Peter Robinson - Cold Is The Grave

“Well, ask Ruth’s friends, then. It certainly wasn’t me.”

“What do you mean, ‘Ruth’s friends’?”

“Just that they’re more into drugs than I am, that’s all.”

“Selling?”

“No. Just recreational. The music scene. Clubbing. That sort of thing.”

“What about strychnine?”

“What about it?”

“Ever have cause to use it in your line of work?”

“I’m not a bloody rat-catcher, you know.”

“I mean photography.”

“No.”

“Where were you last Thursday?”

Craig frowned. “Thursday? I don’t remember. I could check… just a minute. That might have been the day…” He got up and pulled a pocket diary from his jacket out in the hall. When he opened it to the right date, he looked relieved. “Yes, that was the day. I was in Buckingham doing some publicity shots for the university.”

“Anyone see you?”

“The person who was putting the promotional brochure together. A lecturer from the law department. Canadian bloke. I can give you his name.”

“Please.”

Craig gave it.

“How long were you with him?”

“For an hour or so in the morning.”

“And then?”

“Then I walked around and took the photos.”

“So you were pretty much on your own the rest of the day?”

“Yes, but people must have seen me. Am I a suspect?”

“What do you think? Emily finished with you, and you stalked her. It wouldn’t be the first time that sort of thing’s led to murder. Obviously, if you’ve got an alibi I can cross you straight off my list. Makes life easier, that’s all.”

But Craig Newton didn’t have an alibi. He could easily have driven from Buckingham to Eastvale in about three hours. Banks had thought about the timing and decided that, while there was no telling exactly when Emily had been given the poison that killed her, the odds were that she wouldn’t have left a stash of coke sitting around for too long without snorting any. There was also the fact that she was back living at home, and she wouldn’t dare do it around her parents. It wouldn’t be much fun at home alone, anyway, even if they were out. Coke was a social drug, and most likely she would have saved it for a party, or a night out clubbing. It made most sense, then, that whoever had given her the stuff had given it to her on Thursday afternoon, after first giving her a sample of perfectly good, uncontaminated cocaine. That would explain why she turned up a bit high at the Cross Keys.

“I didn’t kill her. I told you: I loved her.”

“Craig, if you’d been in this business as long as I have, you’d realize that love is one of the strongest motives.”

“It might be in the twisted world you live in, but pardon me if I haven’t had the chance to become that cynical. I loved her. I wouldn’t have harmed her.”

“Probably not,” said Banks. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Nissan.”

“Color?”

“White. I suppose you want the number too?”

“Please.”

Craig told him. It meant nothing yet, but if they came across someone who had seen Emily getting into a car, then it could be of value. “You should be going after that boyfriend of hers, you know,” he went on. “Instead of harassing innocent people like me.”

“So you keep saying. Believe me, Craig, he’s never far from my thoughts. And I’m not harassing you. You’d know it if I was.”

“Why don’t you arrest him?”

“No evidence. You overestimate our powers. We can’t just go around arresting people without any evidence.” Actually, he could, but Craig wasn’t to know that, and he couldn’t be bothered to explain the difference between “arrest” and “charge.” “Look, Craig, I realize you’re not enjoying this, but I didn’t enjoy seeing Emily’s body, either.”

“Was it…? I mean… I’ve heard about what strychnine does.”

“Did you ever contact Emily after she’d gone home?”

“I didn’t even know she’d gone home. You never told me whether you’d found her or not, or whether she’d agreed to go back. To be honest, if I didn’t read the papers pretty thoroughly I wouldn’t even have known she was dead. I recognized the photo, but not her name.”

“I understand you were in London yesterday?”

“That’s right.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I don’t see what it’s got to do with you, but I had two business appointments – and they are listed here in my appointment book, so you can check them if you want – and I also wanted to have a look at some new photographic equipment. The High Street here may be quaint, but you must have noticed that it’s hardly chocka-block with camera shops.”

“And you had lunch with Ruth Walker?”

“Again, that’s right.”

“She had a cold, didn’t she?”

“She was sniffling a bit, yeah. So what?”

“What did you talk about?”

“We were both stunned to hear of Louisa’s death. I suppose we wanted to mourn her together for a while, toast our memories of her. She’d been important to both of us, after all.”

“Could Ruth have been jealous of you and Emily?”

“I can’t see why. It’s not as if Ruth and me were ever lovers or anything.”

“But she might have wanted it that way.”

“She never said anything. Like I told you before, Ruth and me were just good friends. There was nothing… you know… like that between us.”

“At least not in your mind.”

“It’s the only one I can speak for.”

“Perhaps she wanted there to be something?”

Craig shrugged. “I didn’t fancy her in that way, and I’m pretty sure she knew it. Besides, what you’re suggesting is absurd. If Ruth had to be jealous of anyone, it should have been the new boyfriend. He took Emily completely away from both of us.”

“Jealousy’s rarely rational, Craig. Emily breezed in and out of your lives and tossed you both aside. At least that’s how Ruth put it. How did you feel about that?”

“Ruth can be a bit melodramatic when the mood takes her. How did I feel? You know damn well how I felt. I told you last time you were here, when you were pretending to be her father. I was devastated. Hurt. Heartbroken. But I got over it.”

“Only after you’d followed her around for a while.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not proud of that. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Maybe you weren’t thinking clearly when you killed her?”

“That’s absurd. No matter how cynical you are, I loved her and I would never have hurt her.”

“So you said. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Look, are you suggesting I killed her over three months after she dumped me?”

“People have been known to brood for longer. Especially stalkers.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I’m getting sick of this. I don’t want to answer any more questions.” He stood up. “And if you want anything more out of me, you’ll have to arrest me.”

Banks sighed. “I don’t want to do that, Craig. Really, I don’t. Too much paperwork.”

“Then you’d better leave. I’ve had enough.”

“I suppose I had,” said Banks, who had asked almost all the questions he wanted. “But there is one small thing you might be able to help me with.”

Craig looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Go on.”

“Last time I came to see you, you told me that when you saw Emily with her boyfriend in London, you were taking candid pictures in the street, right?”

“Yes.”

“Were you really taking pictures or just pretending for the sake of cover?”

“I took some candids. Yes.”

“Do you still have the photos from that day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have one of Clough?”