“I don’t mean to do that, ma’am,” said Banks. “You were right. We had no evidence to justify the expense of a full saturation operation.
But it does appear rather as if Templeton took matters on himself.”
“Our Dr. Wallace agreed with him, too, as I remember,” said Gervaise.
“I’m not arguing right and wrong here,” Banks said. “I’m just trying to ascertain why Templeton was where he was.”
Gervaise nodded brusquely. “Go on.”
“I think he might have been there late on Friday, too,” Banks added.
“I remember he was a bit peaky and tired yesterday, dragging his feet.
I thought he’d been clubbing, woke up with a hangover, and I gave him a bollocking. He didn’t disabuse me of the notion.” Banks knew that his last words to Templeton had been harsh—something about growing up and behaving like a professional—and he also now knew that they had been unjustified, though how professional was it to wander a possible murder site alone and unarmed? Still, it didn’t make Banks feel any better.
He knew how Templeton rubbed most people the wrong way—
accomplished women like Winsome and Annie in particu lar, and parents of difficult teenagers. No doubt there were some personal issues there. He could also be a racist, sexist bastard, and he had a personality that would steamroller over a person’s finer feelings if he F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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thought it would get him what he wanted. Sometimes you had to do that to a certain extent, Banks knew—he had even done it himself with Malcolm Austin—but Templeton didn’t only do it out of necessity; he also seemed to take great relish in it. Even Banks had seen him reduce witnesses to tears or rage on occasion, and Winsome and Annie had seen it happen far more often.
He was also bright, hardworking and ambitious, and whether he would have matured with age, Banks didn’t know. He wouldn’t have the option now. He was gone, snuffed out, and that wasn’t bloody right. Even Winsome looked upset, Banks noticed, when he cast quick glances in her direction. He needed to talk to her. She could be carrying around a lot of guilt about the way she felt about Templeton, and it wouldn’t help the investigation. He remembered that one of the subjects she and Annie had discussed at dinner was the way Templeton had behaved with Hayley Daniels’s parents. Winsome hadn’t told Banks exactly what had gone on between them, but he knew that a line had been crossed, a bridge burned. It could be eating away at her now, when they all needed to start focusing and thinking clearly.
“I also find myself wondering if he was just hanging out there on spec,” Banks said, “or if he knew something.”
“What do you mean?” Gervaise asked.
“Maybe he had a theory, or some special knowledge, something he was working on that he didn’t share with the team.”
“That sounds like Templeton,” said Gervaise. “You mean he might have had inside knowledge, knew who was doing it, that it would happen again tonight, and he was after the glory?”
“Something like that,” said Banks. “We’d better have a very close look at his movements since the Hayley Daniels case began.”
“We’re overstretched as it is,” said Gervaise. “First Hayley Daniels, and now this. I’ll see about bringing in extra personnel.”
“Are you sure it’s not the same investigation?” Banks asked.
“At this moment,” said Gervaise, “we don’t know enough to say one way or another. Let’s wait at least until we get some forensics and talk to the girl, then we’ll have another session.”
“I’ll talk to her now,” said Banks. “And there’s another thing.”
“What?”
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“Kev’s throat was cut. You can see it clearly. That’s the same way Lucy Payne was killed out Whitby way.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” said Gervaise. “Another complication we could do without. Right, I think you’d better start trying to find some answers.” She eyed the team grimly. “I want everybody out there on the streets, all night if necessary. Knocking on doors, checking CCTV
footage. Wake the whole bloody town up if you have to. I don’t care.
There has to be something. Kevin Templeton may have been an arsehole, but let’s not forget he was
B A N K S PA I D another visit to the crime scene before heading for the hospital to see Chelsea Pilton. It was about half past two in the morning, and the market square was deserted except for the police cars, the SOCO van and the constable guarding the entrance. He jotted Banks’s name down and let him through. Some bright spark had chalked yellow markings on the pavements and f lagstones to guide the way. Not exactly a ball of twine, but the next best thing, and it did make The Maze a lot easier to negotiate.
The SOCOs had erected a canvas covering over the square in which Templeton’s body had been found, and it was brightly lit from all directions. Officers were walking the ginnels and connecting passages with bright torches, searching for clues of any kind. The area immediately around the body had already been thoroughly searched, and crime scene coordinator Stefan Nowak gestured for Banks to come forward into the covered area.
“Alan,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
