Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (11 page)

‘I had hoped you would be more understanding, Alan,’ Gervaise chipped in. ‘Quite frankly, I’m disappointed in you. I realise that some of your arguments are not without merit, but no matter what you say, you will do this. There’s no point in getting off on the wrong foot. This thing is going to happen. I say it’s going to happen. ACC McLaughlin says it’s going to happen. The Chief Constable says it’s going to happen. The purpose of calling this little tête-a-tête right here and now was to see that it happens in the spirit of cooperation and amicability. Is that too much to ask? If Bill Quinn were alive, and you found what you found hidden in that book in his room, with all its implications, what do you think would happen then?’

‘I presume there would be an investigation by Professional Standards, probably in the form of Inspector Passero here. But that’s not the case. Bill Quinn was
murdered
. That changes things. Please excuse me if I sound dismissive, but that makes it a fully fledged murder investigation, not a hunt for a bent copper.’

‘But it’s both,’ argued Joanna. ‘And they may be connected. Can’t you see that?’

‘Right at the moment, all I can see is that the murder investigation takes precedence, and I want everyone on my team to have some expertise in that particular area. Have you ever been involved in a murder investigation before, Inspector Passero?’

‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’ Joanna paused, licked her lips and inclined her head slowly. Her voice softened. ‘Of course, I understand what you’re saying,’ she went on. ‘Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know what you all think of Professional Standards. I’ve heard all the insults you could possibly imagine, and more. Aren’t we the “rat squad”, which you called me just a few minutes ago? It’s not very nice or polite, but I can live with it. Like you, we have a job to do, and it’s an important job, even if it is an unpopular one. In this case, we have a murdered detective who may or may not have been having sex with an underage girl, but who most certainly had in his possession proof that he was sexually involved with someone other than his wife. And that proof, as you have already pointed out yourself, suggests that he was subject to blackmail. Whether he paid this blackmailer in cash or in inside information, it makes no difference. We’re talking about possible police corruption here, and what one man does taints us all.’ She glanced at AC Gervaise, and Banks noticed Gervaise give an almost imperceptible nod. ‘There’s been rumours, as you probably know,’ Joanna went on. ‘Rumours of corruption, of a “bent copper”, as you call it. Now this. No smoke without fire, I say.’

‘So that’s why you’re here,’ said Banks.

‘It’s one reason. All I’m saying is that his murder and the discovery of the photos makes that possibility more . . .’

‘More possible?’

‘I was going to say more realistic.’

Banks held his hands up. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Fine. I agree. As I said, I’d no more turn a blind eye to police corruption than you would. But can’t we give the poor sod the benefit of the doubt? He’s not even in his grave yet, and we’re already acting as if he were a criminal. What about his children?’ He glanced towards Gervaise, who remained expressionless. ‘If I find out anything that points towards Quinn being the one involved in corrupt or criminal activities, the first whiff of a scandal, you’ll be the first to know. And Inspector Passero here. I promise. All right? Now can’t you just leave us alone to get on with our murder investigation? It’s complicated enough already.’

‘There’s no negotiating on this,’ said Gervaise. ‘I told you. Respect my honesty and directness in calling this meeting, and respond with a little generosity of your own. You know it’s the right move.’

‘What about Annie? DI Cabbot. Where does she fit in with all this?’

Gervaise sighed. ‘DI Cabbot will be back at work on Monday, as I told you yesterday. According to all the reports I’ve read, she’s fit for duty, so that’s exactly what she’ll be doing. Her normal duties.’

‘Not deskbound?’

‘ACC McLaughlin has met with her doctors, and they have assured him that she’s ready for a full return to duty. Personally, I still think she should take it easy for a while and get some counselling, but that’s only me.’

‘She’s been taking it easy for six months.’

Annie would be livid about Joanna Passero, Banks thought. She would be convinced that the Professional Standards officer was being set up as her replacement on the team, perhaps even that they were going to get rid of her after she’d almost sacrificed her life for the job. Not just for the job, but for Banks’s daughter Tracy, who had also risked a great deal herself to save Annie’s life.

