Peter Robinson - Piece Of My Heart

“Because he’d already hidden it.”

“Or lost it, as he said.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Annie. “You’d take the word of a convicted killer over a detective inspector with an unimpeachable reputation?”

“I’m just thinking out loud, for God’s sake, trying to get a handle on Nick Barber’s murder.”

“And have you?”

Banks sipped some Black Sheep. “I’m not sure yet. But I do believe that Chadwick could have obtained such a knife, tricked McGarrity into handling it, and got access to Linda Lofthouse’s clothing and blood samples. It might be a lot tougher now, but not necessarily back then, before PACE. Someone in Chadwick’s position would probably have had free run of the place. And I think he might have been driven to do it because of what had happened to his daughter. Remember, this was a man on a mission, convinced he’s right but unable to prove it by legitimate means. We’ve all been there. So in this case, because it’s personal, and because of suspicious and disturbing things his daughter has told him about McGarrity that he can’t use without bringing her into it and losing all credibility, he goes the extra mile and fabricates the vital bit of evidence he needs. Remember, apart from the knife there’s no case; it falls apart. And there’s another thing.”

“What?”

“Chadwick’s health. He was basically a decent, God-fearing, law-abiding copper with a strong Presbyterian background, probably deeply repressed because of his war experiences, and angry with what he saw around him – the disrespect of the young, the hedonism, the drugs.”

“Turned psychoanalyst now, have you?”

“You don’t need to be a psychoanalyst to know that if Chadwick really did fabricate a case against McGarrity, even for the best of reasons, it would tear a man like him apart. As Yvonne said, he was a dedicated copper. The law and basic human decency meant everything to him. He might have lost his faith during the war, but you can’t change your nature that easily.”

Annie put her glass to her cheek. “But McGarrity was seen near the murder scene, he was known to be seriously weird, he had a flick-knife, he was left-handed, and he had met the victim. Why do you insist on believing that he didn’t do it, and that a good copper turned bad?”

“I’m not insisting. I’m just trying it out for size. We’d never prove it now, anyway.”

“Except by proving that someone else killed Linda Lofthouse.”

“Well, there is that.”

“Who do you think?”

“My money’s on Vic Greaves.”

“Why, because he was mentally unstable?”

“That’s part of it, yes. He had a habit of not knowing what he was doing and he had dark visions on his acid trips. Remember, he took acid that night at Brimleigh, as well as on the night of Robin Merchant’s death. It doesn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to guess that maybe he heard voices telling him to do things. But Linda Lofthouse was his cousin, so if you work on the theory that most people are killed by someone they know, particularly a family member, it makes even more sense.”

“You don’t think he killed Robin Merchant, too, do you?”

“It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility. Maybe Merchant knew, or guessed?”

“But Greaves had no history of violence at all. Not to mention no motive.”

“Okay, I’ll give you all that. But it doesn’t mean he couldn’t have flipped. Drugs do very strange things to people.”

“What about Nick Barber?”

“He found out.”

“How?”

“I haven’t got that far yet.”

“Well,” said Annie, “I still think Stanley Chadwick got it right and Patrick McGarrity did it.”

“Even so, Rick Hayes might be worth another look, too, if we can find him.”

“If you insist.” Annie finished her Britvic Orange. “That’s my good deed for the day,” she said.

“What are you up to tomorrow?” Banks asked.

“Tomorrow? Browsing web sites, most likely. Why?”

“I just thought you might like to take an hour or two off and come out for Sunday lunch with me and meet Emilia.”

“Emilia?”

“Brian’s girlfriend. Didn’t I tell you? She’s an actress. Been on telly.”

“Really?”

“ Bad Girls, among others.”

“One of my favorites. All right, sounds good.”

“Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that nothing interrupts us like it did the other night.”

For once, it wasn’t long after dark when Banks got home, having checked back at the station after his drink with Annie and found things ticking along nicely. Brian and Emilia were out somewhere, which allowed him a few delicious moments alone to listen to a recent CD purchase of Susan Graham singing French songs and enjoy a glass of Roy’s Amarone. When Brian and Emilia finally got back, the CD was almost over, and the glass of wine half empty. Banks went into the kitchen to greet them.

“Dad,” said Brian, putting packages on the table, “we went to York for the day. We didn’t know if you were going to be here, so we picked up an Indian take-away. There’s plenty if you want to share.”

“No, thank you,” said Banks, trying not to imagine what seismic reactions might occur in his stomach when curry met Amarone. “I’m not really hungry. I had a sandwich earlier. How did you enjoy York?”

“Great,” said Emilia. “We did all the tourist stuff. You know, toured the Minster, visited Jorvik. We even went to the train museum.”

“You took her there?” Banks said to Brian.

“Don’t blame me. It was her idea.”

“It’s true,” Emilia said, taking Brian’s hand. “I love trains. I had to drag him.”

They both laughed. Banks remembered taking Brian to the National Railway Museum, or York Railway Museum, as it was then known, on a day trip from London when he was about seven. How he had loved climbing all over the immaculate steam engines and playing at being the driver.

Brian and Emilia ate their curry at the kitchen bench while Banks sat sipping his wine and chatting with them about their day. When they had finished eating, Brian tidied up – an oddity in itself – then said, “Oh, I forgot. I bought you a present, Dad.”

“Me?” said Banks. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not much.” Brian took an HMV bag from his backpack. “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to wrap it properly.”

Banks slipped the case out of the plastic bag. It was a DVD: The Mad Hatters Story . Judging by the account on the back of the box, it contained footage from every stage of the band’s career, including the earliest lineup with Vic Greaves and Robin Merchant. “Should be interesting,” Banks said. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Emilia?”

Emilia took a book out of her shoulder bag, Reading Lolita in Tehran . “Not me,” she said with a smile. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go to bed and read for a while and leave you boys together.” She kissed Brian, then turned to Banks and said, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Banks said. “Look, before you go, would the two of you like to come out for Sunday lunch with Annie and me tomorrow? If we can get away, that is?”

Brian raised his eyebrows and looked at Emilia, who nodded. “Sure,” he said, then added with the weight of many broken engagements, “ if you can get away.”

“I promise. You are staying a while longer, aren’t you?”

“If that’s okay,” said Brian.

“Of course it is.”

“If we’re not cramping your style, that is.”

Banks felt himself blush. “No. Why should you…? I mean…”

Emilia said good night again, smiled and went upstairs. “She seems like a nice girl,” he said to Brian when she was out of earshot.