Peter Robinson - Playing With Fire

“Did he have any visitors?”

“Just a couple, as far as I know.”

“At the same time?”

“No. Separate. I saw one of them two or three times, the other only once.”

“What did he look like, the one you saw a few times?”

“Hard to say, really. It was always after dark.”

“Try.”

“Well, the only glimpse I got of him was when Tom opened his door and some light came out. He was thin, tallish, maybe six foot or more. A bit stooped.”

“See his face?”

“Not really. I only saw him in the shadows.”

“What about his hair?”

“Short. And dark, I think. Or that could have just been the light.”

“Clothes?”

“Can’t say, really. Maybe jeans and trainers.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Dunno. I don’t think so. There was one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“He carried one of those big cases. You know, like art students have.”

“An artist’s briefcase?”

“I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

So if Tom was an artist, Banks thought, then this was probably his dealer or agent. Worth looking into. “When did you last see him?” he asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday when?”

“Just after dark. I hadn’t been home from work long.”

“How long did he stay?”

“I don’t know. I went back inside before he left. I was having a smoke and Tina doesn’t like me smoking indoors. It was cold.”

“So he could have still been there after you left for the pub?”

“He could’ve been, I suppose. I didn’t hear him leave. We did have the music on, though.”

“What about the other visitor?”

“I can’t really say. It was just the once, maybe two, three weeks ago. It was dark that time, too.”

“Can you remember anything at all about him?”

“Only that he was shorter than the other bloke, and a bit fatter. I mean, not really fat, but not skinny, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Only when Tom opened the door. I can tell you his nose was a bit big. And hooked, like an eagle. But I only saw it from the side.”

“Did you ever see any cars parked in the lay-by through the woods?”

“Once or twice.”

“What cars?”

“I remember seeing one of those jeep things. Dark blue.”

“Jeep Cherokee? Range Rover?”

“I don’t know. Just a dark blue jeep. Or black.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“But you never saw anyone getting in or out of it?”

“No.”

“Was it there yesterday, when the man came?”

“I didn’t see it, but I didn’t look. I mean, it was dark, I’d have had to have been walking that way. I’d seen it there before when he visited, though. The tall bloke.”

“Can you remember anything else that happened before you went out yesterday?” Banks asked.

“That sad bastard from the lockkeeper’s cottage was round again on his bike.”

“Andrew Hurst? What was he doing here?”

“Same as always. Spying. He thinks I can’t see him in the woods, but I can see him all right.”

Just like we saw you, Banks thought. “Who is he spying on?”

“Dunno. If you ask me, though, he’s after seeing Tina without her clothes on.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The way he ogles her whenever he’s around. He just looks like a perv to me, that’s all, and he’s always lurking, spying. Why else would he do that?”

Good question, Banks thought. And it was interesting that Andrew Hurst had specifically mentioned that he didn’t spy on the people on the boats. He also hadn’t told Banks and Annie about his earlier visit during their conversation that morning. Banks would have to have another chat with the self-styled lockkeeper.

“What’s going to happen to Tina now?” Mark asked.

Banks didn’t want to go into the gory details of the postmortem, so he just said, “We’ll be hanging on to her until we’ve got this sorted.”

“And after? I mean, there’ll be a funeral, won’t there?”

“Of course,” said Banks. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to abandon her.”

“Only once we were talking, like you do, and she said when she died she wanted ‘Stolen Car’ played at her funeral. Beth Orton. It was her favorite. She wanted to be a singer.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged. But that’s a while off yet. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Find somewhere to live, I suppose.”

“The social will help out. With your clothes and money and accommodation and all. Talking about that, have you got any money?”

“I’ve got about ten quid in my wallet. There was some money we’d saved on the boat, a couple of hundred. But that’s gone now, along with everything else. I’m not a sponger. I’ve got a job. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Banks remembered what Annie had told him about her interview with Mandy Patterson, about Mark’s dreams. “Someone said you wanted to be a stonemason, do church-restoration work. Is that right?”

Mark looked away, embarrassed. “Well, I don’t have the qualifications, but I’d like to have a go. I just like old churches, that’s all. I’m not religious or anything, so I don’t know why. I just do. They’re beautiful buildings.”

“What about clothes?”

“The clothes you took are all I’ve got,” he said. “Everything else went up with the boat.”

“We’re about the same size,” said Banks. “I can let you have some old jeans and stuff till you get yourself sorted.”

“Thanks,” said Mark, looking down at the red low-cost suspect overalls he had been issued with. “Anything would be better than this.”

“Can you go home for a while? To your parents?”

Mark gave a sharp shake of his head. Again, Banks knew better than to pursue the subject, no matter how curious he was to know what made Mark react in such a frightened manner at the mention of his parents. Same as Tina, most likely. There was too much of it about, and most of it still didn’t get reported.

“What about mates? Someone from the building site, perhaps?”

“I suppose there’s Lenny.”

“Do you know his address?”

“No, but he’s in the George most lunchtimes. Besides, the people at the site know him.”

“Do you think he’d be willing to put you up for a couple of nights until you find a flat, get on your feet again?”

“Maybe. Look, don’t worry about me,” Mark said. “I’ll be all right. I’m used to taking care of myself. Can I go back to my cell now? I didn’t sleep, and I’m dog-tired.”

Banks glanced at his watch. “It’s lunchtime. I hear they do a decent burger and chips.”

Mark stood up. The two of them walked downstairs, where Banks handed Mark over to one of the constables on duty, who would escort him down to the basement custody facilities. Then Banks walked out into the market square and headed for the Queen’s Arms. He fancied a beef burger and chips, too, but he’d have to miss out on his usual lunchtime pint. He was going to Adel to talk to Tina’s parents, and he didn’t want the smell of beer on his breath when he spoke to Dr. Patrick Aspern.

After stopping off at home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, Banks headed down to Adel early that afternoon, listening to the same Beethoven string quartet that had been playing on the radio during his talk with Mark: number 12 in E flat.

The fog had thinned to a mere gauze, except in patches, so it wasn’t a difficult drive, and the temperature was heading toward double figures. One or two hardy souls were out playing on the golf course near Harrogate, dressed in sweaters and jeans.