“And Dr. Wallace might have let it slip elsewhere? Well, it’s possible, isn’t it? That is, if Julia Ford isn’t the one we’re looking for.”
“I wonder if Dr. Wallace can tell us anything?”
“She’s hardly any more likely to spill the beans than Julia Ford, is she?” said Ginger. “I mean,
“Perhaps not,” said Annie. “But when we get back to the station, keep digging into Julia Ford’s background. Discreetly, of course. Get back to your friend at Bristol and see if she can dig up any more names from around that time. Others who might have shared the f lat, been members of the same societies, that sort of thing. It might be worth my having a word with Dr. Wallace later if you do come up with anything. I’ve met her a couple of times. She seems okay.”
“What are you thinking?”
Annie grabbed her briefcase and stood up. They walked out onto Flowergate and joined the f low of people. “I’m thinking, you know, a couple of drinks at the nineteenth hole—there’s been some decent enough weather for golf recently—the tongue loosens. ‘Guess who’s our client and what we’ve done with her,’ says Julia. ‘Oh?’ says Dr.
Wallace. And so on.”
“Girl talk?”
“Something like that. And Dr. Wallace lets it slip somewhere else, another old uni friend or . . . Who knows? What’s Maggie Forrest’s psychiatrist’s name?”
“Simms. Dr. Susan Simms.”
“Where did she get her education?”
“Dunno.”
“Find out. Has she ever done any forensic psychiatry?”
“I’ll check.”
“Good. That could link her to Julia Ford through the courts. She may have had to give evidence while Julia was appearing as a barrister at some time or another. Dr. Simms is already linked with Maggie Forrest. So many possibilities.”
“Right, guv,” said Ginger.
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
3 3 3
“I don’t know where all this gets us,” Annie said, “but we might just be on to something here.” She took out her mobile. “I should probably let Alan know, too.”
“If you think so.”
“And, Ginger?”
“Yes, guv?”
“Tread very carefully indeed on this one. Not only are we sniffing around the super’s favorite kinds of people— doctors and lawyers—
there’s also a killer on the loose somewhere, and the last thing you want to do is step on her tail and disturb her without knowing you’ve done so.”
B A N K S WA L K E D over from Western Area Headquarters to The Fountain late that afternoon mulling over what he had just heard from Annie on his mobile. Julia Ford and Elizabeth Wallace, old f latmates and golf buddies. Well, it made sense. If they’d known each other from their university days, and if both were professional single women living in Harrogate, they would probably be friends, and members of the same golf club.
The Maggie Forrest connection was the one that really interested him, though. According to Annie, she used Constance Wells in Julia Ford’s firm for her legal work, and she also knew Julia Ford slightly, so she might easily have overheard something about Karen Drew when she was in their office once, or seen a revealing document. Julia Ford had been Lucy Payne’s lawyer, and Maggie had been her champion and her stooge. It had all gone haywire, of course, but there
Then there was the hair. Annie had told him that their expert, Famke Larsen, had matched one of Kirsten Farrow’s hairs, found in Greg Eastcote’s house in 1989, with a hair on the blanket Lucy Payne had on when she was killed. It wasn’t conclusive, of course, but it was enough to confirm their suspicions that Kirsten had somehow reap-peared and was involved in Lucy’s murder. Who she was remained a mystery. The hair on the blanket, Annie had also said, would reveal a mitochondrial DNA profile which could further help them identify the killer. That would take a few days, though, and they would need 3 3 4 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
samples from all their suspects for comparison. Still, it was definitely progress.
For the moment, though, he needed to concentrate on the Hayley Daniels case. He was getting close; he could feel it in his water.
“Hello, Jamie,” Banks said as he walked in and stood at the bar.
“Jill.”
Jill Sutherland smiled at him, but Jamie didn’t. A teenager in a long gabardine coat looked around from the slot machine he was playing and immediately turned away again. Banks recognized him from the comprehensive school. Underage truant. But he wasn’t interested in that today. Maybe if he remembered, he’d give the head a ring later.
He got on well enough with Norman Lapkin, and they had a pint together now and again. Norman understood the problems of dealing with wayward youth.
“What is it this time?” Murdoch said. “Can’t you lot leave me alone for one minute? I’ve got a pub to run.”
