Peter Robinson - Cold Is The Grave

“Why don’t you sit down and talk to me?” Banks asked.

Ruth glared at him. “I don’t like being lied to. I told you last time. People always seem to think they can just walk right over me.”

“Once again, I apologize.”

Ruth stood a moment glaring at him through narrowed eyes, then she turned the music down, sat opposite him and crossed her legs. “All right. I’m sitting. Happy now?”

“It’s a start. You know what happened?”

“I told you. I read about it in the paper, and saw it on telly.” Then her hard edges seemed to soften for a moment. “It’s terrible. Poor Emily. I couldn’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were a friend of hers.”

“Was it… I mean… were you there? Did you see her?”

“I was at the scene,” said Banks, “and yes, I saw her.”

“What did she look like? I don’t know much about strychnine, but… was it, you know, really horrible?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“Was it quick?”

“Not quick enough.”

“So she suffered?”

“She suffered.”

Ruth looked away, sniffled and reached for a tissue from the low table beside her. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s not like me.”

“I just want to ask you a few questions, Ruth, then I’ll go. Okay?”

Ruth blew her nose, then nodded. “I don’t see how I can help you, though.”

“You’d be surprised. Have you spoken with Emily since she left London?”

“Only on the phone a couple of times. I think when she split up with this Barry she felt a bit guilty about neglecting me. Not that I cared, mind you. It was her life. And people always do. Neglect me, that is.”

“When was the last time you talked?”

“A week, maybe two weeks before… you know.”

“Was there anything on her mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she confide any of her fears in you?”

“Only about that psycho she’d been living with.”

“Barry Clough?”

“Yeah, him.”

“What did she say about him?”

“She didn’t give me any gory details, but she said he’d turned out to be a real waste of space, and she sounded worried he was going to come after her. Did she steal some money from him?”

“Why do you ask that?”

Ruth shrugged. “Dunno. He’s rich. It’s the sort of thing she’d do.”

“Did she ever steal from you?”

“Not that I know of.” Ruth managed a quick smile. “Mind you, I can’t say I’ve much worth stealing. Someone ripped the silver spoon out of my mouth at a pretty early age. I’ve always had to work hard just to make ends meet.”

“When did you miss your driving license, Ruth?”

“My license? How did you know about that? It was ages ago.”

“How long?”

“Five, six months?”

“While Emily was here?”

“Yes, just after, but… you don’t mean…? Emily?”

“When the report came to me over the phone, the first officer on the scene told me the victim was Ruth Walker. He’d read the name off her driving license.”

“Bloody hell. So that’s what happened. I just thought I’d lost it. I do lose things. Especially bits of paper.”

“What did you do?”

“Applied for a new one. The new kind with the photo on it. But what possible use could the old one be to Emily?”

“I think she used it to help her get one of those proof-of-age cards the clubs give out. She wouldn’t have had much difficulty from what I’ve heard. They practically give them to pretty young girls, whether they’ve got any proof in the first place or not. The card has her photo on it, but your name and, I assume, your date of birth. Twenty-third of February, 1977.”

“Bloody hell.” Ruth shook her head. “I knew nothing about it.”

“And maybe she also wanted to drive a car.”

“She was too young to learn.”

“That doesn’t always stop people.”

“I suppose not.”

“Some of the most skilled car thieves I’ve met have been between ten and thirteen.”

“You’d know about that.”

“What did she say about Barry Clough?”

“Just that she thought she’d pissed him off big-time when she left without saying good-bye, and he wasn’t the kind of man just to let it go by.”

“Did she sound scared?”

“Not really scared. Bit nervous, maybe, in a giggly sort of way. She could put a brave face on things, could Louisa. Emily.”

“When did she tell you her real name?”

“Shortly after she came to stay with me. She asked me not to tell anyone, that she wanted to be called Louisa, so I respected her wishes.”

“Did you tell Clough what her real name was?”

Ruth jerked forward. “Give me a break! Why would I do something like that?”

“Only asking. So you didn’t?”

“No fucking way.”

“Has he been in touch with you at all, asking about her?”

“No. I haven’t seen anything of him at all.”

“What about Craig? Did you tell him?”

“No, but he might have known. She might have told him herself.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I can keep a secret.”

Banks lit a cigarette and leaned back in the armchair. “How have you been, Ruth?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Just a simple question. Healthy? Happy?”

“I’m doing all right. As well as can be expected. Why do you want to know?”

“How’s work?”

“Fine.”

“What exactly is it that you do?”

“Computers. It’s pretty boring stuff.”

“But steady? Well-paid?”

“It’s steady. That’s about the best you can say.”

“Do you own a car?”

Ruth got up and Banks followed her to the window. “There,” she said pointing, “that clapped-out cream Fiesta down there.”

Banks smiled. “I had one like that a few years back,” he said. “Cortina, actually. Nobody believed I could possibly be driving such a thing. They’d stopped making them years ago. But it was a good car, while it lasted.”

“Well,” said Ruth, folding her arms at the window. “It’ll have to last me a few years longer, that’s for sure.”

They sat down again. “Been on any trips lately?” Banks asked.

“Nope.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just being friendly.”

“Well, you don’t have to be. Remember, you’re a copper and I’m a suspect.”

“Suspect? What makes you think that?”

A nasty smile twisted Ruth’s features. “Because I know you coppers. You wouldn’t be here otherwise, asking all sorts of questions. No matter. I didn’t do it. You can’t blame me.”

“I’m not trying to. How do you know coppers, Ruth? Ever been arrested?”

“No. I read the papers, though, watch the news. I know what racist, sexist bastards you are.”

Banks laughed. “You must be thinking of Dirty Dick.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Seeing as how you think you’re a suspect, though, you might as well tell me where you were on Thursday.”

“I was here. At home.”

“Not at work?”

“I had a cold. Still have. I was off Thursday and Friday. Does that mean I’ve got no alibi?”

“You haven’t been on any trips recently?”

“No. I told you. I haven’t been anywhere. And for your information, no, I’m not screwing anyone, either. You’ve got to be careful these days. It’s a lot different from when you were young, you know. We’ve got AIDS to think about. The worst you had to worry about was crabs or a dose of clap. Either way, it wasn’t going to kill you.”

Banks smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Did you ever go up to visit Emily in Yorkshire over the past month?”