drink.”
“Come on, Jim,” said Banks. “I promised Superintendent Gervaise you weren’t going to offend anyone.”
Hatchley looked hurt. “Me? Offend?”
DC Wilson rejoined them looking pleased with himself. “Seems they were here later on in the eve ning,” he said.
“And Cyril served them?”
“Cyril wasn’t here last night. The young lad at the far end was, though. He said they were quiet enough by then. Maybe a bit the worse for wear, but nobody was acting so drunk he thought he ought to refuse to serve them. They had a drink each, just the one, and left in orderly fashion half an hour or so before closing time.”
“That would be about half past eleven, then,” said Banks.
“Did he see where they went?” Hatchley asked.
“Over to The Fountain.”
The Fountain was the pub on the far side of the square, on the corner of Taylor’s Yard, and it was known to stay open until about midnight, or not long after. “The others must have quietened Hayley down after that fracas in The Trumpeters so they could get more drinks,”
Hatchley said. “I wonder if they went to the Bar None when The Fountain closed? They’ve been stricter about who they serve in there since the last time they were in trouble, but it’s the only place in town you can get a drink after midnight, unless you fancy a curry and lager at the Taj.”
DC Wilson’s mobile buzzed and he put it to his ear. When he had F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
4 7
asked a couple of questions and listened for a while, the frown deep-ened on his brow.
“What is it?” Banks asked when Wilson turned the phone off.
“It was that barmaid at The Duck and Drake,” he said. “She remembered where she’d seen the bloke sitting by himself. Got a tear in her leather jacket a couple of months ago and someone recommended that shop on the corner of Taylor’s Yard for invisible mending. Said she didn’t know the bloke’s name, but it was him, the bloke from the leather shop.”
M E L D A N V E R S , Karen Drew’s assigned carer, was a slender young thing of twenty-something with doe eyes and a layered cap of chocolate-brown hair. Grace Chaplin seemed in control, but Mel seemed nervous, fiddling with a ring on her finger, perhaps because she was in front of her supervisor. Annie didn’t know if the nervousness meant anything, but she hoped she would soon find out. Someone had managed to get her hands on an assortment of sandwiches, she noticed, along with some digestive biscuits and a pot of tea. Things were looking up in the conference room.
Mel turned from Annie to Grace. “I can’t believe it,” she said.
“Karen? Murdered?”
She had checked Karen’s room, and her colleagues had searched the rest of Mapston Hall, just in case Karen had somehow returned without anyone knowing, but she was nowhere to be found. And Karen fit the description that Annie gave Grace and Mel. Tommy Naylor was busy searching her room.
“Tell me what happened?” Annie said. “Were you there when she left?”
“Yes. I even advised her against it. The weather . . . but her friend was quite adamant. She said a bit of wind and rain never bothered her, and it would be a long time before she could come again. I couldn’t stop her from going. I mean, she wasn’t a prisoner or anything.”
“It’s all right,” said Annie. “Nobody’s blaming you. What was her friend’s name?”
“Mary.”
4 8 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
“No surname?”
“She didn’t give me one. It should be in the log,” Mel said, with a glance at Grace. “They have to sign the log.”
Annie showed her the signature. Mel narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t read it,” she said.
“Nobody can,” said Annie. “I think that was the intention.”
“But you can’t mean . . . Oh, dear God!” She put her hand to her mouth.
Grace touched her shoulder gently. “There, there, Mel,” she said.
“Be strong. Answer the inspector’s questions.”
“Yes,” said Mel, stiffening and straightening her uniform.
“Is the time right? Nine-thirty?” Annie asked.
“Yes,” Mel answered.
Well, that was something, Annie thought. “Do you require any sort of identification from people signing patients out?” she asked.
“No,” said Grace. “Why would we? Who would want to . . .” She let her words trail off when she realized where she was heading.
“I understand,” said Annie. “So basically anyone can walk in and take any one of your patients out?”
“Well, yes,” said Grace. “But usually they’re friends or relatives, unless they’re social workers or volunteers, of
