“Because I’ve never come across anyone who felt she deserved the tiniest drop of mercy, that’s why. Except perhaps you.”
“Well, I didn’t kill her,” said Banks.
“Now you’re playing silly buggers.”
Banks touched the scar beside his right eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sarcastic. All I’m saying is that you have to be sure you want to open that can of worms. You know who the main suspects will be.”
“Of course I do,” said Annie. “The parents and families and friends of the girls the Paynes raped, abused and killed, for a start.
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That neighbor, Maggie Forrest, who was taken in by Lucy and then betrayed. Maybe even one of the police officers on the case. A friend or relative of Janet Taylor’s, who was another victim of the whole business. When you get right down to it, lots of people would want her dead, including publicity seekers. Can you imagine the confes- sions we’ll get?”
“So why do you want to go back there?”
“Because I have to. It’s the only place to go, and only by going there can I get where I want to be.”
“That sounds a bit too mystical to me, like the sound of one hand clapping.”
“Well, you’ve listened to enough Pink Floyd. You ought to know what that sounds like. The thing is, Alan, why I’m here, what I
wanted to ask, is can I count on you?”
Banks sighed, took another bite of his burger and washed it down with Tetley’s. Then he stared Annie straight in the eye, gave her one of the most guileless looks she’d ever had from him. “Of course you can,” he said softly. “You knew that from the start. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting for us with Phil Hartnell and Ken Blackstone in Leeds tomorrow morning.”
Annie threw a chip at him. “Then why did you give me such a bloody hard time about it, then?”
Banks smiled. “You wouldn’t have had it any other way. Anyway, now you’re here, you can tell me about all the interesting things going on in your life these days.”
“That’s a laugh,” said Annie, turning away and twirling her hair with her fingers.
W I N S O M E H A D never liked working with Templeton. It wasn’t because he beat her to sergeant, though that did rankle, but she didn’t like his methods, his callous disregard of people’s feelings, or the way he kept ogling her. If she was going to take a boyfriend, which she wasn’t, Templeton would be the last on her list. But in the meantime they had to work together, so she tried to keep her feelings in check as he prattled on about clubs and DJs she’d never heard of, and hinted at F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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a sexual prowess she wasn’t interested in, as he sneaked glances at her thighs and breasts. She knew she could probably report him for sexual harassment, but that sort of thing had a way of coming back on you, especially if you were a woman. You didn’t run to the boss and tell tales; you dealt with it yourself.
Winsome had told Banks that she thought he was taking a big risk in sending Templeton to talk to Hayley Daniels’s parents. Banks said he knew that, but they were short-staffed, and it would help to have a different perspective. Sometimes, he added cryptically, Templeton’s unsa-vory and idiosyncratic methods could result in a breakthrough. Winsome remained unconvinced; she’d seen the bastard in action in ways that Banks hadn’t. Annie Cabbot would understand, but she wasn’t around.
Winsome pulled up outside the Daniels house in Swainshead, once again drawing curious stares from the old men on the bridge.
“What’s up with them?” said Templeton. “They act like they’ve never seen a black woman before.”
“They probably hadn’t before I came along,” Winsome said.
The reporters had gone and the house looked abandoned. It had only been two days since the news of Hayley’s death, and already the place seemed shabbier somehow. When Winsome knocked, Geoff Daniels answered. He averted his eyes and appeared embarrassed to see her, as well he might, but he stood aside and let her and Templeton enter. Donna McCarthy was in the living room sitting on an armchair. She looked as if she hadn’t slept since Sunday. There was a strained atmosphere, Winsome sensed, though she couldn’t tell whether Templeton felt it. Even if he did, in her experience, he would simply ignore it and do what he wanted anyway.
“Any news?” asked Donna, as her husband slumped down in another armchair by the window. Winsome and Templeton took the sofa, and Winsome automatically pulled her skirt down over her knees. If she’d known she was going to be riding out with Templeton this morning, she would have worn trousers. As it was, she’d gone and put on a business-style pinstripe skirt and matching jacket. Already, she could see him eyeing up Donna McCarthy, assessing his chances there.
“Perhaps,” said Templeton. “But we’ve got a few more questions to ask you.”
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“Oh?” said Donna.
“You told DC Jackman here that you didn’t know of any particu lar boyfriends Hayley had, but that you thought she was sexually active.
Am I right?”
Donna twisted her wedding ring. “Well . . . I . . .”
“Is that true, Donna?” Daniels butted in, face red with anger. “You told the police my daughter was some sort of slut?”
