Banks took the silver paper from his KitKat. “Did Hayley give any indications, either that night or at any other time, that there was something or someone bothering her?”
“No. Not that I can think of. Why?”
“She wasn’t worried about anything?”
“You’ve asked me this before. Or the other officer did.”
“Well, I’m asking you again.”
“No. Nothing. Hayley was pretty happy-go-lucky. I mean, I never saw her really down about anything.”
“Angry?”
“She had a bit of temper. Had quite a mouth on her. But it took a lot to get her riled.”
“She was upset in The Fountain, right? And she took it out on Jamie Murdoch.”
“Yeah, a bit. I mean, he was the only one there apart from us. She called him a few names. Limp dick, dickhead, stuff like that. She was way out of line.”
“How did he take it?”
“How would
“He told me it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t want you to think he had a motive for hurting Hayley.”
“Did he? Was he really that angry?”
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
3 1 5
“I don’t know. More like embarrassed. He rushed us out pretty quickly after that.”
“Were they ever close at all, Hayley and Jamie?”
“No way! Jamie was a loser. He dropped out of the college. I mean, look at him, stuck in the grotty pub night after night, half the time by himself while the landlord suns himself in Florida.”
“Was there anyone in any of the pubs that night—especially The Fountain—who paid undue attention to Hayley, apart from the leather-shop owner?”
“Men looked at her, yes, but nothing weird, not that I can remember. Nothing different from usual, anyway. And like I said, we were the last to leave The Fountain. Nobody followed us.”
“Okay, Stuart. Let’s get back to The Maze now.”
Stuart squirmed in his chair. “Must we?”
“It’s important.” Banks gestured to the second KitKat on the table.
“Do you want that?” Stuart shook his head. Banks picked it up and began to eat it. He had forgotten how hungry he was.
“I don’t feel good about it,” Stuart said. “I’ve thought and thought since we last talked, and I
“You don’t know that,” said Banks. “Stop beating yourself up over it. I’m interested in what you heard.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“Yes, but you also said you heard some music, a snatch of a song, as if from a passing car. Rap, you said it was. And familiar. You couldn’t remember what it was when I last talked to you. Do you have any idea now?”
“Oh, yeah, that. I think I do . . . you know, since we talked I’ve been playing it over and over in my mind, the whole thing, and I think it was The Streets, ‘Fit But You Know It.’ ”
“I know that one,” said Banks. “Are you sure?”
If Stuart was surprised that Banks knew the song, he didn’t show it. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got the CD. Just haven’t played it in a while.”
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P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“And you’re certain you heard it around the same time you heard the other sounds?”
“Yes. Why? Is it important?”
“Maybe,” said Banks. He checked his watch. “You’ll be late for your lecture,” he said, standing up. “Thanks for your time.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” Banks finished his latte, screwed up the KitKat wrapper, dropped it in the ashtray and left, thinking he had a pretty good idea why both Stuart Kinsey and Kevin Templeton heard the same music on different nights.
J U S T A F T E R dark that evening, Annie found herself wandering down Saint Ann’s Staith by the estuary, past the blackboard with the tide tables on the short bridge that linked east and west. The strings of red and yellow harbor lights had just come on and made a hazy glow in the slight eve ning mist. They ref lected, swaying slightly, in the narrow channels of the ebbing tide. Fishing boats leaned at odd angles in the silt, their masts tilting toward the fading light and rattling in the light breeze. A ghostly moon was just visible out to sea above the wraiths of mist. The air smelled of salt and dead fish. It was chilly, and Annie was glad she was wearing a wool coat and a pashmina wrapped around her neck.
