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one thing, but reality . . . I should imagine it can come as quite a shock. There was no turning back now. She knew you. She knew what you’d done. One day, one way or another, it would get out. If she was left alive to tell the story. So you strangled her. Maybe you didn’t enjoy that. I don’t know. She looked too violated lying there with her legs open and her top pulled up. It showed you far too clearly what you’d done, like looking in a mirror, so you turned her gently on her side, put her legs together, as if she were sleeping, running in her sleep. That looked better, didn’t it? Not quite so ugly. How am I doing, Jamie?”
Murdoch said nothing.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Banks said, standing up and terminat-ing the interview. “We’ve got all the evidence we need, and when forensics are through with it we’ll be putting you away and throwing away the key.”
Jamie didn’t move. When Banks looked more closely he could see tears dropping on the scarred and scratched surface of the table. “Jamie?”
“She was so beautiful,” Jamie said. “And so foul. She said she’d do anything. When I . . . when we . . . she said she’d do
“But you didn’t?”
Murdoch looked at Banks, his eyes red with tears. “I wanted to, I really did, but I couldn’t. How could I? You must understand I couldn’t let her go. Not after. She wouldn’t keep her word. A girl like that. A tramp like her. I knew she wouldn’t keep her word. I knew I had to kill her.”
Banks looked over at Ms. Melchior. “Did you get that?” he asked, and left the room.
W H E N A N N I E arrived at The Queen’s Arms, Templeton’s wake was in full swing, and she found out as soon as she got there that it was also being combined with a celebration of the capture of the Hayley Daniels killer, which made for a very odd sort of party indeed. Banks, Hatchley, Gervaise and the rest sat around a long table drinking pints F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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and telling Templeton stories, the way you did at a wake, most of them funny, some of them bittersweet. Annie wasn’t going to be a hypocrite and join in, but nor was she going to sour the mood by telling some of her own Templeton stories. The poor bastard was dead, he didn’t deserve that, let him have a proper send-off.
For some reason, Annie felt in a particularly good mood that night. It wasn’t the occasion, of course, but something to do with being back in Eastvale, back in The Queen’s Arms with the old crew. Eastern Area was okay, but she felt this was where she belonged. Winsome seemed to be enjoying herself, lounging against the bar talking to Dr. Wallace.
Annie went over and joined them. Winsome seemed to stiffen a bit when she arrived, but she soon relaxed and offered Annie a drink.
“Pint of Black Sheep Bitter, please,” Annie said.
“You know,” Winsome offered, “you’re welcome to stay at mine if . . . you know . . .”
It was part apology and part a reminder that she shouldn’t drink and drive. “Thanks, Winsome,” Annie said, clinking glasses. “We’ll see how the eve ning goes. I’m not sure if I feel like getting pissed. How are you, Dr. Wallace? I’m DI Annie Cabbot. We met a couple of times before I was seconded to Eastern.”
Dr. Wallace shook hands with Annie. “I remember,” she said. “I’m fine. And it’s Liz, please.”
“Okay, Liz.”
“I gather they’re keeping you busy out there?”
“They are.” Annie’s drink came, and she took a long swallow. “Ah, that’s better,” she said.
Hatchley had just finished a Templeton joke, and the whole table roared with laughter. Even Detective Superintendent Gervaise joined in. She was definitely looking a bit f lushed and tipsy, Annie noticed.
“So how’s the case going?” Dr. Wallace asked.
“Lucy Payne? Oh, you know, it’s plodding along. Look.” Annie touched her arm. It was only slight and momentary, but she felt Liz f linch. “We really must get together and talk about it sometime, compare notes.” She gestured around the pub. “Not here. Not now, of course. Not on an occasion like this. But there are some similarities with Kevin Templeton’s murder.”
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“I’m aware of that,” said Dr. Wallace. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Clarke, your pathologist. The blades used, for a start, seem similar.”
“A razor, I believe you suggested?”
“Yes. At least that’s most likely.”
“Or a scalpel?”
“It could have been, I suppose. With that kind of wound it’s often impossible to be exact. Very sharp, at any rate. Scalpels are just a little harder for the man in the street to get hold of.”
“Or woman?”
“Of course. As you said, this is neither the place nor the time. Why don’t you drop by the mortuary? You can usually find me there.” She smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with Superintendent Gervaise before she falls down.”
“Better hurry, then,” said Annie, raising her glass. “Bottoms up.”
Dr. Wallace smiled, walked away and took the empty chair beside Gervaise.
