“Yes. But this is hardly a normal case, is it?”
“Still…”
“As I said, I didn’t really know him. I hear you’ve got a whiz-kid from the Yard in charge.”
Banks stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his plate. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of Blake, so he ate his lunch while exchanging small talk.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Richmond talking to one of the uniformed pallbearers, probably one of the locals who had been bussed in with Gill to the demo. They had all given statements, of course, but none had seen Gill get stabbed. He hoped that Richmond was doing better than he was.
Chief Inspector Blake drifted away after about five minutes, and Banks took the opportunity to refill his sherry
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glass. At the bar, he found himself standing next to another pallbearer.
Banks introduced himself. “Sad occasion,” he said.
“Aye,” PC Childers replied. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties. Banks felt irritated by his habit of looking in another direction while speaking.
“Popular bloke, PC Gill, by the look of it,” Banks said.
“Oh, aye. A right card, old Eddie was.”
“That right? Keen on his work?”
“You could say that. Certain parts of it, anyway.”
“I’ll bet the overtime came in handy.”
“It’s always good to have a bit extra,” Childers said slowly. Banks could tell he was holding back; whether out of friendship, a sense of occasion, or out of simple duty, he couldn’t be sure. But something was wrong. Childers was getting edgier, staring at the far wall. Finally, he excused himself abruptly and went to talk to his sergeant.
Banks was beginning to feel his mission had been wasted. He was also aware that very soon he would become an unwelcome guest if Childers and Blake mentioned his probings to others. Christ, he thought, they were a bloody sensitive lot here.
It made him wonder if they’d got something to hide.
Back at the table for a helping of trifle, Banks manoeuvred himself next to a third pallbearer, a moon-faced lad with bright blue eyes and fine, thinning hair the colour of wheat. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and introduced himself.
“I know who you are, sir,” the PC said. “Ernie Childers told me. I’m PC Grant, Tony Grant. Ernie warned me. Said you were asking questions about Eddie Gill.”
“Just routine,” Banks said. “Like we do in all murder investigations.”
Grant glanced over his shoulder. “Look, sir,” he said, “I can’t talk to you here.”
“Where, then?” Banks felt his heart speed up.
“Do you know the Angel’s Trumpet?”
Banks shook his head. “Don’t know the place well. Only been here once before.”
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‘it’ll take too long to explain,” Grant said. They finished helping themselves to dessert and turned around just in time to spot one of Grant’s colleagues walking towards them.
“Marine Drive, then, just round from the fun-fair,” Banks said quickly out of the corner of his mouth. It was the only place he could think of offhand. “About an hour.”
“Fine,” Grant said as a uniformed sergeant joined them.
“Good of you to come, Chief Inspector,” the sergeant said, holding out his hand.
“We appreciate it.”
Grant had merged back into the crowd, and as Banks exchanged trivialities with the sergeant, his mind was on the meeting ahead, and the nervous, covert way in which it had been arranged.
IV
“He made me feel dirty,” Mara said to Seth. “The way he looked at me.”
“Don’t let it get to you. That’s just his technique. He’s trying to goad you into saying something you’ll regret.”
“But what about Paul? You saw the way he was picking on him. What can we do?”
Paul had taken off as soon as Burgess and Hatchley left. He had said he was feeling claustrophobic and needed a walk on the moors to calm down after the onslaught. He hadn’t objected to Zoe’s company, so Seth and Mara were left alone.
“What is there to do?” Seth said.
“But you saw the way that bastard went at him. I wouldn’t put it past him to frame Paul if it came down to it. He has got a record.”
“They’d still need evidence.”
