Banks broke the tense silence. “Does the number 1139 mean anything to you?” he asked Boyd.
Paul seemed to consider the question, and his answer was an unequivocal no.
Banks thought he was telling the truth.
“What do you know about that old notebook Seth kept in his workshop?”
Paul shrugged. “Nothing. It was just for addresses, measurements and stuff.”
“Did you ever use it?”
“No. I was just an assistant, a dogsbody.”
“It wasn’t like that, Paul,” Mara said. “And you know it.”
199
“It doesn’t matter now, does it? Except maybe it’ll get me a job in the prison workshop.”
“Did anybody else ever use it, other than Seth?” asked Banks.
“Why should they?” Paul was obviously puzzled by the line of questioning. “It wasn’t important.”
“Do you know who took the knife?”
Paul looked at Mara as he answered. “I’ve already told you I don’t, haven’t I?”
“I’m giving you another chance. If you really aren’t responsible for PC Gill’s death, any help you give us will count for you.”
“Oh, sure!” Paul got to his feet and started pacing the narrow cell. “Why don’t you just bugger off and leave me alone? I’ve nothing more to tell you. And tell the quack to bring me another pill.”
“Is there anything we can do, Paul?” Mara asked.
“You can leave me alone, too. I curse the day I met you and the rest of them.
You and your bloody protests and demonstrations. Look where you’ve got me.”
Mara swallowed, then spoke softly. “We’re still on your side, you know. It wasn’t anything to do with me, with any of us, that you got caught. You can come back to the farm whenever you want.”
Paul glared at her, and Banks could sense the questions each wanted to ask and the answers they hoped for. But they couldn’t talk because he was there. Mara would implicate herself if she assured Paul she hadn’t tipped the police off about the warning, the money and the clothes she’d given him. Paul would incriminate her if he thanked her or questioned her about these things.
“Come on.” Banks took Mara’s arm gently. She shook his hand off but walked beside him back upstairs. “You’ve seen that he’s all right. No bruises.”
“None that show, no.”
“How did you get here?” Banks asked as they walked out of the station into the glorious day.
“I walked over the moors.”
“I’ll give you a lift back.”
200
“No. I’m happy walking, thanks.”
“No strings. I’m going up there anyway.”
“Why?”
“Just a few questions for Seth.”
“Questions, bloody questions.”
“Come on.”
Mara got into the Cortina beside him. She sat in silence with her hands on her lap as Banks pulled out of the car-park and set off up North Market Street for the Swainsdale road. They passed the Community Centre steps, where Gill had been stabbed. The spot looked as innocent as everywhere else that day; no signs of violence and bloodshed lingered in the grey stone. Banks pushed the tape in and the Deller Consort sang “It Was a Lover and His Lass.” Mara managed a weak smile at the hey-noni-nos, peering curiously at Banks as if she found it hard to connect him with the music he played.
A couple of fishermen sat under the trees in the river-meadows, and there were more walkers on the road than Banks had seen since the previous October. Even the wind chimes up at Maggie’s Farm seemed to be playing a happier tune, despite the misfortune that had befallen the place. But nature is rarely in harmony with human affairs, Banks thought. It follows its predetermined natural cycles, while we fall victim to random, irrational forces, thoughts and deeds. It’s natural to identify with the rain and clouds when we feel depressed, but if the sun shines brightly and we still feel depressed, we don’t bother bringing the weather into it at all.
Banks found Seth in his workshop. Wearing his overalls, he was bent over the bench, planing a long piece of wood. Shavings curled and fell to the floor, releasing the clean scent of pine. Noticing his guest, he paused and put down his plane. Banks leaned against the wall near the dusty bookcase.
“What is it now?” Seth asked. “I thought you’d got your man.”
“It does look like it. But I’m the kind who likes to tie up loose ends.”
“Unlike your friend.”
201
