‘It’s not out of turn,’ Richmond said, leaning forward. ‘Remember, this is a murder investigation. What is it?’

‘Well, I could be wrong. It was just a couple of times, you know.’

‘What?’

‘I think he’s a drinker.’

‘In what way? We’re drinking right now.’

‘I don’t know, but not like this. A secret drinker, a problem drinker, whatever you call it.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I could smell alcohol on his breath sometimes, early in the day, when he hadn’t bothered to take one of those awful breath mints he usually smelled of. And once I saw him take a little flask out of his pocket in the stockroom when he thought I wasn’t looking. I can’t be sure what it was, of course, but . . .’

Could there be anything in it? Richmond wondered. Rachel Pierce had certainly given him a new perspective on the Coopers, but whether it would lead him to a murderer, he couldn’t tell. So the man drank, so he had lied about his alibi – a silly lie, at that, an easy one to check – but it might not mean anything. One thing was certain, though, Banks would want to visit the Coopers again very soon, and he wouldn’t be as gentle as he had been on previous occasions.

Richmond looked over at Rachel. Her glass was nearly empty.

‘Another?’ he asked.

‘I shouldn’t.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I think I can say I’m officially off duty now,’ he said. ‘Come on, it won’t do any harm.’

She looked at him a long time. He couldn’t fathom the expression on her face. Then she said, ‘All right, then. Another one.’

‘Wonderful. There’s just one thing I have to do first.’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘Call my boss,’ Richmond said. ‘Don’t go away. I won’t be a minute.’

He glanced back and saw her smiling into her glass as he made for the telephone.

‘Better, Faith darling, much better! Perhaps just a bit more introspection – remember, it
is
a soliloquy – but not too serious.’ James Conran turned to Banks. ‘What did you think?’

‘I thought she was very good.’

‘Do you know the play?’

‘Yes. Not well. But I know it.’

‘So you know how it “fadges” then?’

‘They all marry the ones they want and live happily ever after.’

Conran stuck a finger in the air. ‘Ah, not quite, Chief Inspector. Malvolio, remember, ends by vowing revenge on the lot of them for making a fool of him.’

All that Banks remembered about the end of
Twelfth Night
was the beautiful song the Clown sang alone when everyone else had walked off to their fates. It was on his Deller Consort tape. ‘For the rain it raineth every day,’ the refrain went. It had always seemed a curiously sombre song to end a comedy with. But nothing was black and white, especially in Shakespeare’s world.

‘Perhaps you’d care to see us on opening night,’ Conran said. ‘Complimentary tickets, of course.’

‘Yes, I would. Very much.’ Accepting free tickets to an amateur production could hardly be called being on the take, Banks thought. ‘Will you be much longer here?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to talk to some of the cast members. Maybe it would be more comfortable over in the Crooked Billet.’

Conran frowned. ‘What on earth would you want to talk to them about?’

‘Police business.’

Definitely not pleased, Conran looked at his watch and clapped his hands. The actors walked off stage and went for their coats.