Ann Cleeves - Killjoy

‘Yes,’ Ramsay said. ‘Perhaps.’ He paused. ‘ Do they have a big following on the estate?’

Powell shrugged. ‘ There was sympathy of course when Robbie died, but that was a long time ago. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have much influence now.’

‘You don’t think they could be stirring up the disturbances on the Starling Farm? As a way of getting back at the authorities?’

Powell laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past them,’ he said. ‘But it’s a bit far fetched, isn’t it, after all this time? Why would anyone take any notice of them? What power could they have?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Ramsay said. He stood up and seemed about to leave Powell to his work, then returned to the desk.

‘Did John know that you were involved in the death of Gabby’s father?’ he asked. ‘Had you warned him to keep his distance?’

Powell shook his head. ‘I never talked about it at all,’ he said. ‘I thought if the Pastons wanted to spread the dirt that was up to them and I’d explain if it arose. And I’ve never interfered in any of his friendships. I’d have welcomed it if he’d started going out with Gabby. She seemed a pleasant girl and I’d have been glad of a better relationship with the family.’

‘He never brought her home?’

‘Once,’ Powell said. ‘We threw a sort of party after the first night of one of the Youth Theatre productions and all the cast came along. Otherwise I’ve only seen her at the Grace Darling.’ He stood up to face Ramsay. ‘John isn’t involved in all this,’ he said. ‘ He has too much to lose.’

‘Yes,’ Ramsay said. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ But he did not meet Powell’s eyes and his attention seemed to be elsewhere.

In the Incident Room at Hallowgate police station Hunter was bored and frustrated. Any junior officer could have undertaken the routine chore of checking Gus Lynch’s finances and it was turning out to be more time consuming than he had expected. He wanted to be out on the street, feeling he was getting somewhere. Besides, he was convinced it was all a waste of time. Gus Lynch was a television star. If anyone could afford a spanking new flat down on the Fish Quay it would be him.

When Ramsay came into the Incident Room Hunter was defensive. He wished he had more information to pass on.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve nothing for you yet. I’m waiting for some people to call me back.’

‘That’s all right.’ Ramsay was surprisingly calm. All around him was the noise and bustle of people who wanted to prove to a superior that they were busy but he took no notice. ‘I’ll find someone else to do that. I want you to organize a surveillance team. On the Pastons. I want to know who comes to the house. That’s all.’

‘Why?’ Hunter demanded. ‘ What have they been up to?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Ramsay said. ‘But people on the estate are frightened of them. I want to know why.’

‘Is that all?’ What have you got? Hunter thought. You lucky bastard. You’re on to something. I can tell.

‘Yes.’ Ramsay shrugged. Humour me, he implied. ‘It’s a hunch, I suppose,’ he said. ‘It’s worth a try for a day.’

‘Of course,’ Hunter said. Anything was better than hours in the office.

‘You’ll need to be discreet,’ Ramsay said. ‘It’s a quiet street. Any unusual vehicle would be noticed. Don’t park directly outside the house. It’s a culde-sac, so you’ll see anyone approaching from a distance. Any ideas?’

‘I’ll get hold of a council van,’ Hunter said. ‘After the disturbances the council sent dozens of officers to assess the damage. No sign of any work being done yet, but you see those red vans parked on every street corner.’

‘Fine,’ Ramsay said absently. ‘Choose your own team.’

‘I’ll be off then,’ Hunter said. He felt a wonderful sense of freedom. This was how villains must feel when they were given bail.

Ramsay took over the investigation of Lynch’s finances. The task, methodical and detailed, relaxed him. It was easier at least than being out on the streets confronting people like Gary Barrass and his mother. And as he worked throughout the afternoon he became convinced that he was on to something, and that the information he gathered in tidy piles on his desk was significant.

He went off as often as he could to the top and his politeness and respect combined with his air of authority usually persuaded the people he spoke to that they should help him. From the Director of Finance of Hallowgate Borough Council he learned that Lynch had been in arrears with his community charge two years previously. A summons had been sent and there had been one court appearance. Almost immediately afterwards the debt had been paid in full. The records of the North-East Electricity Board and Northern Gas showed a similar pattern-Lynch had ignored final demands and threats of disconnection and then on the same date had paid up. At around the same time he had miraculously found enough money to put a deposit on the flat at Chandler’s Court.

Ramsay thought at first that Lynch’s failure to pay his bills might be the result of carelessness, absentmindedness. He was an actor, an artist. Would he consider the settlement of such routine debt as unimportant? But the coincidence was too strong and he began to wonder about the source of the dramatic and timely windfall.

He phoned Prue Bennett at the Grace Darling Centre and made discreet enquiries about the pattern of Lynch’s work. She had been his assistant for three years. During that time had he undertaken any outside work? A television part perhaps or an advertisement?

She was bewildered and slightly hostile but answered as accurately as she could.

‘No,’ she said. ‘ I don’t think so. He’s appeared on television during that time of course but as a representative of the Grace Darling, talking about forthcoming productions or as a contributor to a discussion show on the arts.’

‘And neither of those would have been particularly lucrative?’

‘I shouldn’t have thought so. I suppose there would be an appearance fee and expenses but we’re only talking about local television, not the South Bank Show. What is all this about?’

‘Oh,’ Ramsay said vaguely, ‘it’s probably not important. Just routine. You know.’

‘No,’ she replied tartly. ‘I don’t.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘ when all this is over perhaps you’d let me explain…’

There was a discouraging silence at the end of the telephone. At last she relented. ‘I have some news about Gus which might interest you,’ she said. ‘A news release has gone to the press today so you’ll hear about it soon anyway. He’s leaving the Grace Darling in the new year. He’s going to be artistic director of a theatre in the West Country. It’s quite a step up for him actually, after running a community project like this. He’s horribly pleased with himself.’

So, Ramsay thought, there was another interesting coincidence: Lynch had decided to leave the Grace Darling immediately after the deputy chairwoman of trustees had been murdered. But could it have any real significance? The move must have been planned months before. It could hardly have been triggered by Amelia Wood’s death. Then it occurred to him that Lynch’s resignation might have been the subject of his conversation with Amelia Wood on the night that Gabriella Paston’s body was found. If so, why had he been so secretive about it in the interview? He could surely have trusted the police not to release the news of his resignation until he was ready to make the move public. Ramsay made a cup of strong black coffee and sat in the gloomy office to drink it, allowing different ideas to connect in his mind until he had come up with a theory.