have a look inside?”
“The fewer people do that, the better, sir,” said Gristhorpe, looking to see what stones and dirt were trapped in the tread of the tires.
Parkinson frowned. “What on earth do you mean by that?”
Gristhorpe turned to face him. “You say you left last Monday?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“I took the eight-thirty flight from Leeds and Bradford.”
“To where?”
“I don’t see as it’s any of your business, but Brussels. EEC business.”
Gristhorpe nodded. They were standing in the middle of the pavement and passersby had to get around them somehow. A woman with a pram asked Parkinson to step out of the way so she could get by. A teenager with cropped hair and a tattoo on his cheek swore at him. Parkinson was clearly uncomfortable talking in the street. A mark of his middle-class background, Gristhorpe thought. The working classes?both urban and rural?had always felt quite comfortable standing and chatting in the street. But Parkinson hopped from foot to foot, glancing irritably from the corners of his eyes as people brushed and jostled past them to get by. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and a stray lock
of hair fell over his right eye.
“How did you get to the airport?” Gristhorpe pressed on.
“A friend drove me. A business colleague. It’s no mystery, Inspector, believe me. Long-term parking at the airport is expensive. My colleague drives a company car, and the company pays. It’s as simple as that.” He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I’m overly concerned about saving money, of course. But why pay when you don’t have to?”
“Indeed. Do you always do it that way?”
“What way?”
“Don’t you ever take it in turns?”
“I told you. He has a company car. Look, I don’t see—”
“Please bear with me. Did nobody notice the car was gone?”
“How could they? It was in the garage, and the garage door was locked.”
“Have you asked if anyone heard anything?”
“That’s your job. That’s why—”
“Where do you live, sir?”
“Bartlett Drive. Just off the Helmthorpe road.”
“I know it.” If Gristhorpe remembered correctly, Bartlett Drive was close to the holiday cottage the Manleys had so suddenly deserted. “And the car was replaced as if it had never been gone?”
“That’s right. Only they didn’t bargain for my record-keeping.”
“Quite. Look, I’ll get someone to drive you home and take a full statement, then—”
“What? You’ll do what?” A couple walking by stopped and stared. Parkinson blushed and lowered his voice. “I’ve already told you I’ve given up enough time already. Now why don’t you—”
Gristhorpe held his hand up, palm out, and his innocent gaze silenced Parkinson just as it had put the fear of God into many a villain. “I can understand your feelings,” Gristhorpe said, “but please listen to me for a minute. There’s a chance, a very good chance, that your car was used to abduct a little girl from her home last Tuesday afternoon. If that’s the case, it’s essential that we get a forensic team to go over the car thoroughly. Do you understand?”
Parkinson nodded, mouth open.
“Now, this may mean some inconvenience to you. You’ll get your car back in the same condition it’s in now, but I can’t say exactly when. Of course, we’ll try to help you in any way we can, but basically, you’re acting like the true public-spirited citizen that you are. You’re generously helping us try to get to the bottom of a particularly nasty bit of business, right?”
“Well,” said Parkinson. “Seeing as you put it that way.” And the first drops of rain fell on their heads.
IV
Banks and Susan stood at the bar in the Queen’s Arms
that Monday lunchtime, wedged between two farmers
and a family of tourists, and munched cheese-and-onion
sandwiches with their drinks. Banks had a pint of
Theakston’s bitter, Susan a Slimline Tonic Water. A song
about a broken love affair was playing on the jukebox in
the background, and somewhere by the door to the toilets,
a video game beeped as aliens went down in flames.
From what he could overhear, Banks gathered that the
farmers were talking about money and the tourists were
