risked another cigarette.
“Did Gill have any enemies that you know of?”
“He must have made plenty over the years, given his attitude towards the public,” Grant said. “But I couldn’t name any.”
“Anyone on the force?”
“Eh?”
“You said nobody at the station really liked him. Had anyone got a good reason to dislike him? Did he owe money, cheat people, gamble? Any financial problems?”
“I don’t think so. He just got people’s backs up, that’s all. He talked about betting on the horses, yes, but I don’t think he did it that much. It was just the macho sort of thing that went with his image. He never tried to borrow any money off me, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t think he was on the take. At least he was honest on that score.”
Banks turned his back to the choppy water and looked up towards the sombre bulk of the ruined castle. He couldn’t see much from that angle; the steep cliff, where sea-birds made their nests, was mottled with grass, moss and bare stone.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I just wanted you to know that all that crap at the funeral was exactly that. Crap. Gill was a vicious bastard. I’m not saying he deserved what happened to him,
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nobody deserves that, but those who live by the sword….” “Did you have any particular reason to dislike Gill?” Grant seemed startled by the question. “Me?
What do you mean?”
“What I say. Did he ever do you any harm personally?” “No. Look, if you’re questioning my motives, sir, believe me, it’s exactly like I told you. I heard you were asking questions about Gill, and I thought someone should tell you the truth, that’s all. I’m not the kind to go around speaking ill of the dead just because they’re not here to defend themselves.”
Banks smiled. “Don’t mind me, I’m just an old cynic. It’s a long time since I’ve come across a young idealist like you on the force.” Banks thought of Superintendent Gristhorpe, who had managed to hang on to a certain amount of idealism over the years. But he was one of the old guard; it was a rare quality in youth these days, Banks had found-especially in those who joined the police.
Even Richmond could hardly be called an idealist. Keen, yes, but as practical as the day was long.
Grant managed a thin smile. “It’s nice of you to say that, but it’s not exactly true. After all,” he said, “I laid into them with the rest last Friday, didn’t I? And do you know what?” His voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t look Banks in the eye. “After a while, I even started to enjoy myself.”
So, Banks thought, maybe Grant had told all because he felt ashamed of himself for acting like Gill and enjoying the battle. Getting caught up in the thrill of action was hardly unusual; the release of adrenaline often produced a sense of exhilaration in men who would normally run a mile from a violent confrontation.
But it obviously bothered Grant. Perhaps this was his way of exorcising what he saw as Gill’s demon inside him. Whatever his reasons, he’d given Banks plenty to think about.
“It happens,” Banks said, by way of comfort. “Don’t let it worry you. Look, would you do me a favour?” They turned and started walking back to their cars.
Grant shrugged. “Depends.”
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“I’d like to know a bit more about Gill’s overtime activities -like where he’s been and when. There should be a record. It’d also be useful if I could find out about any official complaints against him, and anything at all about his private life.”
Grant frowned and pushed at his left cheek with his tongue as if he had a canker. “I don’t know,” he said finally, fiddling in his duffle-coat pocket for his car keys. “I wouldn’t want to get caught. They’d make my life a bloody misery here if they knew I’d even talked to you like this. Can’t you just request his record?”
Banks shook his head. “My boss doesn’t want us to be seen investigating Gill. He says it’ll look bad. But if we’re not seen…. Send it to my home address, just to be on the safe side.” Banks scribbled his address on a card and handed it over.
Grant got into his car and opened the window. “I can’t promise anything,” he said slowly, “but I’ll have a go.” He licked his lips. “If anything important comes out of all this…” He paused.
Banks bent down, his hand resting on the wet car roof.
“Well,” Grant went on, “I don’t want you to think I’m after anything, but you will remember I said I wanted to join the CID, won’t you?” And he smiled a big, broad, innocent, open smile.
Bloody hell, there were no flies on this kid. Banks couldn’t make him out. At first he’d taken such a moral line that Banks suspected chapel had figured strongly somewhere in his background. But despite all his idealism and respect for the law, he might well be another Dirty Dick in the making. On the other hand, that damn smiling moon-face looked so bloody cherubic….
“Yes,” Banks said, smiling back. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget you.”
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I
In the cross-streets between York Road and Market Street, near where Banks lived, developers had converted terraces of tall Victorian family houses into student flats. In one of these, in a two-room attic unit, Tim Fenton and Abha Sutton lived.
