‘No.’
‘We’ve got good reason to think you did. Listen, if you want to make things difficult, Miss Ralston-’
‘It’s Culver, Mrs. Mrs Julie Culver. And it’s quite legal. Julie’s my middle name and Culver is my husband’s. Ex-husband’s, I should say.’
‘Why change your name if you’ve nothing to hide?’
She shrugged. ‘It was a new start. Why not a new name?’
‘Not very convincing. But Mrs Culver it is. We’re on good terms with the Canadian government. We have extradition arrangements and a mutual help policy. If I wanted to, I could make enough fuss to have you sent back to England to answer my questions. This is the easy way.’
Julie lit another cigarette. ‘I don’t believe you. I’m a Canadian citizen now. You can’t touch me at all.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Banks said. ‘You’re connected to a murder in England. Don’t expect your government to protect you from that.’
‘But you can’t prove I had anything to do with it. It’s just a coincidence I went away then.’
‘Is it? What about your involvement with Stephen Collier?’
Julie paled. ‘What about it? What’s he been telling you?’
‘Nothing. What does he know?’
‘How should I know?’
Banks sighed. ‘A few weeks ago a friend of yours, Bernard Allen, was murdered in the hanging valley just over Swainshead Fell.’
‘I know the place,’ Julie said sadly. ‘I’ve been there with him. It always looked like autumn. But what makes you think his death had anything to do with me? I wasn’t even in the country. I was here. It could have been a thief or a psycho… or a…’
There was something in her tone that let Banks know she was interested now, no longer so hostile. ‘In the first place,’ he said, ‘we know that you told him not to let anyone know he’d met you here, which is suspicious enough in itself. And in the second place, he did tell someone: a woman called Katie Greenock.
Her heart seems to be in the right place, but she told her husband, Sam, who soon broadcasted it to the whole White Rose crowd. In the third place, Bernard had been talking about going home to stay, and there’s no evidence he had a job lined up. Then Bernard got killed before he had a chance to leave the dale.
What does all that indicate to you?’
‘You’re the sleuth. You tell me.’ Julie blew cigarette smoke down her nose.
Banks leaned forward. ‘The way I read it,’ he said, ‘is that you knew something about Raymond Addison’s murder. Something incriminating. I’m not sure who else was involved, or why, but it had to be someone with money. I’d guess that Stephen Collier played a large part. I think you told Bernard what you knew and he intended to use that knowledge to blackmail his way to what he wanted most - his return to Swainshead.’
‘My God! I… Are you trying to say I’m responsible for Bernie’s death?’
‘I’m not placing any blame, Mrs Culver. I simply want to know what happened. I want to nail Bernie’s killer.’
Julie seemed to be thinking fast. Conflicting emotions flashed across her face. ‘I’m not guilty of anything,’
she said finally. ‘I’ve nothing to be afraid of. And I don’t believe you. Bernie could never have been a blackmailer.’
The waitress brought their food. Before she left, they ordered another round of drinks, then Banks tucked into his roast while Julie picked at a Caesar salad. They remained silent while they ate. It wasn’t until they both pushed their plates aside and reached for their cigarettes that Julie started to talk again.
‘It’s been such a long time, you know,’ she began. ‘A lot’s happened. There’ve been long stretches when I haven’t thought about Swainshead at all.’
‘Not homesick?’
‘Me? I’m at home anywhere. Almost anywhere. Though I can’t say I cared for the Middle East much.’
‘Bernie was homesick.’
‘He was the type though, wasn’t he? If you’d known him you’d have understood. The place was in his blood. He couldn’t even really settle down in Leeds. Yes, Bernie wanted to go back. Which was a shame.
I’d kind of been hoping…’
‘You and Bernie? Again?’
She raised a thin dark-pencilled eyebrow. ‘You know about that?’
‘It was hardly a state secret.’
‘True. Anyway, why not? We were both free agents again.’
‘Tell me what happened five years ago that sent you running off around the world.’
The waitress came to pick up their plates. Banks ordered a pint of Creemore this time and Julie asked for a coffee and a double cognac. All the spaces were occupied now. Next to them, a group of eight people had pulled two tables together.
