“Have you met any interesting strangers in there recently?”
“What?”
“The past couple of weeks. Anyone been especially friendly?”
Ackroyd rubbed his chin. “Aye, well now you mention it, there was Chris and Connie.”
Gristhorpe looked over at Richmond. “The Manleys?”
“That’s it. I always thought it a bit odd that they liked to stand at the bar and talk to the locals.”
“Why?”
“Well, with a bird like her I wouldn’t be in the pub in the first place,” Ackroyd said, and winked. “But usually it’s the couples tend to keep to themselves.”
“They didn’t?”
“No. Oh, they weren’t pushy or anything. Just always there with a hello and a chat. Nowt special. It might be the weather, the news … that kind ofthing.”
“And Mr Parkinson’s European business trips?”
“Well, he did go on a bit… . Now wait a minute, you can’t be suggesting that Chris and Connie … ? No, I don’t believe it. Besides, they had a car of their own. I saw them in it.”
“A white Fiesta?”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of impression did they give you, Mr Ackroyd?”
“They just seemed like regular folk. I mean, Chris liked to talk about cars. Bit of a know-it-all, maybe. You know, the kind that likes to dominate conversations. And she seemed happy enough to be there.”
“Did she say much?”
“No, but she didn’t need to. I mean most of the men in that place would’ve given their right arms?” He
stopped, looked at his cast and laughed. “No, that wasn’t how I got it, honest. But what I’m trying to say is that it wasn’t just that she was a looker, though she was that all right. The long blonde hair, those lovely red lips and the blue eyes. And from what I could tell she had all her curves in the right places, too. No, it wasn’t just that. She was sexy. She had a presence. Like she didn’t have to do anything. Just walk in, smile, stand there leaning on the bar. There was something about her you could feel, like an electric charge. I am rambling on, aren’t I? Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so, Mr Ackroyd.” Some women just gave out an aura of sex, Gristhorpe knew. That kind of sex appeal was common enough on screen?the way Marilyn Monroe’s clothes always seemed to want to slip off her body, for example?but it also happened in real life. It was nothing to do with looks, though a combination of beauty and sex appeal could be deadly when it occurred, and some women didn’t even realize they had it.
“How did Mr Manley act towards her?” he asked.
“No special way in particular. I mean, he wasn’t much to look at himself. I got the impression he was sort of pleased that so many men obviously fancied her. You knew she was his and you could look but you couldn’t touch. Now I think about it, he definitely seemed to be showing her off, like.”
“Nobody tried to chat her up?”
“No.” He scratched his cheek. “And that’s a funny thing, you know. Now you’ve got me talking I’m thinking things that never really entered my head at the time. They were just an interesting couple of holidaymakers, but the more I think about them …”
“Yes?”
“Well, the thing that really struck you about Chris was his smile. When he smiled at you, you immediately
wanted to trust him. I suppose it worked with the women too. But there was something … I mean, I can’t put my finger on it, but you just sort of knew that if you really did try it on with Connie, outside a bit of mild flirting, that is, then he’d be something to reckon with. That’s the only way I can express it. I suppose everyone picked up on that because nobody tried it on. Not even Andy Lumsden, and he goes after anything in a skirt as a rule.”
“Where were they from?”
“Chris and Connie? Do you know, I couldn’t tell you. He didn’t have a Yorkshire accent, that’s for certain. But it was hard to place. South, maybe. It was sort of characterless, like those television newsreaders.”
“They didn’t say where they were from?”
“Come to think of it, no. Just said they were taking some time off and travelling around for a while, having a rest from the fast lane. They never really said anything about themselves. Funny that, isn’t it?”
“They didn’t even say what they were taking time off from?”
“No.”
Gristhorpe stood up and nodded to Richmond. He shook Mr Ackroyd’s good hand and wished him well, then they walked back out into the drizzle.
“What now?” Richmond asked.
Gristhorpe looked at his watch. “It’s half past two,” he said. “I reckon we’ve just got time for a pint and a sandwich at The Drayman’s Rest, don’t you?”
IV
Susan Gay parked her red Golf outside and went up to
her flat. She had had a busy day going over mugshots
with Edwina Whixley—to no avail—and questioning the
other occupants of 59 Calvin Street again. She had also made an appointment to see the governor of Armley Jail, where Johnson had served his
