‘What?’ Banks asked.
‘It can’t’ve been Mr Stephen buying vodka.’
‘Why on earth not, lass?’ Freddie said.
‘Well, yer know,’ Betty spluttered, ‘’e allus used to say ’ello, like, Mr Stephen. Proper gentleman. And
’e’d ask me ’ow I was. Well, once on Sat’day night ’e were on ’is way to t’ loo and ’e nearly bumped into me, and me carrying a trayful o’-’
‘Get on wi’ it, lass!’ Freddie bellowed. ‘T’ inspector dun’t want to know what tha et for breakfast an’ all, tha knows.’
Betty cast him a dark glance and announced, ‘’E’d forgotten ’is wallet.’
‘’E’d what?’
‘’E sometimes slips me a quid - a tip, like,’ she added proudly. ‘But on Sat’day ’e patted ’is pockets and said ’e was sorry ’e ’ad no change and ’e’d left ’is wallet at ’ome. ’E was ’aving to depend on t’ generosity of ’is friends.’ She turned to Banks. ‘Those were ’is very words, “the generosity of my friends”. ’E’d ’ad a few, like, when ’e said it…’
‘Thank you, Betty,’ Banks said. ‘I don’t suppose you overheard Nicholas Collier and John Fletcher having an argument?’
Betty’s face dropped. ‘No. Not while I were picking t’ glasses up. Is it important?’
‘It might be. But it’s not as important as what you’ve just told me.’
It wasn’t a great help, but if Stephen Collier hadn’t been up to the bar to buy rounds, and if Freddie had found empty shorts glasses at the spot where the orders had been placed, then one of the party might have been spiking Stephen’s beer with vodka. Of course, he realized, anyone could have left the glasses there, and any member of the group could have tipped back a quick shot while waiting for Freddie to pull the pints. But it was a start.
Betty beamed as if she’d solved the case. Freddie sent her back to her glass cleaning and turned to face Banks.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Any ’elp?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Well, so do I. Tha’s taking tha bloody time, I’ll say that about thee. Does tha know, t’ last Yankee we ’ad in ’ere…’
Banks left Freddie mid-sentence and almost bumped into Katie Greenock as he was leaving the pub.
‘Ah,’ he said, holding the door for her, ‘just the person I want to see.’
But she turned and started to hurry away.
‘What is it?’ Banks called after her. He could sense her fear; it was more than just the adrenalin produced by a shock.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said, half turning. ‘I was just looking for Sam, that’s all.’ He could see a tear streaking down her flushed cheek.
‘Katie, have you got something to tell me?’ Banks asked, approaching her.
She carried on walking away. Banks put his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Katie?’
‘No!’ She recoiled and started running down the empty street. Banks dashed after her and soon she slowed, dazed, to a halt.
‘Come on, Katie,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’ He offered his hand, but she wouldn’t take it. Instead, she walked obediently beside him back to the car. She was shaking.
‘A drink?’ Banks suggested.
She shook her head. Her fair hair was tied back, but a few strands freed themselves and stuck to her damp cheeks.
‘Let’s go for a ride, then.’
She got in the Cortina beside him and he drove north out of Swainshead. Thinking it might help her relax, he took out the Beatles cassette and put on Vivaldi’s
‘I was lying,’ Katie blurted out as they passed the bridge to John Fletcher’s farmhouse. Then she said something else that Banks didn’t quite catch. It sounded like ‘wash my mouth out with soap’.
‘What about?’ he asked.
‘I wasn’t looking for Sam. I saw you go in there. I saw you leave Nicholas Collier’s, too. I was trying to get my courage up.’
‘For what? Are you sure a drink wouldn’t help?’
‘No, I don’t take alcohol.’
‘What is it, Katie?’
‘You’ve got to help me,’ Katie said, staring down into her lap and twisting her hands. ‘I did it… I killed them… I killed them all.’
13
ONE
Looking at the ornate limestone building, Banks realized he had never seen Braughtmore school before.