For the moment, though, Annie wasn’t the main issue; Joanna Passero was. Banks knew that he couldn’t trust her, that he would have to be constantly on guard, but he also knew, as he had known going into the meeting, that he had no choice in the matter. It would never do to be too nice to Professional Standards, certainly not in public, and there may be one or two times ahead when he might want to hold his cards close to his chest, and he would do so. He wasn’t going to make things easy for her. At least she was a great improvement on that old fat bastard Superintendent Chambers, who had retired due to ill health after Christmas, thank God. It was politic, he thought, to offer a tentative olive branch.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s assume that we work together.’

Joanna Passero’s expression indicated that there was no ‘let’s assume’ about it, but that she was willing to listen to what he had to say for the sake of politeness.

‘How’s it going to work?’ Banks asked. ‘I mean, I’m still Senior Investigating Officer on this case, right?’ He glanced at Gervaise. ‘What does that make Inspector Passero? Deputy?’

‘No,’ said Gervaise. ‘DI Cabbot will be your DIO, as usual. As I said, Inspector Passero in on board to investigate Bill Quinn. She’s attached to your team as an advisor and as an observer.’

‘That certainly complicates things,’ said Banks.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Joanna. ‘It means I won’t get under your feet. Why don’t we just see how it works out first before coming to any conclusions? If my participation causes problems that jeopardise your investigation, or interferes in any way with the swift progress or smooth running of the operation, then we’ll re-evaluate and find some other way of uncovering the bad apple.’

Gervaise looked at Banks. ‘Can’t say fairer than that, can you, Alan?’

Banks sat for a moment, feeling neither defeated nor victorious, then he leaned forward, fully aware he was inviting the wolf into the fold, and offered Joanna his hand. ‘Welcome to the team,’ he said. ‘You’d better come and meet the others, get up to speed.’

‘You know,’ Banks said, turning down the volume on Anna Calvi’s ‘Baby It’s You’ as they approached the roundabout before St Peter’s, ‘I’ve been thinking. Our killer obviously didn’t walk here, and I very much doubt that he parked his car out front.’

‘Which means,’ Winsome said, ‘that he must have found a nice, quiet out of the way spot to leave it not too far away.’

‘Exactly. Preferably somewhere that couldn’t be seen from the road. The centre’s less than a hundred yards past this roundabout, which is an easy enough walk. There are no major roads feeding into it, they’re all B roads, so let’s go and see what we can find.’

‘But what about Inspector Passero?’ Banks was driving Winsome in his Porsche, and Joanna Passero was following in a red Peugeot.

‘I’m sure she’ll be able to keep up with us.’

Instead of taking the exit to St Peter’s, which was the first one off the roundabout, Banks took the third, which headed in the opposite direction from the centre entirely. He saw Joanna’s Peugeot in his rear-view mirror. She started to turn off at the St Peter’s exit, then swerved when she saw what he’d done, skidded, and did a 180-degree turn back to the roundabout to follow him, barely missing a white delivery van, which was going too fast. Its horn blared.

The Peugeot seemed to stall in the roundabout for a few moments, then it started up again and followed them.

There were no hiding places along the stretch of road Banks had chosen, and after about a quarter of a mile, he used a lay-by to do a U turn and headed back towards the roundabout. Joanna Passero whizzed by on the other side, and he saw her slow down behind him, then pull into the lay-by and turn around to follow. Winsome didn’t seem very amused. ‘What’s wrong?’ Banks asked. ‘Aren’t you having fun?’

‘If you want my opinion,’ Winsome said, ‘this is very silly, dangerous, and childish. Sir.’

‘Ouch. That puts me in my place.’ Banks turned into the roundabout and took the only other exit he hadn’t explored, again the third, which took him away at a right angle from the road on which the centre was located, a continuation of the road he had first come in on.

Winsome folded her arms. This time, less than twenty yards along the road, on the opposite side, Banks saw a rough track leading off at a sharp angle. There were high trees on both sides, and the lane was so narrow that it would have been impossible for two cars to pass without one backing up. There was nothing coming on the road, so Banks turned into the lane, blocking the entrance with the Porsche. He hadn’t seen Joanna behind him, and assumed that she either hadn’t reached the roundabout yet or had given up and gone on to St Peter’s by herself.

