“Obviously.”
“So how did you know his name?”
“Look, I don’t-“
“When I first asked you if you knew Gill, you said no. I didn’t use his number, I used his name, and you recognized it when you lied to me.”
“He told me,” Osmond said. “When I tried to stop him from hitting a woman at a demo once, he pulled me aside and told me to keep out of it. I told him I’d report him, and
221
he said go ahead. When I looked at his number, he told me his name, as well.
Spelled it out, in fact. The bastard was proud of what he was doing.”
So Osmond defended women in public and only hit them in private. Nice guy, Banks thought, but he kept his questions factual and direct. “When you were up at Maggie’s Farm on the afternoon of the demonstration, did you mention that number to anyone?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Think. Did you write it in a notebook, or see it written in a notebook?”
“No, I’d remember something like that. But I might have mentioned it. Really, I can’t say.”
“How might you have mentioned it? Just give me a sense of context.”
“I might have said, ‘I wonder if that bastard PC 1139 will be out tonight.’ I suppose I’d have warned people about him. Christ, you can’t be involved in demos around this part of the world and not know about PC bloody 1139.”
“So I gather.” Banks remembered what Tim and Abha had told him.
There was nothing more to ask. Banks said good night and Osmond slammed the door behind him. In the corridor, he decided to try the flats on that floor to see if anyone had noticed the housebreaker. There were only ten-five on each side.
At the third door, a man who had been nipping out to the off-licence at about a quarter to eight said he’d seen two men walking along the corridor on his way back. They had seen him, too, but had made no move to run off or turn away. The description was average-most people are about as observant as a brick wall, Banks had discovered over the years-but it helped.
They were both tall and burly, and they both wore dark-blue pants, a bit shiny, probably the bottom part of a suit; one had on a black overcoat, fake leather, while the other wore a light trench coat; one had black hair, the other none at all; and neither wore a hat or glasses. About facial 222
features, the man remembered nothing except that both men had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and two ears. They had walked confidently and purposefully, as if they knew where they were going and what they were about, not furtively, as he imagined criminals would have done. So, no, he hadn’t seen any need to call the police. He was sorry now, of course. His speech was slurred, as if he’d already drunk most of what he’d bought at the off-licence. Banks thanked him and left.
Over the next four doors, Banks found himself told to piss off by a writer whose concentration he had disturbed and asked in for a cup of tea by a lonely military-type who wanted to show off his medals. As yet, there had been no temptress in a neglige.
It wasn’t until the ninth door that he found anyone else who knew anything. Beth Cameron wore tight, checked slacks, which hardly flattered her plump hips and thighs, and a maroon cardigan over a shiny white blouse. Her curly brown hair showed traces of a recent perm, and she had the most animated face that Banks had ever seen. Every comment, every word, was accompanied by a curled lip, a raised eyebrow, a wrinkled nose, a deep frown or a mock pout. She was like one of those sponge hand-puppets he remembered from his childhood. When you put your hand inside it, you could wrench the face into the most remarkable contortions.
“Did you see anyone coming in or out of Mr Osmond’s flat this evening?” Banks asked.
“No, no, I can’t say I did. Wait a minute, though, I did notice something odd.
Not up here but down in the garage. It struck me as a bit strange at the time, you know, but I just brushed it off. You do, don’t you?”
“What did you see?”
“A blue Escort. And it was parked in Mr Handley’s spot. He’s often out during the evening-he’s the entertainment reporter for the Eastvale Gazette-but still, I thought, that’s no reason to steal the man’s parking spot, is it? See, there’s places for visitors outside. We don’t encourage nonresidents to park underground. It could lead to all sorts of trouble, couldn’t it?”
223
“What time was this?” Banks asked.
“Oh, about eight o’clock. I was just bringing Lesley-that’s my daughter-back from her piano lesson.”
“Did you see if there was anyone in the car?”
“Two men, I think. Sitting in the front.”
“Did you get a good look at them?”
“No, I’m sorry. They looked big, but I mean, you just don’t look at people, do you? Especially not in places like that. It doesn’t do to make eye contact with strangers in an underground garage, does it?”
“No,” Banks said, “I don’t suppose it does. You didn’t recognize either of the men, then?”
“No. Whatever happened, anyway?” Mrs Cameron suddenly frowned. “There wasn’t nobody assaulted, was there? I’ve been saying all along that place is too dark.
