Banks stood and looked around. Rebecca was right. You could just about see the church through the trees to the south, but to the north, between the Inchcliffe Mausoleum and Kendal Road, it was a different matter. There, the yews were thicker, the undergrowth denser. It would be an ideal place for a secret meeting. And if he had learned anything from returning to the scene, it was that Deborah might have taken the gravel path of her accord, and that she had done so before.
He looked up at the Inchcliffe Mausoleum. It could have been the angle he was viewing it from, or perhaps a trick of the light, but he could have sworn the marble angel with the chipped wings was smiling.
Chapter 15
I
“Let’s assume Pierce didn’t do it, just for the moment,” said Banks. “That’ll make things easier.”
It was the first Friday in June, and the rays of late morning sunlight flooded the market square. Banks sat in Gristhorpe’s office trying to get a fresh perspective on the Deborah Harrison murder.
Gristhorpe, a bulky man with a pock-marked face and bushy eyebrows, sat sideways at his large teak desk, one leg stretched out and propped up on a footstool. He insisted that the broken leg had healed perfectly, but he still got the odd twinge now and then. Given that it was same leg he had also been shot in not so long ago, that wasn’t surprising, Banks thought.
Banks took a sip of coffee. “On the generous side, I’d say we’ve got maybe five or six suspects. If Deborah didn’t have a lover we don’t know about-and I don’t think she did-then the key to it all might lie in the secret she had. And if Deborah knew something about someone, she might easily have misjudged the importance of what she knew, underestimated the desperation of that person. Adults can have some pretty nasty secrets. The Pierce trial redirected all our time and energy towards proving that the killer didn’t know her, that she was a random victim, or became a victim because she had the misfortune of resembling Pierce’s ex-girlfriend Michelle Chappel.”
“What’s happening with that now?”
“I talked to Stafford Oakes about an hour ago,” Banks said, “and he’s ninety-nine per cent certain the Crown will appeal the verdict on the basis of the similar fact evidence being declared inadmissible. If they get a judge who allows it in, another trial could be disastrous for Pierce, whether he did it or not.”
Gristhorpe scratched his chin. “As you know, Alan,” he said, “I’ve been able to keep an open mind on this because I wasn’t part of the original investigation. I’d just like to say in the first place that I think you did good detective work. You shouldn’t flagellate yourself over the result. It may still turn out that Pierce didn’t do it. But I agree we should put that aside for a moment. From what I’ve read so far, Barry Stott seemed particularly sold on Pierce. Any idea why?”
“It was his lead,” Banks said. “Or so he thought. Actually, if it hadn’t been for Jim Hatchley stopping for a pint in the Nag’s Head, he might never have turned it up. But Barry’s ambitious. And tenacious. And let’s not forget, Jimmy Riddle was dead set on Pierce, too.”
“He’s a friend of the family,” Gristhorpe said. “I should imagine he just wanted an early conclusion, no matter who went down for it.”
Banks nodded.
“Now,” Gristhorpe went on, “the two things we have to ask ourselves are what possible secret Deborah Harrison could have learned that was important enough to kill for, and who, given the opportunity, could have killed her because of it.”
Banks told him about his visit to Rebecca Charters and what he had learned about Deborah’s occasional detours from the main path.
“You think she had arranged to meet her killer?” Gristhorpe asked.
“Rebecca never actually saw her meet anyone, but it’s one possibility.”
“Blackmail?”
“Perhaps. Though I’m not sure from what I know of Deborah that she was the type to do that. I suppose it is possible. After all, her satchel was open when we found her, and that has always bothered me. Perhaps she had some sort of hard evidence and the killer took it. On the other hand, maybe she just wanted to let whoever it was know that she knew the secret, or how she had found out. Perhaps she just wanted to flaunt her knowledge a little. Her friends say she could be a bit of a show-off. Anyway, let’s say she didn’t know the power or the value of what she was playing with.”
“Which takes us to my questions: why and who?”
“Yes.” Banks counted them on his fingers, one by one. “For a start, there’s John Spinks. He was Deborah’s boyfriend for part of the summer, and he’s a nasty piece of work. They parted on very bad terms and I think he’s the type to bear a grudge. He also has an alibi that doesn’t hold much water. Ive Jelacic has a solid alibi, I’d say, in Vjeko Batorac, but I’m still certain he’s involved, he knows something.”
“Any idea what?”
“I’d guess he might have seen Deborah meeting someone.”
“Why not tell us who, then?”
“That’s not Jelacic’s style. If you ask me, I’d say he’s trying to work out what might be in it for him first. For crying out loud, he even asked me if there was a reward.”
“What do we do, beat it out of him?”
“Believe me, that thought’s crossed my mind. But no. We’ll get him one way or another, don’t worry about that. I’m not finished with Mr. Jelacic yet.”
“Who else have we got? What about that schoolteacher?”
“Patrick Metcalfe? Another possibility. Though I doubt very much that he’s got the bottle, we have to consider him. He was Deborah’s history teacher and he was having an affair with Rebecca Charters, the vicar’s wife. One might reasonably assume that’s a poor career move for a male teacher at an Anglican girls’ school. If Deborah knew about the affair-and she could easily have seen Metcalfe entering or leaving the vicarage on occasion-then it could have cost Metcalfe not only his job, but his entire teaching career.”
“And as I recall from the statement,” Gristhorpe said, “he says he stayed home alone in his flat after Daniel Charters left.”
Banks nodded. “And we’ve no way of confirming or denying that unless someone saw him, which no-one has admitted to so far.”
“What about the vicar?”
“I’ve been wondering about him, too,” Banks said. “In general I’ve been pretty sympathetic towards him, but looking at things objectively, he could be our man. He certainly has no alibi, and he’s both tall and strong enough.”
“Motive?”
“We know that Ive Jelacic accused him of abusing his position by making homosexual advances. Given Jelacic’s character, this is probably pure fabrication-Vjeko Batorac certainly thinks it is-but let’s say it’s true, or it approximates the truth. And let’s say Deborah saw something that could confirm it, either involving Charters and Jelacic or Charters and someone else. If it got out, he also stood to lose everything. That might give him a powerful enough motive.”
“Or his wife?” Gristhorpe suggested.
“Yes. It could have been a woman,” Banks agreed. “After all, there was no evidence of rape, and the body could have been arranged to make it look like a sex murder. Rebecca Charters is probably tall and strong enough.”
“And she could have had either of two motives,” Gristhorpe added. “To protect the knowledge of her affair with Metcalfe, or to protect her husband from certain dismissal.” He shook his head. “It’s a real Peyton Place we’ve unearthed here, Alan. Who’d think such goings on occurred in a nice little Yorkshire town like Eastvale?”
