the stuff from the Curry’s warehouse job was stashed. That sort of thing.”
“So you’re Shaw’s snitch?”
“I’ve been happy to help out now and then. He’ll see me all right. So do us a favor and bugger off, then just maybe I won’t tell your boss you’ve been round upsetting me.”
“Do you own a beige van?” Michelle asked.
“What? I don’t own a van at all. Dark blue Corsa, if you must know.”
“Ever done time for burglary?”
“You’ve read my form. Did you notice anything about burglary?”
Michelle hadn’t. So Wayman most likely wasn’t responsible for the damage to her flat and the attempt on her life. Somehow, she sensed he didn’t have the subtlety to do what had been done with the dress, even if his employer had told him about Melissa. He clearly wasn’t the only villain on Shaw’s payroll. Michelle sensed DC Collins paying rapt attention beside her. She glanced at him and he raised his eyebrows. “Look,” she said, wishing she could sit down. Her shoes were killing her. But it wasn’t worth catching something. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Des. GBH is bad enough in itself, but against a copper, well… you don’t need me to tell you…”
For the first time, Wayman looked worried. “But I didn’t know he was a copper, did I? Do you think I’d have done something like that if I’d known who he was? You must think I’m crazy.”
“But you did it, didn’t you?”
“Where’s this going?”
“Up to you, Des.”
“What do you mean?”
Michelle spread her hands. “I mean it’s up to you where it goes from here. It could go to the station, to the lawyers, to court eventually. Or it could end here.”
Wayman swallowed. “End? How? I mean… I don’t…”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
“You promise?”
“Only if you tell me what I want to know.”
“It goes no further?”
Michelle looked at DC Collins, who looked lost. “No,” she said. “This bloke you and your friend assaulted last night, what did Shaw tell you about him?”
“That he was a small-time villain from up north looking to get himself established on our patch.”
“And what did Detective Superintendent Shaw ask you to do?”
“Nip it in the bud.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Shaw didn’t want to know. I mean, he’d just asked me to handle the situation, do something about it. He didn’t tell me how, and he didn’t want to know.”
“But it usually meant violence?”
“Most people understand a thump on the nose.”
“That’s your understanding of the situation?”
“If you like.”
“So that’s what you did?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find out he was in town?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye out. I recognized his car from when he was down here last week.”
“And how did you know where he was that evening?”
“I got a call on my mobile in the Pig and Whistle.”
“From who?”
“Who do you think?”
“Go on.”
“He said our mutual friend was drinking in a pub down the street, and if an opportunity presented itself… well, I was to have a quiet word, like.”
“But how did he… Never mind.” Michelle realized that Shaw must have been using his whole network of informers to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the Graham Marshall investigation. But why? To hide the truth, that the great local hero Jet Harris was a murderer?
“So what did you do?”
“We waited outside and followed the two of you back to the riverside flats. We were a bit worried because we thought he might be going in to get his end away, like, no disrespect, and we might not get back to the Pig and Whistle till they’d stopped serving, so it was all sweetness and joy when he came straight down those stairs and into the street. We didn’t muck about.”
“And the beating was your idea?”
“Like I said, it gets the point across. Anyway, we wouldn’t have hurt him too much. We didn’t even get a chance to finish. Some interfering bastard walking his dog started making a lot of noise. Not that we couldn’t have dealt with him, too, but the bloody dog was waking the whole street up.”
“And that’s everything?” Michelle asked.
“Scout’s honor.”
“When were you ever a scout?”
“Boys’ Brigade, as a matter of fact. What’s going to happen now? Remember what you promised.”
Michelle looked at DC Collins. “What’s going to happen now,” she said, “is that we’re going to go away, and you’re going to the Lord Nelson to drink yourself into a stupor. And if you ever cross my path again, I’ll make sure they put you somewhere that’ll make the Middle East look like an alcoholic’s paradise. That clear?”
“Yes, ma’m.” But Wayman was smiling. The prospect of a drink in the present, Michelle thought, by far outdid any fears for the future. He wouldn’t change.
“Do you think you can tell me what all that was about?” asked DC Collins when they got outside.
Michelle took a deep breath and smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Of course, Nat. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark so long, but I think you’ll understand when you hear what I have to say. And I’ll tell you over a pie and a pint. My treat.” She looked around. “But not in the Lord Nelson.”
Chapter 17
Glad you could come, Alan,” said Mrs. Marshall, sticking out her black-gloved hand. “My, my. You’ve been in the wars.”
Banks touched his lip. “It’s nothing,” he said.
“I hope you’ll come back to the house for drinks and sandwiches.”
They were standing outside the chapel in the light drizzle after Graham’s funeral. It had been tasteful enough, as such things went, Banks thought, though there was something odd about a funeral service for someone who has been dead over thirty years. They had the usual readings, including the Twenty-third Psalm, and Graham’s sister gave a short eulogy throughout which she verged on tears.
“Of course,” Banks said, shaking Mrs. Marshall’s hand. Then he saw Michelle walking down the path under her umbrella. “Excuse me a moment.”
He hurried along after Michelle. During the service, he had caught her eye once or twice and she had looked away. He wanted to know what was wrong. She had said earlier that she wanted to talk to him. Was it about last night? Was she having regrets? Did she want to tell him she’d made a mistake and didn’t want to see him again? “Michelle?” He put his hand gently on her shoulder.
Michelle turned to face him. When she looked him in the eye, she smiled and lifted the umbrella so it covered his head, too. “Shall we walk awhile?”
“Fine,” said Banks. “Everything okay?”
“Of course it is. Why do you ask?”
So there was nothing wrong. Banks could have kicked himself. He’d got so used to feeling that his every move,
