Cold Is The Grave

The article had obviously been vetted by the paper’s solicitors, and it stopped just short of libel. For example, never at any point did the reporter state that Riddle and Clough had met and talked, or that Riddle had known about Emily’s relationship with Clough – the reporter clearly hadn’t found out about Scarlea House yet – but the whole thing was a masterpiece of innuendo, and the implications in themselves were damaging enough. Banks could only imagine how Riddle’s political cronies would react to it.

Banks also realized that the damage wouldn’t stop with the political set either; this sort of thing could also easily make Riddle a pariah on the Job. Whether there was anything in them or not, such rumors could effectively end his police career. Already Banks suspected there were mutterings at high levels about a chief constable so careless as to let his own daughter get murdered while snorting cocaine in a nightclub. Not to mention the rumors of drugs and sex that went with it all. One way or another, as a politician or as a high-ranking copper, Banks imagined that Jimmy Riddle’s tenuous reign had come to an end. Humpty-Dumpty.

What surprised Banks was that he felt sorry for the poor bastard.

And what about Rosalind and Benjamin? What would all this do to them?

Banks still remembered Ruth Walker’s final question to him only last Saturday: Why did Emily’s father want her back, when he hadn’t appeared to care about her before? Banks had thought about that a lot since. At first he had suspected Riddle wanted her back to avoid more damage to his career and, to credit him with some fatherly feelings, because he was worried about her after he saw the photos on the porno Web site. Perhaps he was wrong about that. At some point in the investigation, the Riddles themselves had joined the group of suspects in Banks’s mind.

The big problem with Jimmy Riddle as a suspect was that whichever way you looked at it, Emily’s murder only made things worse for him. Sure, her continuing existence had always held out the risk of scandal, but her death guaranteed it. On the other hand, given the pressure that Riddle might have been under since Clough’s approach at Scarlea, something could have snapped in him.

And what about Rosalind? She hadn’t particularly wanted Emily back at home. She had made that clear from the start. What if she had a good reason for it, and Emily had become, somehow, a threat to her? But how? Why? It still didn’t feel right, especially given the method, but perhaps it was time to start pushing the grieving parents a bit harder.

A knock at his door jolted him out of his musings. It was DC Templeton.

“Yes, Kev?”

“Thought you’d like to know, sir, uniformed just brought Gregory Manners in. He’s waiting in interview room three.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right there. Ask DS Hatchley to sit in, too, will you?”

“Will do, sir.”

“By the way, where’d they find him?”

“Strangest place you could imagine.”

“Oh? And where’s that?”

DC Templeton grinned. “At home, sir. Nice little flat out Thirsk way.”

Banks grinned back. “Oh, and Kev, there’s one more thing I’d like you to do.”

Gregory Manners was a smoothie, right from his carefully combed, impossibly brown hair to the soles of his Italian loafers. He was good-looking in a way, and Banks could see that he might appeal to a certain kind of woman.

The interview room was a dingy, airless sort of place with whitewashed walls, a tiny wire-mesh window and metal table and chairs bolted to the floor. The old blue ashtray, stolen from the Queen’s Arms, was gone now that smoking had been banned from the building, but the air still seemed to smell of stale smoke, sweat and fear. Manners sat there coolly, legs crossed, idly staring into space. When Banks and Hatchley entered he asked why he had been brought there.

Banks ignored him and checked the tapes in the recording machine. Hatchley sat impassive as Buddha, and almost as fat.

The tapes worked. Banks went through the time, date and place routine, naming those present in the room, then he turned to Manners and said, “You’re here to help us with our inquiries, Mr. Manners.”

“What inquiries?”

“Things will become clear as we move along.”

Manners leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Should I have my lawyer present?”

“I understand you put in a call to your solicitor before you left home?”

“Before I was brought here, yes. And all I got was his answering machine.”

“They’re busy people. You left a message?”

“I told him to get up here sharpish.”

“In the meantime, you’ve been offered the services of a duty solicitor?”

“Some wet-behind-the-ears little pillock who can’t get a proper job?”

“And you’ve declined?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, Mr. Manners, let’s proceed with the interview. Just for the record, you haven’t been charged with anything yet so there’s no need to get overexcited. I’m sure your own solicitor will get here as soon as he possibly can, but in the meantime let’s just have a little chat, all right?”

Manners narrowed his eyes but sat back in his chair and relaxed, crossing his legs again. “What do you want to know? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” Banks took the CD case that Annie had found at PKF out of its envelope and pushed it over the rickety metal table to Manners. “Know what this is?”

Manners looked at it. “It’s a CD container.”

“Good. Maybe you can tell me what your fingerprints are doing on this particular CD container?”

“I suppose I must have touched it.”

“Yes,” said Banks. “Indeed, you must have touched it. Can you tell me what you were doing at the Daleview Business Park?”

“Daleview? Working. Why?”

“I don’t know, Gregory. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Well, that’s what I was doing. Working. I don’t understand this. I haven’t done anything illegal. Why are you questioning me?”

“We want to know about the operations of PKF Computer Systems.”

“What about it?”

“Is that who you worked for at Daleview?”

“Yes. But I still don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“And what if I told you that it’s dummy company? That it doesn’t exist?”

“Then I’d be very surprised indeed.”

“Who set it up?”

“What?”

“PKF.”

“I did, of course. The whole thing’s me. Just me. Look, there must be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake.”

“A mistake with the paperwork. I was sure I did it right.”

“There is no paperwork, Gregory. Bugger all. PKF doesn’t exist.”

“Well, if it doesn’t exist, then I can hardly know anything about it, can I? So why don’t I just leave now?”

“Sit down!” Hatchley slammed his ham-sized fist on the table and the noise made Manners jump.

“Hey,” said Manners. “There’s no need for that. That’s intimidation.”

“Any more of this bollocks, and I’ll show you what intimidation is,” growled Hatchley.

“I’m sure if you just answer my questions as clearly and fully as you can, DS Hatchley will listen as eagerly as I will, won’t you, Sergeant?”

“Aye,” said Hatchley, “soon as he stops trying to feed us this crap.”

Manners swallowed. “Look, what do you want to know? I’m sorry if I ballsed up the paperwork. Is it a criminal