carefully for Maggie. “You’ve recently had some involvement with what’s become rather a cause celebre involving domestic abuse. Now, while we can’t discuss the case directly for legal reasons, is there anything you
He looked hungry for an answer, Maggie thought. “Someone confided in me,” she said. “Confided that she was being abused by her husband. I offered advice, as much help and support as I could give.”
“But you didn’t report it to the authorities.”
“It wasn’t my place to do that.”
“What do you think of that, DC Proctor?”
“She’s right. There’s nothing we can do until the persons themselves report the matter.”
“Or until things come to a head, as they did in this instance?”
“Yes. That’s often the unfortunate result of the way things work.”
“Thank you very much,” David said, about to wrap things up.
Maggie realized she had weakened at the end, got sidetracked, so she launched in, interrupting him, and said, “If I might add just one more thing, it’s that victims are not always treated with the care, respect and tenderness we all think they deserve. Right now, there’s a young woman in the cells in Eastvale, a woman who until this morning was in hospital with injuries she sustained when her husband beat her last weekend. Why is this woman being persecuted like this?”
“Do you have an answer?” Dave asked. He was obviously pissed off at the interruption but excited by the possibility of controversy.
“I think it’s because her husband’s dead,” Maggie said. “They think he killed some young girls, but he’s dead, and they can’t exact their pound of flesh. That’s why they’re picking on her. That’s why they’re picking on Lucy.”
“Thank you very much,” David said, turning to the camera and bringing out his smile again. “That just about wraps things up…”
There was silence when the program ended and the technician removed their mikes, then the policewoman went over to Maggie and said, “I think it was extremely ill-advised of you to say what you did back there.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” said Michael. “It’s about time someone spoke out about it.”
The doctor had already left, and David and Emma were nowhere to be seen.
“Fancy a drink?” said Michael to Maggie as they left the studio after having their makeup removed, but she shook her head. All she wanted to do was get a taxi home and climb into a nice warm bath with a good book. It might be the last bit of peace and quiet she got if there was a reaction to what she had said tonight. She didn’t think she had broken any laws. After all, she hadn’t said Terry was guilty of the killings, hadn’t even mentioned his name, but she was also certain that the police could find something to charge her with if they wanted to. They seemed to be good at that. And she wouldn’t put it past Banks at all. Let them do it, she thought. Just let them make a martyr of her.
“Are you sure? Just a quick one.”
She looked at Michael and knew that all he wanted to do was probe her for more details. “No,” she said. “Thank you very much for the offer, but no. I’m going home.”
13
Banks found chaos outside Western Divisional Headquarters early Saturday morning. Even at the back, where the entrance to the car park was located, reporters and camera-wielding television news teams pushed against one another and shouted out questions about Lucy Payne. Banks cursed to himself, turned off the Dylan CD half-way through “Not Dark Yet” and edged his way carefully but firmly through the throng.
Inside, things were quieter. Banks slipped into his office and looked out of the window over the market square. More reporters. TV station vans with satellite dishes. The works. Someone had well and truly let the cat out of the bag. First, Banks walked into the detectives’ squad room looking for answers. DCs Jackman and Templeton were at their desks, and Annie Cabbot was bending over the low drawer in the filing cabinet, a heartwarming sight in her tight black jeans, Banks thought, remembering they had a date that night. Dinner, video and…
“What the hell’s going on out there?” he asked the room in general.
Annie looked up. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Didn’t you
“What are you talking about?”
Kevin Templeton and Winsome Jackman kept their heads down, leaving this one well alone.
Annie put her hands on her hips. “Last night, on the television.”
“I was over in Withernsea interviewing a retired copper about Lucy Payne. What did I miss?”
Annie walked over to her desk and rested her hip against the edge. “The neighbor, Maggie Forrest, was involved in a television discussion about domestic violence.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Indeed. She ended up by accusing us of persecuting Lucy Payne because we can’t wreak our revenge on her husband, and she informed the viewers in general that Lucy was being detained here.”
“Julia Ford,” Banks whispered.
“Who?”
“The lawyer. I’ll bet she’s the one told Maggie where we were holding Lucy. Christ, what a mess.”
“Oh, by the way,” Annie said with a smile, “AC Hartnell’s already phoned twice. Asked if you’d ring him as soon as you get in.”
Banks headed for his office. Before phoning Phil Hartnell, he opened his window as wide as it would go and lit a cigarette. Bugger the rules; it was shaping up to be one of those days, and it had only just begun. Banks should have known Maggie Forrest was a loose cannon, that his warning might well just egg her on to more foolish behavior. But what else could he do about her? Not much, apparently. She hadn’t committed a criminal offense, and certainly there was nothing to be gained by going around and telling her off again. Still, if he did happen to see her for any reason, he’d give her a piece of his mind. She had no idea what she was playing with.
When he calmed down, he sat at his desk and reached for the phone, but it rang before he could pick it up and dial Hartnell’s number.
“Alan? Stefan here.”
“I hope you’ve got some good news for me, Stefan, because the way this morning’s going I could do with some.”
“That bad?”
“Getting that way.”
“Maybe this’ll cheer you up, then. I just got the DNA comparison in from the lab.”
“And?”
“A match. Terence Payne was your Seacroft Rapist, all right.”
Banks slapped the desk. “Excellent. Anything else?”
“Only minor points. The lads going through all the documents and bills taken from the house have found no evidence of sleeping tablets prescribed for either Terence or Lucy Payne, and they didn’t find any illegal ones, either.”
“As I thought.”
“They did find an electronics catalog, though, from one of those places that put you on their mailing list when you buy something from them.”
“What did they buy?”
“There’s no record of their buying anything on their credit cards, but we’ll approach the company and get someone to go through the purchases, see if they used cash. And another thing: There were some marks on the floor of the cellar that on further investigation look rather like those a tripod would make. I’ve talked with Luke and he didn’t use a tripod, so-”
“Someone else did.”
