How had he got hold of her e-mail address? Then it dawned on her.
They had both been playing with their new Blackberrys, which handled e-mail as well as text and phone, and Eric had shown her how to attach photos and send them. She had sent one to him in the club.
That was how he had got her e-mail address. How could she be so careless?
The other messages were all junk—Viagra, breast enlargement and genuine Rolex offers, along with various sales newsletters.
She opened Eric’s message. It was short, in blue italic script, and to the point:
P E T E R R O B I N S O N
Annie’s heart sank when she opened the attached JPEG. She definitely didn’t remember posing for this one. It was a slightly blurred picture of her and Eric, no doubt using the self- timer. This time she had her head resting on his shoulder, his arm encircling her. Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes unfocused. All of which would have been perfectly innocent, albeit a little embarrassing, except that it was clear, even from the head and shoulders, that both she and Eric were stark-naked, and that she was holding a joint between her thumb and forefinger. And bugger it if she wasn’t smiling.
“ W E L L , J O S E P H ,” said Banks, back in the same interview room with the tape recorder running and Sebastian Crawford hovering nervously in the background again. “It looks as if we’re not at the bottom of this yet, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Randall.
“I think you do,” said Banks. He leaned forward. “And I think it would be in your best interests to admit that you do.”
Randall licked his lips and looked to Crawford for guidance. Crawford said nothing.
“Right,” said Banks, leaning back in his chair. “Let me lay it out for you, then. We’ve just had a visit from your neighbor, Roger Colegate, who tells us that he saw you putting the cat out at half past twelve on Saturday night. Though we don’t as yet know the exact time Hayley Daniels was murdered, we do have evidence pointing toward the fact that she entered The Maze at twelve-twenty and was most likely accosted by her attacker by twelve twenty-five or there-abouts.”
“Well, there you are, then,” said Randall, with a triumphant glance toward Sebastian Crawford. “I couldn’t have done it, could I?”
“It would probably have taken you at least fifteen minutes to walk F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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up to the market square from where you live,” Banks went on, “even if you had been capable of walking in a straight line at the time.”
“What do you mean?” Randall said.
“According to your neighbor, you were pissed,” said Banks. “In fact, according to Mr. Colegate, you were usually pissed by that time most nights.”
“That’s a lie,” said Randall. “I might have had a drink or two, but there’s no law against that, is there?”
“Not at all,” said Banks. “No law against getting pissed, either, providing you don’t cause any bother.”
“Well . . . ?”
“Mr. Colegate says you were unsteady on your feet and that when he called out good evening, you replied in a slurred voice. You don’t even remember that, do you?”
“No,” said Randall, “but it doesn’t matter, does it?
Banks paused. “You did find the body, however.”
“You already knew that. I was the one who reported it to you. And I had a legitimate reason for being there.”
“Yes, we’ve checked with the customer you told us about. You did have a rush order for a handbag. But that’s hardly relevant.”
“What do you mean?”
“You spent eleven minutes alone with Hayley Daniels’s body.”
“So? She was dead when I found her.”
“I know that,” said Banks.
“Look, I think you should just apologize, cut your losses, let me go and have done with it. Sebastian?”
Crawford cleared his throat. “Er . . . My client does have a point, Chief Inspector. After all, you’ve already
