raced over on the wind and cast their shadows across the bright face of Crow Scar.
‘Said he was in a bit of a state,’ Hatchley went on. ‘Shook up, like. Downed a quick double Scotch and went on his way.’
The scrap of information Constable Weaver had been so eager to impart was that the barman of the Dog and Gun had told him Steadman had dropped in just after ten o’clock on Saturday night. He hadn’t come forward earlier because he had been away fishing in Scotland and hadn’t even heard about the murder.
‘I can tell you the reason for that,’ Banks said, and proceeded to tell Hatchley about his interview with Major Cartwright. This took some of the wind out of the sergeant’s sails, and he muttered a surly ‘No’ when Banks asked him if there had been any other developments.
Hatchley began to smile again, however, as soon as he sniffed the beer fumes and tobacco smoke in the Bridge. They sat at the same scarred table as they had on their previous visit, and soon had two pints of Theakston’s bitter before them and two steak and mushroom pies on order.
‘Steadman could have gone back to the cottage though, couldn’t he?’ Hatchley said. ‘Maybe he came to the boil when he thought about how he’d let the major walk all over him, so he went back to settle things. We can’t rule him out yet, or the girl.’
‘No, we can’t. Steadman could have waited for the coast to clear and gone back to finish what he and Penny had started before they were interrupted. The major’s certainly very protective towards her.’
‘From what I hear,’ Hatchley said with relish, ‘she always was a bit of a wild ’un. Running off to London, hanging about with those freaks and musicians. There were probably drugs involved, too, and I doubt she was very careful about who she hopped in and out of bed with. I think if she were a daughter of mine I’d keep her on a short leash after that.’
‘But the woman’s twenty-six years old. Besides, Steadman was a safe enough companion, wasn’t he?’
Hatchley shrugged. ‘As far as we know he was. But there could be more to it.’
‘Oh, there’s more to it all right. There’s always more to things like this. As far as Penny Cartwright’s concerned, there are two points in her favour. First, the old woman didn’t hear anyone else call at the cottage later, and she says Penny didn’t go out either; and second, I doubt that she was strong enough to drag the body to its hiding place.’ Banks was about to add that he had also been convinced by Penny’s genuine display of affection for Steadman, but he knew it wasn’t the kind of evidence Sergeant Hatchley would appreciate. Besides, the spell of her presence had worn off, and he was beginning to wonder if she was not just a consummate actress. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘she could have had help with the body; and there is a back door, so the old woman might not have heard if she was in the front room.’
‘Do you think the Cartwright girl really was having it off with Steadman, then?’ Hatchley asked.
‘I don’t know. You can never tell about things like that. Sometimes couples can be having affairs for years and nobody knows.’
‘Why else would he be hanging around her?’
‘There is such a thing as friendship, you know.’
‘In a pig’s eye,’ Hatchley muttered.
The pies came and the two men ate silently until their plates were empty.
‘Steadman had a lot of money,’ Banks said, reaching for his second pint. ‘And his wife stands to inherit. I’d say that was a pretty good motive, wouldn’t you?’
‘But we know she couldn’t have done it,’ Hatchley objected. ‘I mean, why complicate something that’s difficult enough already?’
‘She could have hired someone.’
‘But Helmthorpe isn’t New York or London.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I once knew of a chap in Blackpool who had a price list – arms fifty quid, legs seventy-five and so on. Mind you, his rates have probably gone up a bit with inflation now. It’s naive to think that kind of thing is restricted to the south, and you should bloody well know that as well as anyone. Are you telling me there’s no one in Eastvale would take a job like that? What about Eddie Cockley, for one? Or Jimmy Spinks? He’d slit his own mother’s throat for the price of a pint.’
‘Aye,’ said Hatchley, ‘but how would a woman like Mrs Steadman get mixed up with the likes of Cockley and Spinks?’
‘I admit it’s unlikely, but hardly more than anything else in this bloody business. Put it this way: we don’t know much about the Steadmans’ marriage. It seemed ordinary enough on the surface, but what did she think about him and Penny Cartwright, for example? Maybe she was mad with jealousy. We just don’t know. And even if we ask them, they’ll lie. For some reason, they’re all protecting one another.’
‘Perhaps they suspect each other.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
Hatchley guzzled his pint.
‘You know what the trouble with this case is, Sergeant?’ Banks went on. ‘Everyone except Major Cartwright seems to think the sun shone out of Steadman’s arse.’
Hatchley grinned. They drained their glasses and set off to see Hackett.
FOUR
Teddy Hackett sat in his office, part of an old mill that looked out on the River Swain behind the garage. The window was open and scents of flowers floated in with the sound of water rushing over pebbles. Occasionally a bee strayed from the clematis that clung to the stone wall, buzzed into the room and, finding nothing of interest in human affairs, meandered out again.
Hackett was nervous and sweaty right from the start. He sat behind the defence of his cluttered desk, back to the window, and toyed with a letter opener as Banks faced him from a chair. Hatchley leaned against the wall by the window. Banks filled his pipe, got it going, then brought up the subject of Hackett’s false alibi.
‘From what we’ve been able to discover, you arrived at the KitKat Klub alone and after one o’clock, a little later than you said.’
Hackett squirmed. ‘I’m not very good at times. Always late for appointments, that’s me.’
Banks smiled. ‘That’s not a very good habit for a businessman, is it? Still, that’s no concern of mine. What I want to know is what you were doing before then.’
‘I told you,’ Hackett said, slapping his palm with the letter opener. ‘I went to a pub and had a couple of drinks.’
‘But closing time on Saturday is eleven o’clock, Mr Hackett. Even on the most liberal of premises you’d be out in the street by eleven thirty. What did you do between eleven thirty and one o’clock?’
Hackett shifted his weight from cheek to cheek and rubbed his chin. ‘Look, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. Know what I mean? But when you get pally with the bar staff you can sometimes get in an extra drink or two. Especially when the local copper’s there, too.’ He winked. ‘I mean, if young Weaver ever wanted to-’
‘I don’t want to hear about Constable Weaver,’ Banks cut in. ‘I want to hear about you, and I’m getting impatient. What you’re saying is that the publican broke the licensing laws by serving you after hours, as late as one o’clock. Is that what happened?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. It was more in the nature of a drink or two together. Privacy of his own home, like. There’s no law says a man can’t have a mate in for a drink whenever he wants, is there?’
‘No, not at all,’ Banks answered. ‘Let’s say you weren’t breaking any laws, then. If you were so pally with the manager you’ll remember the name of the pub, won’t you?’
‘I thought I told you already. Didn’t I?’
Banks shook his head.
‘I thought I did. I meant to. It was the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street, near the club.’ Hackett put down his letter opener and lit a cigarette, taking deep noisy drags.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Banks. ‘It wasn’t the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street. The manager says he knows you, right enough, and that you’d been in on Friday, but not Saturday. Where were you, Mr Hackett?’
Hackett looked crestfallen. ‘He must have been mistaken. Got a bad memory, old Joey. I’m sure if you ask