Banks didn’t want to drive any further in, just in case this was the right place and there were tyre tracks or other evidence. He and Winsome got out of the car and walked carefully along the edge of the rutted track, beside the hedgerow. There was no drystone wall on either side. When they stopped a few yards in, they couldn’t see, or be seen from, the road at all, but they could see some tyre tracks. The uneven surface was just stones and dirt, no doubt intended for farm vehicles, though there was no farmhouse in sight. It would have made the perfect hiding place for the killer’s car after dark. Farmers don’t usually drive tractors around country lanes at that time of night. Banks wasn’t even sure whether tractors had headlights.

‘A hundred yards walk from the centre,’ he said, ‘hidden from the road by trees, very little traffic. I think we’ve found the spot, Winsome. It would have been very bad luck indeed if he’d been spotted here, and we can assume that he probably had a contingency plan. Professionals usually do. No prints. Car rented under an assumed name.’

Banks heard a car screech to a halt on the road behind his Porsche, then the sound of a car door slamming. Joanna Passero appeared in the entrance to the lane and started walking towards them. About the same time that Banks held up his hand and called to her to stay back, she went over on her ankle and cursed, then grabbed on to a roadside tree branch to keep her balance and cried out again. Thorns. Banks started to walk back towards the main road, still keeping close to the hedgerow. It wasn’t long before he came up to a fuming Joanna Passero standing, or rather hopping, at the entrance to the track, one leg bent up behind her, like a stork’s, grasping a shiny black shoe in one hand and wobbling dangerously. ‘Banks, you bastard! You just made me break a bloody heel! Do you know how much these shoes cost? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

‘Just doing my job,’ said Banks. He approached her gingerly and explained about the need for the killer to hide his car, and this being a likely spot.

As he talked, she visibly relaxed and leaned against his car, keeping her stockinged foot just above the rough surface. ‘You could have bloody warned me,’ she said. ‘That road surface is lethal.’

‘I’m sorry. I only thought of it when we got to the roundabout. It’s like that in a real investigation sometimes. Anyway, I think we should get the CSIs down here. We found some tyre tracks, and there may be footprints. We’ll stay here and protect the scene. Would you mind driving on to St Peter’s and asking the lads to send someone over asap?’ He glanced down at her foot. ‘Sorry about the heel. I’ve got some old wellies in the boot, if that’s any help, though they might be a bit big for you. How’s your ankle? Not sprained or anything, I hope? Can I help you back to your car?’

Joanna glared, as if she wanted to throttle Banks. She turned and hopped back to her Peugeot with as much dignity as she could manage and drove off in a spray of roadside dirt and gravel.

‘See what I mean?’ said Winsome, standing behind him, arms folded. ‘Childish.’

‘Who?’ said Banks, with a straight face. ‘Me or her?’

The mortuary, along with Dr Glendenning’s recently modernised post-mortem suite, was in the basement of the old Eastvale Infirmary. Banks thought it would be a good idea to take Inspector Passero along. She probably wouldn’t learn anything of relevance to her case, but if she was working with Banks, it was time she got used to the late hours. And the blood and guts. It was after five on a Friday afternoon, and a Professional Standards officer would likely be well on her way home by now, if not sitting back with her feet up in front of the telly with a large gin and tonic. Or was Joanna more the cocktail party and theatre type? Probably.

She turned up in a new pair of flat-heeled pumps that she had clearly bought that afternoon at Stead and Simpson’s in the market square. No fancy Italian shoe shops in Eastvale. The new shoes didn’t make as much noise as Banks’s black slip-ons as the two of them walked down the high, gloomy corridor to their appointment. The walls were covered in old green tiles. DC Gerry Masterson had told Banks earlier that Robbie Quinn had been brought in to identify his father’s body that morning, so the formalities were done with for the moment. Dr Glendenning had the coroner’s permission to proceed with his post-mortem.