Banks watched a ferry steam out of the dock. The flock of gulls swooped on a dead fish on the beach. “I’ve been thinking about Chivers,” he said, lighting a cigarette and looking out to sea. “Trying to fathom his
thought processes.”
“And?”
“And I’m not sure, but … look, he must know we’re after him by now. Surely he’s seen the stuff in the newspapers. What does he do? He kills the woman, too much extra baggage, and he takes off. Now a normal criminal would certainly head for the continent and disappear. But we know Chivers isn’t normal.”
“I think I follow your train, Alan. I’ve had the same thought myself. He’s playing a game, isn’t he? Laughing at us.”
Banks nodded. “And he likes the attention. Jenny said he’s likely to be egocentric, but he’s also probably impulsive and irresponsible. I’ve thought about that a lot.”
“So where would he head, given the way he thinks?”
“Back to where it started, I think,” said Banks. “I’ll bet you a pound to a penny the bastard’s back in Eastvale.”
II
It was late that Saturday evening when Banks and
Gristhorpe arrived back in Eastvale. They were delayed
by a six-car pile-up into a jackknifed lorry on the Ml just
south of Leicester, and as they passed by Pontefract and
Castleford on the Al, the rain fell in buckets, slowing
traffic to a crawl.
So it was that on Sunday morning, as the bells rang in the church and people crossed the market square in their Sunday best for the morning service, the members of Eastvale CID sat in the conference room around the large circular table drinking coffee and pooling their findings.
Richmond and Susan brought the others up to date on John Fairley’s information about Chivers and the fact
that he owned a gun.
“Fairley seems the least involved of them all,” said Richmond. “We had a good long chat when we brought him in. He’s got no prior form. I’m sure he’s dealt with stuff that fell off the back of a lorry before, but the Fletcher’s warehouse job is his first big bit of fencing, we’re sure ofthat. Susan?”
“I agree,” said Susan Gay, looking up from the notes in front of her. “Seems it was Johnson’s idea, and he recruited Les Poole easily. They were mates of Fairley’s, genuinely helping out at the shop for a bit of under-the- counter pocket money. Chivers was the prime mover. Without him, I don’t reckon the others would have had the guts to go through with it. It was Chivers drugged the guard dogs and cut through the chain-link fence. Poole drove the van, backed it up to the loading bay and away they went. The back of Fairley’s shop is just a quiet backstreet, so they got unloaded without any trouble. It wasn’t too hard to make a few sales through their pub mates, word of mouth, and they’d already got rid of most of the stuff by the time we called.”
“Was there any falling out over the loot?” Banks asked.
“No,” said Richmond. “Not as far as we could tell. Everyone seemed happy with his share. Poole took the television and stereo as part of his cut. Johnson got a thousand in cash. Fairley’s got no idea why Johnson was killed, though he said he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Chivers had done him. Chivers scared him, seemed the type who’d do it for fun.”
“And he’s seen or heard nothing of him since?”
“No, sir. And doesn’t want to.”
“What about Gemma?” Banks asked. “Does Fairley know anything about what happened to her?”
“Just confirms what Poole told us, that’s all,” said
Richmond. “After we spotted the whitewash in the cellar, we had the team do a thorough search last night, but they’ve turned up nothing to indicate Gemma was there.”
“Right,” said Gristhorpe, standing up and looking at his watch. “I’ve told you what Alan thinks about Chivers being in the area, and I agree with him. What I propose is that we start trying to flush him out. Phil, I’d like you to muster as many men as you can and start knocking on doors, asking questions. Somebody must have seen the bastard. The station and the bus station are obvious places to start. He left his car in Weymouth and unless he stole one, the odds are that he took some other form of transport. The lads down there are doing their bit, too. We’re co-ordinating with a DI Loder. I’ll get in touch with the media and we’ll see if we can’t get something on the local news tonight. I want it all in the open. If he is here, I want him to know we’re closing in on him. I want him to panic and make a run for it.
“Susan, get in touch with as many of those concerned citizens who helped in the search for Gemma and get them to ask around. Tell them to make sure they don’t take any risks, though. This one’s dangerous. You know the kind of thing to ask about. Smoke from a cottage that’s supposed to be empty, odd noises, suspicious strangers, that kind of thing. Especially anyone who insists on paying cash in large amounts. We’d better put a watch on Fairley’s shop, Brenda Scupham’s place and the holiday cottage, too, just in case. And we’ll ask around the pubs. He’s not the type to lie low. He’ll be wanting to see the effect he’s having. And remember, he may have altered his appearance a bit. He’s done it before, so don’t rely on hair colour. The one thing he can’t change is that bloody smile. All right?”
Everyone nodded and dispersed. Banks returned to his office and looked out on the church-goers pouring into
the market square: women in powder blue suits holding onto their broad brimmed hats in the wind, clutching handbags; husbands in dark suits at their sides, collars too tight, shifting from foot to foot as their wives chatted, thinking maybe now they’d done their duty they’d be able to sneak off to the Queen’s Arms or the Crooked Billet for a quick one before dinner; restless children dreaming of an afternoon at Kinley Pond catching frogs, or climbing trees to collect birds’ eggs in Brinely Woods?either that or sniffing glue under the railway bridge and planning a bit of recreational B and E. And somewhere, in the midst of all that quotidian human activity and aspiration, was Jeremy Chivers.
Banks didn’t notice Susan in his doorway until she cleared her throat. He turned.
“Sorry, sir,” she said, “it slipped my mind at the meeting, but you had a call from Piet Kuypers, Amsterdam police. Said to call him back, you’d know what it was about.”
“Did he leave a message?”
