was his guide from the spirit-world: a silent and shapeless guide perhaps, but present nonetheless.
Banks looked back at the game just in time to see the batsman swipe a badly paced off-spinner towards the boundary. The bowler found his length in the next two deliveries though, and play slowed down as the batsman was forced to switch to defensive tactics. Banks, aided by the warm air, drifted back into a reverie about his first year and a half in Yorkshire.
The landscape, it went without saying, he found beautiful. It was wild and rough, unlike the southern downs, but its scale inspired awe. And the people. Whatever he had heard about the stubborn intractability of the Yorkshire character, the gruffness, the slowness in taking to strangers, was all true to some extent, but like all generalizations didn’t do justice to the full reality. He had grown to appreciate the stoic humour, the quick wit and instinctive good sense, the friendliness beneath the crusty surface.
Banks also liked the feeling of being an outsider. Not a stranger, as he had been among the anonymous international crowds of London, but an outsider. He knew he always would be, no matter how deep he put his roots.
Knocking out his pipe, he tried to bring his mind to bear on the case again. It had the same sordid elements as any murder, but in such an environment it seemed even more of a blasphemy. The whole way of life in the small dale – the people, their priorities, beliefs and concerns – was different from that in London, or even in Eastvale. Gristhorpe had said that being an outsider would give him an advantage, a fresh perspective, but Banks wasn’t too sure; he seemed to be getting nowhere fast.
He turned as a long shadow brushed across the white table and saw Michael Ramsden disappearing into the pub.
‘Mr Ramsden!’ he called after him. ‘A word, if you’ve got a moment to spare.’
Ramsden turned. ‘Chief Inspector Banks. I didn’t see you there.’
Banks thought he was lying, but it meant nothing. As a policeman, he was used to being avoided. Ramsden perched on the very edge of a chair, indicating through his body language that he had no intention of staying for more than a minute or two.
‘I thought you’d be at the funeral lunch,’ Banks said.
‘I was. You know what those things are like: all that false humour and bonhomie to cover up what’s really happened. And someone inevitably drinks too much and get silly.’ He shrugged. ‘I left. Was there something you wanted to ask me?’
‘Yes. Are you certain you didn’t go out on Saturday night?’
‘Of course I’m certain. I’ve already told you.’
‘I know, but I want to make absolutely sure. Not even for half an hour or so?’
‘You’ve seen where I live. Where would I go?’
Banks smiled. ‘A walk? A run? I’ve heard that writers get blocked sometimes.’
Ramsden laughed. ‘That’s true enough. But no, not me, not on Saturday anyway. I was in all evening. Besides, Harry had a key; he would have let himself in and waited.’
‘Had he done that before?’
‘Once, yes, when I had to work late at the office.’
‘He wouldn’t, say, visit another friend in the area and come back later?’
‘I don’t think Harry really knew anyone else in the York area. Not well enough to drop in on, at least. Why do you want to know all this, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘We need to know where Mr Steadman was between ten fifteen and the time of death. But there’s something else,’ Banks went on quickly, sensing Ramsden’s restlessness. ‘I’d like to talk to you a bit more about the past – your relationship with Penny Cartwright.’
Ramsden sighed and made himself more comfortable. A white-coated waiter passed by. ‘Drink?’ Banks asked.
‘Might as well, if you intend to keep me here a while. But it’s all so long ago – I don’t see how you expect me to remember. And I can’t imagine what any of it has to do with Harry’s death.’
Banks ordered two pints of lager. ‘Just bear with me, that’s all. Ten years ago,’ he went on, ‘was a very important time in your life. It was summer, and you were eighteen, all set for university, courting the prettiest girl in Swainsdale. Harold and Emma Steadman came to stay at your parents’ guest house for a month, as usual. By all accounts that was a memorable summer – long walks, expeditions to local sites of interest. Surely you remember?’
Ramsden smiled. ‘Yes, of course I do, now you put it like that. I just hadn’t realized it was so long ago,’ he said wistfully.
‘Time does seem to pass quickly,’ Banks agreed. ‘Especially when you lose your sense of continuity, then look back. Anyway, it came to an end. Things changed. What happened between you and Penny?’
Ramsden sipped his lager and brushed away a troublesome wasp. ‘I’ve told you before. Like most teenage lovers, we just drifted apart.’
‘Did you ever regret it?’
‘What?’
‘The turn of events. Perhaps you could have been happily married to Penny now, and none of this would ever have happened.’
‘None of what? I fail to see the connection.’
‘Everything: Penny’s adventures in the music business, your bachelorhood.’
Ramsden laughed. ‘You make it sound like a disease, Chief Inspector. I may be a bachelor, but that doesn’t mean I live a celibate life. I have lovers, a social life. I enjoy myself. As for Penny… well, it’s her life. Who’s to say things haven’t turned out for the best for her, too?’
Banks tried to coax his pipe alight. A baby in a high chair two tables away started to cry. Its cheeks were smeared with strawberry jam. ‘Perhaps if Steadman hadn’t come along, though, and spirited her away…?’
‘What are you suggesting? That Harry and Penny were involved?’
‘Well, he was older, more mature. You have to admit it’s a possibility. She certainly spent a lot of time with him. Isn’t that why you split up? Didn’t you argue about Steadman?’
Ramsden was on the edge of his seat again. ‘No, we didn’t,’ he said angrily. ‘Look, I don’t know who’s been telling you all this, but it’s lies.’
‘Did you split up because Penny wouldn’t give you what you wanted? Maybe she was giving it to Steadman?’
This time Ramsden seemed on the point of getting up and hitting Banks, but he took a deep breath, scratched the back of his ear and smiled. ‘You know, you really are irritating,’ he said. ‘I should imagine people tell you things just to make you go away.’
‘Sometimes,’ Banks admitted. ‘Go on.’
‘Maybe there’s some truth in the first part of your question. A man can only wait so long, as you probably know yourself. I was definitely ready, and Penny was a very beautiful girl. It’s only natural, isn’t it? We were both a bit naive, scared of sex, but it didn’t help that she kept saying no.’
Banks laughed. ‘It certainly wouldn’t,’ he said knowingly. ‘I dare say I’d have been climbing the walls myself. But why do you think she kept saying no? Was it something to do with Steadman? Or did she have another boyfriend?’
Ramsden thought, frowning, before he answered. ‘No, there wasn’t another boyfriend, I’m sure of that. I think it was just a matter of morality. Penny was brought up to be a nice girl, and nice girls don’t. As for Harry, I don’t think he did what you’re suggesting. I’m sure I’d have known, somehow. I suppose at times I was a bit peeved about how close they were. Not that I thought there was anything going on, mind, but they did spend a lot of time together, time she could have spent with me. Harry was so much more sure of himself than I was. I was shy and clumsy. So yes, I might have been a bit envious, but I didn’t feel the kind of jealousy you have in mind.’
‘Oh? What kind of jealousy do I have in mind?’
‘You know. The kind that eats away at you and ends in murder,’ he answered, deepening his voice for dramatic effect.
Banks laughed. Ramsden had nearly finished his drink and looked anxious to leave, but there were a couple more areas Banks wanted to probe. ‘What about her father, the major? Do you think he had anything to do with
