Peter Robinson - Cold Is The Grave

“It’s too early to say, sir. I’d like to have another talk with the family, maybe later today.”

“Chief Constable Riddle said something about her hanging around with some unsavory types in London. Anything in that?”

“It’s possible,” said Banks. “There was one in particular, name of Barry Clough. I’ll be having a very close look at him.”

“Any other developments? DS Cabbot?”

“We searched the people in the club last night, sir,” Annie said, “but we didn’t find anything except a few tabs of Ecstasy, a bit of marijuana and the odd amphetamine pill or two.”

“All according to PACE, I hope?”

“Yes, sir. Two people resisted and I had them taken over to the station. They were cautioned by the custody officer before being strip-searched. They were both carrying drugs in sufficient quantities for resale. One had crystal meth, the other what appears to be cocaine.”

“Any connection with Ms. Riddle’s death?”

“As far as we could tell, sir, it wasn’t cut with strychnine, but we’re holding him while it goes to the lab for tox testing.”

McLaughlin jotted something on his pad. “What about CCTV?” he asked. “Was the club covered?”

“Unfortunately,” said Banks, “the Bar None hasn’t had any cameras installed yet, but we might get something from ours.”

The installation of closed-circuit television cameras in the market square had been a thorny issue around the division that summer, when Eastvale had experienced a public-order problem caused by drunken louts gathering around the market cross after closing time. Fights broke out between rival gangs, often in town from villages in the Dale, or between locals and squaddies from the nearby army base. In one case an elderly female tourist was hit by flying glass and had to have sixteen stitches in her face.

Knaresborough, Ripon, Harrogate and Leeds had installed CCTV in their city centers and upped their arrest rates considerably, but at first the town council had pooh-poohed the idea of doing the same in Eastvale, arguing that it would take them over-budget and that it wasn’t necessary because the police station itself was located on one side of the market square, and all any officer had to do was look out of the window.

After considerable debate, and mostly because they were impressed by the rise in Ripon’s arrest rate, the council had relented and four cameras were installed on an experimental basis. They fed directly into a small communications room set up on the ground floor of Eastvale Divisional Headquarters, where the tapes were routinely scanned for the faces of familiar troublemakers and any signs of criminal activity. Banks thought it all smacked a bit too much of Big Brother, but was willing to admit that in a case like this the tapes might be of some value.

“They’ll at least tell us if anyone left after Emily and her friends arrived at the club,” he went on. “Darren Hirst was too upset and confused to be certain last night.”

“Good idea,” McLaughlin said. “Any point staging a reconstruction?”

Banks took a deep breath. Now was the time. “I don’t think so, sir. I had a brief lunch with Emily yesterday. She wanted to thank me for persuading her to return home, and she also expressed some concern about this Clough character.”

“Go on,” said McLaughlin, without expression.

Banks felt Annie’s eyes boring into the side of his head again. Even Gristhorpe was frowning. “She left the Black Bull to meet someone, or so she said, at three o’clock. We don’t know where she was between then and when she met her friends in the Cross Keys around seven. Darren said he thought she was a little high when she arrived at the Cross Keys, so I would guess that she’d been taking drugs with someone, perhaps the person who gave her the poisoned cocaine. After that, they were together as a group all evening. I think we’d have more to gain from a concentrated media campaign. Posters, television, newspapers.”

“I’m concerned about this lunch you had with the victim,” said McLaughlin.

“There was nothing to it, sir. We were in public view the entire time, and I remained there after Emily left. I think she was genuinely worried about Clough. She didn’t feel she could talk to her father, but she wanted me to know.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’d met him when I was searching for her. She knew I’d understand what she was talking about.”

“Nasty piece of work, then?”

“Very, sir.”

“Did she give you any idea of where she was going or who she was meeting?”

“No, sir. I wish she had.” Banks wished he had even asked her.

“What did she talk about?”

“As I said, she was grateful to me for persuading her to go home. She talked about her future. She wanted to take her A-Levels and go to university in America.”

“And she expressed concern about Clough?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she say he’d been in touch with her, threatened her or anything like that?”

“She said he hadn’t contacted her, but she seemed worried. She said he didn’t like to lose his prize possessions. And she thought she saw one of his employees in the Swainsdale Centre.”

“Do you think she knew something was going to happen to her, that she was in fear for her life?”

“I wouldn’t push it that far, sir.”

“Even so,” said McLaughlin, “she was a member of the public expressing concern over a dangerous situation she had got herself into and asking for police help. Wasn’t she?”

“Yes, sir,” said Banks, relieved that McLaughlin had seen fit to throw him a life belt. Banks didn’t see any point in telling him that Emily had been drinking underage in his presence, or that they had spent half a night alone together in a London hotel room.

“Good. I’ll leave you to fill out the appropriate paperwork to that effect, then, so we can put it on file in case of any problems. I should imagine you were busy at the time and simply postponed the paperwork?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfectly understandable. And you don’t need me to tell you that quick, positive results on this would be beneficial all around.”

“No, sir.”

With that, ACC Ron McLaughlin left the boardroom.

“You may leave, too, DS Cabbot,” said Gristhorpe. “Alan, I’d like a word.”

Annie left, flashing Banks a tight, pissed-off look. Banks and Gristhorpe looked at one another. “Terrible business,” said Gristhorpe. “No matter what you thought of Jimmy Riddle.”

“It is, sir.”

“This lunch, Alan? It only happened the once, just the way you say it did?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gristhorpe grunted. He was looking old, Banks thought – his unruly hair, if anything, grayer lately, dark bags under his eyes, his normally ruddy, pockmarked complexion paler than usual. He also seemed to have lost weight; his tweed jacket looked baggy on him. Still, Banks reminded himself, Gristhorpe had been up pretty much all night, and he wasn’t getting any younger.

“She was a good lass,” Banks said. Then he shook his head. “No. What am I saying? That’s not true. She was what you’d call a wild child. She was exasperating, a pain in the arse, and she no doubt ran Jimmy Riddle ragged.”

“But you liked her?”

“Couldn’t help but. She was confused, a bit crazy maybe, rebellious.”

“A bit like you when you were a lad?” said Gristhorpe with a smile.

“Perish the thought. No. She was exactly the sort of girl I hoped Tracy wouldn’t turn into, and thank the Lord she didn’t. Maybe it was easy to admire the spirit in her because I wasn’t her father, and she wasn’t really my problem. But she was more confused than bad, and I think she’d have turned out all right, given the chance. She was just too advanced for her years. I want the bastard who did this to her, sir. Maybe more than I’ve ever wanted any bastard before in my career.”