“Janet did—”
“Look,” Julia Ford interrupted, “as you know, I defended Lucy, so I’m hardly going to say she was guilty, am I? The Crown reviewed the evidence at the preliminary hearing, such as it was, and threw the case out of court. She never even went to trial.”
“Wasn’t that something to do with the fact that she was in a wheelchair?” said Annie.
“The state of her health may have been a mitigating factor. HM
prisons have very limited facilities for dealing with quadriplegics. But 9 8 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
the fact remains that there
wasn’t enough evidence against her to
prove that she killed anyone.”
“Weren’t there some dodgy videos?” Ginger asked.
“Showing at the most sexual assault, at the least, consensual sex,”
said Julia Ford. “The Crown knew they were on shaky ground with the videos, so they weren’t even admitted as evidence. As I said, the case collapsed before it went to trial. Not enough evidence. As is, sadly, so often the case.”
Annie ignored the barb. “The fact that one of the star prosecution witnesses, Maggie Forrest, had a nervous breakdown and was unable to testify might have helped, too,” she said.
“Possibly. But these things happen. Besides, even Maggie had no evidence to connect Lucy with any murders.”
“All right,” said Annie, raising her hand. “We’ll get nowhere now debating Lucy Payne’s role in the rape, torture and murder of those young girls.”
“I agree,” said Julia Ford. “I simply wanted to lay my cards on the table and let you know who you’re really dealing with. The events took place six years ago, when Lucy was just twenty-two. When faced with arrest, Lucy jumped out of a window, Maggie Forrest’s window. Lucy was in hospital after hospital for a long, long time, and the firm took care of her affairs. She had a number of serious operations, none of which was entirely successful, but they managed to keep her alive, after a fashion. In the end, we found her a place at Mapston Hall. Given the publicity surrounding the Payne case, once she had managed to disappear from the public view, and from the media, we thought it best that she assumed a new identity for the rest of her days. It was all perfectly legal. I have the papers.”
“And what about the car accident they told us about at Mapston Hall? Drunk driving?”
“Another necessary fiction.”
“I’m sure it was,” said Annie, “and I’m not really here to contest any of that. I thought I was looking for the killer of Karen Drew, but now I find out that I’m looking for who killed Lucy Payne. That changes things.”
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
9 9
“I hope knowing that won’t stop you from putting just as much effort into it.”
Annie glared at her. “I won’t even dignify that with a reply,” she said.
“There were plenty at the time who said Lucy got exactly what she deserved when she ended up in a wheelchair. Perhaps you were one of them.”
“No.” Annie felt herself turn red. She had never said that, but she had thought it. Like Banks, she believed that Lucy Payne had been as guilty as her husband, and spending the rest of her days paralyzed was fitting enough punishment for what the two of them had done to those girls in their cellar, whether Lucy had actually delivered the killing blows or not. The videos showed that she knew all about what was going on and had been a willing participant in her husband’s sick, elaborate sexual games with his victims. No, Lucy Payne’s fate elicited no sympathy from Annie. And now someone had put her out of her misery. It could almost be viewed as an act of kindness. But she wouldn’t let any of that cloud her judgment. She wouldn’t give Julia Ford the satisfaction of being right. She would work this case as hard as any other, harder perhaps, until she had discovered who killed Lucy Payne and why.
“How does it change things?” Julia Ford asked.
“Well, it brings two important questions to mind,” said Annie.
“Oh?”
“First: Did the killer know she was killing Lucy Payne?”
“And the second?”
“Who knew that Karen Drew was Lucy Payne?”
“ W E L L , S T U A R T,” said Banks. “I think you’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you?”
Stuart Kinsey sat opposite Banks in the interview room that eve ning pouting, picking at a fingernail, glancing at Winsome out of the corner of his eye. It had been a long two days; everyone was tired and wanted to go home. Kinsey wore the typical student uniform of denim and a 1 0 0
P E T E R R O B I N S O N
T-shirt proclaiming The Who’s triumphant return to Leeds University the previous June. His hair was shaggy, but not especially long, and Banks supposed he might be attractive to women in that surly, moody sort of way some of them liked. Whether he had been attractive to Hayley Daniels was another matter.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked.