Built in the mid-nineteenth century after the previous building had burned down, it had oriels projecting from the first floor, then two floors of tall sash windows topped by dormers and a red pantile roof. It stood at the mouth of a small valley which a tributary had carved on its way down to the Gaiel, and enough flat ground had been cleared around it for rugby and cricket fields.
Banks pulled into a lay-by across the road, lit a cigarette and turned to Katie.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said.
‘I did it,’ Katie repeated. ‘I killed them.’
‘Who did you kill?’
‘Bernie and Stephen.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I… because they… It was God’s judgement.’
‘God’s judgement for what, Katie?’
‘My sins.’
‘Because you made love to them?’
Katie turned and glared at him through her tears. ‘Not love,’ she said. ‘They were going to take me away, take me away from here, from my husband.’
‘But you made love with Bernard Allen. Did you sleep with Stephen, too?’
‘Bernie took me in his room. It was the price. I found no pleasure in it. He said he’d send for me when he got back.’
Banks didn’t have the heart to tell her that Bernie had been bent on returning to Swainshead, not staying in Canada.
‘And Stephen?’ he asked.
‘He… he kissed me. I knew I would have to pay, but later. And now…’
‘Did you kill him so that you wouldn’t have to pay?’
Katie shook her head. ‘He was going to take me away, like Bernard. He had to die.’
‘How did you kill him?’
‘Everyone who wants to help me dies.’
‘But how did you kill him?’
‘I don’t know, don’t remember.’
‘Katie, you didn’t kill Stephen Collier or Bernard Allen, did you?’
‘They died because of me. The Lord’s vengeance. Nicholas was the Lord’s vengeance, too. Against me.
To show me my vile nature.’
‘Nicholas? What happened with Nicholas?’
‘He put his hands on me. His filthy hands. The hands of the beast.’
‘When was this? Where?’
‘At his house. The party Sam made me go to. I didn’t want to go, I told him. I knew it would be bad.’
‘What happened?’
‘John came and they fought.’
‘John and Nicholas?’
‘Yes.’
At least that explained their argument in the White Rose, Banks thought. ‘Did Sam know? Did you tell Sam?’
Katie shook her head. ‘Sam doesn’t care anyway. Not where his precious Colliers are concerned.’
‘But you didn’t kill anyone, did you?’
She put her head in her hands and wept. Banks moved to put his arm around her, but she stiffened and jerked away towards the door. She rested her cheek against the window and stared ahead at the dale.
‘Are you protecting Sam, Katie? Is that what you’re doing? Do you think Sam killed them because they were going to take you away?’
‘I killed them. I told you.’
‘Maybe you think you’re responsible, Katie, but you didn’t kill anyone. There’s a big difference between feeling guilty and taking someone’s life, you know. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I wanted to escape my husband, didn’t I?’
‘He beats you. He’s not a good man.’
‘But he’s my husband.’ She started to sob again. ‘I must serve him. What else can I do? I can’t leave him and go away by myself. I don’t know how to live.’
Banks wound down his window and tossed out his cigarette end.
‘Do you want to walk a while?’ he asked.
Katie nodded and opened her door.
There was a pathway worn in the hillside opposite the school, and they set off slowly up towards the ridge.
About halfway, they sat on warm grass among limestone boulders and gazed down at the scene. The building glowed like mother-of-pearl, and the red S-shaped tiles shone bright in the sun. Some pupils dressed in whites were practising in the cricket nets by one of the mowed fields, and a group in shorts and vests were running around the cinder track. Plenty of exercise and cold showers, Banks thought. Cross-country runs and Latin unseens to keep their minds off sex - and perhaps a bit of masturbation in the dorms, a little buggery in the bushes, sodomy in the cycle sheds. It was every outsider’s version of public-school life. Probably the reality was much more innocent. After all, these people were being groomed to run the country, the government. Still, look how many of them ended up on
