pie and a refreshing pint of shandy made from Sam Smith’s Old Brewery bitter. As he drove back to Eastvale listening to Purcell’s airs, he began to go over the list of involved characters in his mind, trying to imagine motives and opportunities.
First there was Teddy Hackett. That field business might only be the tip of the iceberg, and if Steadman had been blocking similar projects, Hackett would have a good enough reason for wanting rid of him.
Then there was Jack Barker. No obvious motive there but no alibi either, as Barker himself had admitted on Sunday evening. His glance at Penny Cartwright in the Bridge had spoken volumes, and if there was more to her relationship with Steadman than Ramsden had told him, then jealousy may have provided a very strong motive.
As for Dr Barnes, his alibi hadn’t been nearly as solid as he had seemed to think, and though there was no motive apparent yet, Banks wasn’t willing to consider him out of the running.
It seemed pointless to include Emma Steadman; for one thing she was left-handed, and for another she had been watching television with Mrs Stanton all evening. But there was the money. She did have a great deal to gain from her husband’s death, especially if the two weren’t seeing eye to eye anymore. She could, possibly, have hired someone. It was unlikely, but he couldn’t rule it out.
Ramsden seemed to have neither the motive nor the opportunity. In a way, Steadman was his bread and butter, an important client as well as an old friend. Perhaps he did envy Steadman, but that was no reason to kill him. Banks couldn’t quite work Ramsden out. There was the business of the novel, for a start. He sensed that perhaps great things had been expected of Ramsden artistically but had never really materialized. Why? Indolence? Lack of talent? He seemed to have a rather precious personality, and Banks guessed that he had been pampered as a child, most likely by his mother, and led to believe that he was special and gifted. Now he was in his twenties and the talent hadn’t really made itself manifest.
Penny Cartwright remained a grey area. She might have had both motive and means, but they had yet to be discovered. Banks wanted very much to talk to her, and he decided to go to Helmthorpe that evening. He would have to see her father, too, at some point.
One problem was that there was so much time to account for. If Steadman had left the Bridge at about a quarter to nine and his body had been dumped at twelve fourteen, where had he been and what had he been doing during those three and a half hours? Surely someone must have seen him?
Slowly, Banks’s thoughts faded as the countertenor sang a mournful ‘Retir’d from any Mortal’s Sight’ and the poplars and privet hedges that lined the road gave way to the first houses in Eastvale.
TWO
‘So you told him everything then?’
‘I didn’t mean to, Kevin, honest – not your name and all. But it just slipped out.’
Kevin leered and Sally’s expression darkened. She elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You’ve got a filthy mind, you have. It was the time that did it. Twelve fourteen. He could see I hadn’t got a digital watch. Why do you have to wear that silly thing anyway?’
Kevin looked down at his watch as if examining it for faults. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘It beeps every hour,’ Sally went on, her voice softening. ‘No matter what you’re doing.’
Kevin leaned forward and kissed her. She squirmed beneath him and he slipped his hand under her blouse to hold her soft warm breast. Her body was pressed down hard against the ground, and the moist sickly smell of grass filled the air. Insects buzzed and whined all around. Finally, she broke away and gasped for breath. Kevin lay back with his hands behind his head and stared at the deep-blue sky.
‘What did you think of him, then, this hotshot from London?’ he asked.
Sally snorted. ‘Some hotshot. Fancy leaving London to come up here. The bloke must be barmy.’
Kevin turned to face her, leaning on one elbow and sticking a long stalk of grass between his teeth. ‘What did he say?’
‘Didn’t seem very interested, really. He just asked me a lot of daft questions. I don’t know why I bothered. I won’t be so fast to go out of my way and help the police next time, that’s for sure.’
‘What do you mean, “next time”?’
‘I mean if I find out anything else.’
‘Why should that happen? It was only by chance we heard the car. We didn’t even know what it was.’
‘But we do now. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know who did it?’
Kevin shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want to get involved. Leave all that to the police. That’s what they get paid for.’
‘Well, isn’t that a typical small-minded attitude?’ Sally said scornfully.
‘It’s a sensible one, though.’
‘So? It’s no fun being sensible all the time.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Nothing. I just might do a bit of snooping on my own, that’s all. I’ve lived here all my life. I ought to know what’s going on in the village.’
‘What can you do that the police can’t?’
‘I don’t know yet, but I bet I can do better than them. Wouldn’t it be exciting if I solved the case for them?’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Sally. We’ve been through this before. You know what I think. It’s dangerous.’
‘How?’
‘What if the killer knew what you were doing? What if he thought you might be getting too close?’
Sally shivered. ‘I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Besides, you never get anywhere if you’re frightened of a bit of danger.’
Kevin gave up. Sally smoothed her skirt and lay on her back again. They were high on the southern slope of the dale, overlooking cross-shaped Gratly and Helmthorpe’s chequerboard pattern of slate roofs. Sally plucked a buttercup and held it to her chin. Kevin took the flower from her hand and trailed it over her throat and collarbone. She shuddered. He kissed her again and put his other hand up her skirt to caress the tender flesh of her thighs just below her panties.
Suddenly Sally heard a sound: a snapping twig or a thwacking branch. She sat up quickly, leaving Kevin with his face in the grass.
‘Someone’s coming,’ she whispered.
A few moments later, a figure appeared from the small copse by the beck side. Sally put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun and saw who it was.
‘Hello, Miss Cartwright,’ she called out.
Penny walked towards them, knelt on the grass and tossed back her hair. ‘Hello. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ answered Sally. ‘We’re just having a breather. We’ve been walking most of the afternoon.’
‘I used to walk around these parts a lot, too, when I was your age,’ Penny said quietly, almost to herself. ‘It seems like centuries ago now, but it was only ten years. You’ll be surprised how quickly time passes. Enjoy it while you can.’
Sally didn’t know what to say; she felt embarrassed. After an uneasy silence, she said, ‘I’m sorry about your friend, Mr Steadman, really I am. He was a nice man.’
Penny seemed to return from a great distance to focus on her. At first Sally thought the commiseration had gone unheard, but Penny smiled warmly and said, ‘Thank you. Yes, he was.’ Then she got to her feet and brushed the scraps of grass from her long skirt. ‘I must be off, anyway. Mustn’t bore you young people with my memories.’
In silence, Sally and Kevin watched her walk up the hillside with a strong, determined stride. She looked a lonely, wild figure, Sally thought, like Catherine in Wuthering Heights: a woman of the moors, spirit of the place. Then she felt Kevin’s palm against her warm thigh again.