‘It seems more like a million years ago,’ Julie said when she got her drink. ‘I suppose I was a naive young thing back then. My education really began after I left.’
She was stalling for time, Banks thought, telling the story her own way. Perhaps she wasn’t sure yet whether she was going to tell him the truth or not. The best thing for now, he decided, was to let her go with it and subtly steer her in the right direction. ‘Where did you go?’ he asked.
‘First I went to Europe. I’d been saving up for quite a long time - kept my money under the mattress, believe it or not - just waiting for the day when I knew I would take off and never come back. I took a boat over to Holland and ended up in Amsterdam for a while. Then I bummed around France, Italy, Germany.
To cut a long story short, I met a man. A Canadian. This’d be about a year later. He took me back to Vancouver with him and we got married.’ Julie blew out a steady stream of smoke. ‘Life was fine for a while… then he decided I wasn’t enough for him. Two can play at that game, I thought… Anyway, it ended.’
‘When did you first get in touch with Bernie?’
‘About eighteen months ago. That was after I split up with Charles. Bernie was having marriage problems of his own, I soon found out, and he seemed happy enough to hear from me. I might have got in touch with him earlier, but I’d been wary about doing so. I knew he was here, of course. He left Swainshead before I did. But I felt that I’d burned all my bridges.’
‘What made you contact him, then?’
‘Circumstances, really. I’m a freelance publicity agent. I started the business in Vancouver because I liked the idea and it gave me something to do while my husband was… not around.’ She tapped her cigarette against the glass ashtray. ‘It turned out I had a knack, a flair, so I decided to open an office in Toronto as well. I don’t know how much you understand about Canada, but Toronto is pretty much the centre of the universe here. I knew Bernie lived in the city, so I thought what the hell. Any trouble I might have caused would have blown over by now anyway.’
‘Trouble?’
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him closely. ‘I had thought Bernie might not want to see me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I went out with Stephen Collier.’
‘But Bernard was over here by then. What was that to him?’
‘It’s not that. Bernie and I were never much more than childhood sweethearts anyway. But we were close friends, like brother and sister. I was hoping that might change here…’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s just that Stephen… well… he’s a Collier.’
‘And Bernie was very class conscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he’d feel betrayed.’
‘Something like that.’
‘And did he?’
‘He wrote me some pretty nasty letters at the time. Then, when I went away, we lost touch for a while. But when we met up again here it had all blown over. Bernie was compassionate. He understood. That’s why I can’t believe he was a blackmailer.’
‘He might not have been. I can’t be sure. He might just have opened his mouth out of turn.’
Julie smiled. ‘That sounds more like him.’
‘What about Nicholas Collier?’ Banks asked. ‘Were you ever involved with him?’
Julie raised her eyebrows. ‘What on earth do you think I am?’ she asked, smiling. ‘I didn’t get around that much. And credit me with some taste. Nicky really did nothing for me, though I caught him giving me the eye once or twice.’
‘Sorry,’ Banks said. ‘I’m not trying to insinuate you’re a-’
‘Tart? Slut? Harlot? Jezebel? Loose woman? Believe me, I’ve been called much worse.’ The old laughter lit up Julie’s eyes for a moment. ‘Do you know the difference between a slut and a bitch?’
Banks shook his head.
‘A slut is a woman who sleeps with anyone; a bitch is a woman who sleeps with anyone but you.’
Banks laughed. ‘That’s from the man’s point of view, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘So what happened?’ he asked. ‘What made you leave when you did?’
‘You’re a persistent man, Mr Banks,’ Julie said, lighting another long white cigarette. ‘Even my tasteless jokes don’t seem to deflect you for very long. But I’m still not sure I ought to tell you.’
Banks caught her eyes and held them. ‘Mrs Culver,’ he said quietly, ‘Bernard Allen - your childhood sweetheart, as you called him - was murdered. All murders are cruel and vicious, but this one was worse than many. First he was stabbed, and then his face was slashed and beaten in with a rock so nobody
