Banks could understand why. ‘Did anyone know you were going shopping after your therapy session the other evening?’ he asked.
‘Nobody. At least, I… I mean, Caroline knew.’
‘Apart from Caroline.’
‘She might have told someone, though I can’t think why. I certainly don’t announce such domestic trivia to the world at large.’
‘Of course not. But you might have mentioned it to someone?’
‘I might have. In passing.’
‘But you can’t remember to whom?’
‘I can’t even remember mentioning it to anyone other than Ursula, my therapist. Why is it important?’
‘Did your husband know?’
She uncrossed her legs and shifted in her chair. Claude? Why would he?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
Veronica shook her head. ‘I told you, I’ve not seen him for a while. He phoned me yesterday to offer his condolences, but I don’t think it would be a good time tor us to meet again. Not for a while.’
‘Tell me, is there any chance that your husband knew Caroline Hartley before you introduced them?’
‘What a strange question. No, of course he didn’t. How could he, without my knowing?’
Banks shook his head and gestured to Susan that they were about to leave. They stood up.
‘Thanks for your time,’ Banks said at the door. ‘I hope it wasn’t too painful for you.’
‘Not too much, no. Incomprehensible, perhaps, but the pain was bearable.’
Banks smiled. ‘I told you, it’s best to leave the sorting out to us.’
She looked away. ‘Yes.’
As he turned, she suddenly touched his arm and he swung around to face her again. ‘Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘This woman, Ruth. If you do find her, would you tell me? I know it’s foolish, but I’d really like to meet her. From what Caroline told me, Ruth had quite an influence on her, on the kind of life she’d begun to make for herself. I’m being honest with you. I know nothing more about her than that.’
Banks nodded. ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do. And if you remember anything else, please call me.’
She started to say something, but it turned into a quick ‘Goodbye’ and a hastily closed door.
The chill hit them as soon as they walked out into Oakwood Mews. Banks shivered and slipped on his black leather gloves, a Christmas present from Sandra. The sky looked like iron and the pavement was slick with ice.
‘Well,’ Susan said, as they walked carefully down the street, ‘she didn’t have much to tell us, did she?’
‘She’s holding back. I think she’s telling the truth about not knowing the woman in the photograph, but she’s holding back about almost everything else. Maybe you could pick up the key from the station and drop in at the community centre. Caroline may have left some of her things there, in a locker, maybe, or a dressing-table drawer.’
Susan nodded. ‘Do you think we should bring her in to the station and press her a bit harder? I’m sure she knows something. Maybe if we kept her for a while, wore down her resistance…?’
Banks looked at Susan and saw a smart young woman with earnest blue eyes, tight blonde curls and a slightly snub nose gazing back at him. Good as she is, he thought, she’s got a long way to go yet.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It won’t do any good. She’s not holding back for reasons of guilt. It’s a matter of pride and privacy with her. You might break her, given time, but you’d have to strip her of her dignity to do so, and she doesn’t deserve that.’
Whether Susan understood or not, Banks didn’t really know. She nodded slowly, a puzzled look clouded her eyes, then she shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her navy-blue coat and marched up King Street beside him. The crusted ice crackled and creaked under their winter boots.
THREE
There were certainly no dressing rooms at the community centre, not even for the lead players; nor were there any lockers. Susan wondered how they would manage when the play opened and they had to wear costumes and make-up. As she nosed around idly, she reflected on her Christmas.
On Christmas morning she had weakened and considered going to Sheffield, but in the end she had phoned and said she couldn’t make it because of an important murder investigation. ‘A murder?’ her mother had echoed. ‘How lurid. Well, dear, if you insist.’ And that was that. She had spent the day studying and watching the old musicals on television. But at least, she remembered with a smile, she had been on time on Christmas Eve to buy a small tree and a few decorations. At least she had made the flat look a bit more like a home, even if there were still a few things missing.
There was not much else they could do about identifying the three visitors Caroline Hartley had received on the evening of her death until they had more information about the record and the woman in the photograph. They wouldn’t get that until the shops and businesses were back into the swing of things again in a day or two. Banks had suggested a second visit to Harrogate for the following day, and though Susan was hardly looking forward to that, she was interested in what Banks would make of the set-up there.
