Banks smiled. “‘It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.’”
Gristhorpe smiled back. “And what about Jimmy Riddle’s mates?” he said.
“Certainly not out of the question. I was beginning to think that Michael Clayton might have been having an affair with Sylvie Harrison, unlikely as it sounds. Sir Geoffrey and Michael Clayton have been close friends since university. If Clayton were having an affair with his wife, and if Deborah knew about that, it could have had a devastating effect. Think of how much money and prestige were at stake there.”
“As I understand it, none of them have alibis either.”
“That’s right. And they all knew Deborah went to the chess club on a Monday, and what time she usually came home. And by what route. But even if we accept the horrible possibility that she was capable of such a crime, Sylvie Harrison is neither tall nor strong enough to have killed her daughter. Rebecca Charters is the only woman in this case who could remotely have done it.”
“Clayton, then?”
“Possible. Certainly he’s the more likely of the two. Though, again, he was the child’s godfather.”
“Let’s also not forget,” Gristhorpe added, “that HarClay Industries had a lot of MoD contracts. They do a lot of hush-hush work. If Deborah found out about any hanky-panky going on there, contracts with foreign governments and the like…”
“Or even something our own government didn’t want the general public to know?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Gristhorpe agreed. “According to your notes, at the time of his daughter’s murder, Sir Geoffrey Harrison was in a private meeting with a man from the government called Oliver Jackson. I happen to know Oliver Jackson, and he’s not exactly from the government, he’s Special Branch.”
“Aren’t we getting a bit far-fetched here?” Banks said. “Maybe it’s just someone else with the same name?”
Gristhorpe shook his head. “I checked with the York CID. It was the same Oliver Jackson all right. They knew he was in town, but they weren’t told why. It’s just another aspect to consider. Any other angles?”
Banks sighed. “Not that I can think of,” he said. “Unless Deborah stumbled on something illegal going on in the school-something to do with sex or drugs, perhaps-but we couldn’t dig anything up there.”
“It’s still plenty to be going on with for the moment.”
Banks stood up and walked to the door, already reaching in his pocket for his Silk Cuts.
“By the way,” Gristhorpe asked, “how is DI Stott doing?”
Banks paused at door. “He’s been walking around looking like death warmed up ever since Pierce got off. I’m getting a bit worried about him.”
“Maybe he’ll be better after a weekend’s rest?”
“Maybe.”
As he walked back to his own office, Banks heard raised voices down the corridor and went to see what was happening. There, at the bottom of the staircase, stood John Spinks and DC Susan Gay.
II
“The problem is not with your teaching ability, Owen. You have demonstrated that to us quite clearly over the years.”
“Then I don’t understand,” Owen said. “Why can’t I have my job back?” He was sitting in the chairman’s book- lined office. Peter Kemp, with his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his freckles and ginger hair like tufts on a coconut sat behind the untidy desk. “Kemp the Unkempt,” the staff members had nicknamed him. To one side, a computer hummed, white cursor blinking in anticipation on an empty blue screen.
Kemp leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. Owen could see a dark patch of sweat under each arm. “Technically, Owen,” Kemp said, “you can’t demand back a job you never had. Remember, you were employed purely on a term-to-term basis, no guarantees. We simply can’t use you next term.”
As he spoke, Kemp looked at Owen down his nose, under the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses, as an entomologist might regard an especially interesting but ugly new bug. The office smelled of Polo mints and fresh paint. Owen longed to let in some air, but he knew from experience that none of the windows opened.
“I was depending on you,” Owen said. “You’ve always renewed my contract before.”
Kemp sat forward and rested his hairy forearms on the desk. “Ah, yes. But this time you left us in a bit of a mess, didn’t you? We had to bring in someone to finish your classes. She did a good job, a very good job, under the circumstances. We can’t very well chuck her out without so much as a by-your-leave, can we?”
“I don’t see why not. You seem to be doing it to me, and at least I’ve got seniority. Besides, it was hardly my fault I got arrested.”
Kemp sniggered. “Well, it certainly wasn’t mine. But that’s irrelevant. There’s no such thing as seniority in temporary appointments, Owen. You know that. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.” And he held them together, linking his fingers as if to demonstrate.
“What about next January? I can just about get by until then.”
Kemp pursed his lips and shook his head. “I can’t see any vacancies opening up. Budgets are tight these days. Very tight.”
“Look,” Owen said, sitting forward. “I’m getting fed up with this. Ever since I’ve been in your office-and I had to wait long enough before I got to see you, by the way-I’ve heard nothing but flannel. You know damn well that you could find courses for me if you wanted to, but you won’t. If it’s nothing to do with my teaching abilities, then maybe you’d better tell me what really is the problem.” Owen had a good idea what he would hear-he had read the letter, after all-but he wanted to put Kemp through the embarrassment of having to say it.
“I’ve told you-”
“You’ve told me bugger-all. Is it the trial? Is that it?”
“Well, you could hardly imagine something like that would endear you to the board, could you? But we all understand that you were mistakenly accused, and we deeply regret any hardship you suffered.”
Owen laughed. “Mistakenly accused? I like that. That’s a nice way of putting it.”
Kemp pursed his lips. “Owen, we know how you suffered, believe me.”
“Do you?” Owen felt himself redden with anger. He gripped the sides of the chair. “Do you also believe in my innocence?”
“One must put faith in the justice system, Owen, abide by the verdict of the jury.”
“So you do believe they were right?”
“The court found you not guilty.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“But what else are we to base our judgments on?”
“What else? On your knowledge of the person, on character. On trust, damn it. After all, I’ve worked here for eight years.”
Kemp shrugged. “But I can hardly say I know you, can I? Ours has always been a professional relationship, a work relationship, if you like.”
“And my work has always been of the highest quality. So what about my job, then? If you believe I’ve done nothing wrong and you have faith in my teaching ability, why don’t I get my job back?”
“You’re making this very difficult for me, Owen.”
Owen thumped the desk. “Oh, am I? I’m really sorry about that. Maybe it just hasn’t occurred to you how fucking difficult this is for me.”
Kemp backed away slowly on his wheeled office-chair. “Owen, you’re not helping yourself at all by behaving in this manner.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve already made it clear what my position is. I want you to admit why. And please don’t tell me how bloody difficult it is for you.”
Kemp stopped edging back and leaned forward on the desk, making a steeple of his fingers. “All right,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. The college has expressed its unwillingness to employ an instructor who has a reputation for bedding his female students and photographing them in the nude. It’s bad for our image. It’ll make
