Aftermath

“Did he chat you up?”

“Not in so many words. I don’t remember.”

“Did you ever stay at his flat?”

“Yes, of course I did. It wasn’t wrong. We were in love. We were going to get married. We were engaged.”

“Even then?”

“It was love at first sight. You might not believe me, but it was. We’d only been going out two weeks when he bought me my engagement ring. It cost nearly a thousand pounds.”

“Did he have other girlfriends?”

“Not when we met.”

“But before?”

“I suppose so. I didn’t make a fuss about it. I assumed he’s led a pretty normal life.”

“Normal?”

“Why not?”

“Did you ever see any evidence of other women in his flat?”

“No.”

“What were you doing in Seacroft when you lived off Tong Road? It’s a long way.”

“We’d just finished a week’s training course in town and one of the girls said it was a good place for a night out.”

“Had you heard of the man the papers at the time called the Seacroft Rapist?”

“Yes. Everybody had.”

“But it didn’t stop you going to Seacroft.”

“You have to live your life. You can’t let fear get the better of you, or a woman wouldn’t even dare go out of the house alone.”

“That’s true enough,” said Banks. “So you never suspected that this man you met might be the Seacroft Rapist?”

“Terry? No, of course not. Why should I?”

“Was there nothing at all in Terry’s behavior that gave you cause for concern?”

“No. We were in love.”

“But he abused you. You admitted this the last time we talked.”

She looked away. “That came later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know. Christmas, maybe.”

“Last Christmas?”

“Yes. Around then. But it wasn’t like that all the time. Afterward, he was wonderful. He always felt guilty. He’d buy me presents. Flowers. Bracelets. Necklaces. I really wish I had them with me now to remember him by.”

“In time, Lucy. So he always made up to you after he hit you?”

“Yes, he was wonderful to me for days.”

“Was he drinking more these past few months?”

“Yes. He was out more, too. I didn’t see him as much.”

“Where was he?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t you ever ask him?”

Lucy looked away demurely, turning her bruised side on him. Banks got the message.

“I think we can move on, can’t we, Superintendent,” said Julia Ford. “My client’s clearly getting upset with this line of questioning.”

Pity for her, Banks wanted to say, but he had plenty more ground to cover. “Very well.” He turned to Lucy again. “Did you have anything to do with the abduction, rape and murder of Kimberley Myers?”

Lucy met his gaze, but he couldn’t see anything in her dark eyes; if the eyes were the windows of the soul, then Lucy Payne’s were made of tinted glass and her soul wore sunglasses. “No, I didn’t,” she said.

“What about Melissa Horrocks?”

“No. I had nothing to do with any of them.”

“How many were there, Lucy?”

“You know how many.”

“Tell me.”

“Five. That’s what I read in the papers, anyway.”

“What did you do with Leanne Wray?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Where is she, Lucy? Where’s Leanne Wray? Where did you and Terry bury her? What made her different from the others?”

Lucy looked in consternation at Julia Ford. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she said. “Ask him to stop.”

“Superintendent,” Julia said, “my client has already made it clear she knows nothing about this person. I think you should move on.”

“Did your husband ever mention any of these girls?”

“No, Terry never mentioned any of them.”

“Did you ever go in that cellar, Lucy?”

“You’ve asked me all this before.”

“I’m giving you a chance to change your answer, to go on record.”

“I told you, I don’t remember. I might have done, but I don’t remember. I’ve got retrograde amnesia.”

“Who told you that?”

“My doctor at the hospital.”

“Dr. Landsberg?”

“Yes. It’s part of my post-traumatic shock disorder.”

It was the first Banks had heard of it. Dr. Landsberg had told him she was no expert on the subject. “Well, I’m very glad you can put a name to what’s wrong with you. On how many occasions might you have gone down in the cellar, if you could remember?”

“Just the once.”

“When?”

“The day it happened. When I got put in hospital. Early last Monday morning.”

“So you admit that you may have gone down there?”

“If you say so. I can’t remember. If I ever did go down, it was then.”

“It’s not me who says so, Lucy. It’s the scientific evidence. The lab found traces of Kimberley Myers’s blood on the sleeves of your dressing gown. How did it get there?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“There’s only two ways it could have got there: either before she was in the cellar or after she was in the cellar. Which is it, Lucy?”

“It must be after.”

“Why?”

“Because I never saw her before.”

“But she didn’t live far away. Hadn’t you seen her around?”

“In the street, maybe. Or the shops. Yes. But I never talked to her.”

Banks paused and shuffled some papers in front of him. “So you admit now that you might have been in the cellar?”

“But I don’t remember.”

“What do you think might have happened, hypothetically speaking?”

“Well, I might have heard a noise.”

“What sort of noise?”