Susan wasn’t sure about Veronica Shildon at all, especially now that she had met her. The woman was too stiff and thin-lipped – the kind one could imagine teaching in an exclusive girls’ school – and her posh accent and prissy mannerisms stuck in her craw. The idea of the two women in bed together made Susan’s flesh crawl.
As she poked around, looking for anything that might have been connected with Caroline, she thought she heard a noise down the hallway. It could have come from anywhere. The backstage area, she had quickly discovered, was a warren of store rooms and cubby-holes. Slowly, she walked towards the stage entrance and peeked through a fire door. The lights were on in the auditorium, which seemed odd, but it was silent and she saw no one. Puzzled, she went to the props room.
Marcia had scrubbed the graffiti from the walls, Susan noticed, leaving only garish smears in places. The trunk of tattered costumes had gone. It was a shame about the vandals, she thought, but there was nothing, really, she could do. As she had told Conran and Marcia, the police had a good idea who the culprits were, but they didn’t have the manpower to put a round the clock watch on them and could hardly arrest them with no evidence at all. PCs Tolliver and Bradley had had a word with the suspected ringleaders, but the kids were so cool and arrogant they had given nothing away.
Again, Susan thought she heard a noise like something being dragged across a wood floor. She stood still and listened. It stopped, and all she could hear was her own heart beating. Not even a mouse stirred. She shrugged and went on poking about the room. It was no use. She would pick up nothing about Caroline Hartley here by osmosis.
The door creaked open slowly behind her. She turned, ready to defend herself, and saw a uniformed policeman silhouetted in the doorway. What the hell? As far as she knew, they hadn’t put a guard inside the place. She couldn’t make out who it was; his helmet was too low over his brow and its strap covered his chin. The light behind her in the store room was too dim to be much help.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and bent his knees. ‘Hello, hello, hello! What have we here?’
It was an assumed voice, she could tell that. Pretentiously deep and portentous. For a moment she didn’t know what to do or say. Then he walked into the room and closed the door.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the Crooked Billet for a drink, and if you don’t come clean there, we’ll proceed to Mario’s for dinner.’
Susan squinted in the poor light and saw that under the ridiculous helmet stood James Conran himself. Out of angry relief, she said, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, taking off the helmet. ‘Couldn’t resist playing a little joke. I saw you when you peeked into the auditorium. I’d just dropped by to check out some blocking angles from the floor.’
‘But the uniform,’ Susan said. ‘I thought the costumes had all been destroyed.’
‘This? I found it under the stage with a lot more old stuff. Been there for years. I suppose our previous incarnation must have left it all behind.’
Susan laughed. ‘Do you always dress the part when you ask someone out to dinner?’
Conran smiled shyly. ‘I’m not the most direct or confident person in the world,’ he said, unbuttoning the high-collared police jacket. ‘Especially when I’m talking to an ex-pupil. You may be grown-up now, but you weren’t the last time I saw you. Maybe I need a mask to hide behind. But I did mean what I said. Would you consider at least having a drink with me?’
‘I don’t know.’ Susan had nothing to do, nowhere to go but home, but she felt she couldn’t just say yes. It was partly because he made her feel like that sixteen- year-old schoolgirl with a crush on the teacher again, and partly because he was connected, albeit peripherally, with a case she was working on.
‘I think I should arrest you for impersonating a police officer,’ she said.
He looked disappointed, and a faint flush touched his cheeks. ‘At least grant the condemned man his last wish, then. Surely you can’t be so cruel?’
Still Susan deliberated. She wanted to say yes, but she felt as if a great stone had lodged in her chest and wouldn’t let out the air to form the words.
‘Some other time, perhaps, then?’ Conran said. ‘When you’re not so busy.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Susan said, laughing. ‘I’ve got time for a quick one at the Crooked Billet at least.’ To hell with it, she thought. Why not? It was about time she had some fun.
He brightened. ‘Good. Just a minute then. Let me change back into my civvies.’
‘One thing first,’ Susan said. ‘Did Caroline or any of the cast keep any of their private things here? I can’t seem to find any lockers or changing areas.’
‘We just have to make do with what we have,’ Conran said. ‘It’s all right at the moment, but at dress rehearsal and after… well, we’ll see what we can do about some of those little cubby-holes off the main corridor.’
‘So there’s not likely to be anything?’
‘Afraid not. If people brought their handbags or briefcases to rehearsal, we just left them in here while we were on stage. The back door was locked, so nobody
