Peter Robinson: Watching the Dark

‘So I heard,’ said Banks. ‘You think it was Quinn?’

‘All I’m saying is that we need to keep an open mind. Back to the girl. You say she’s young?’

‘Yes.’

‘Underage?’

‘Just young.’

‘But if it even appeared that way, he could have lost his job,’ Gervaise pointed out.

‘I still think that for Quinn the biggest fear would have been his wife finding out. Anything else he could have brushed off, or dealt with. There’s no proof the girl’s underage. And she’s certainly a very attractive woman. Any man would be proud to be seen with her. Christ, some of his mates at work might even have envied him.’

Gervaise rolled her eyes.

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Why do you think he kept the photos with him?’

‘I don’t know. In my experience, people hang on to the strangest things for the strangest of reasons. Can’t complain. It makes our job easier in the long run. Maybe he was proud of himself for pulling her, and they were some sort of trophy? Maybe he was in love with her, and they were all he had left? Maybe he’d just got hold of them? Maybe he was going to pass them on to someone? Quinn obviously didn’t expect that he would never return to his room at St Peter’s last night, and that someone else would find them, unless...’

‘Yes?’

‘Unless that was why he left them there. As some form of insurance against something happening to him.’

‘You mean he was expecting to be killed?’

‘No, not that. Expecting trouble, maybe, if he’d agreed to meet someone he was wary of, to pay off the blackmailer, say. But I doubt very much that he expected to be hurt or killed. He may have left the pictures in his room as a form of insurance, in case something went wrong. They weren’t very well hidden. Quinn was one of us. He knew we’d find them on the first pass. Which means they may be important now that something has happened to him. Not just insurance, but evidence. She may be important. We need to find her.’

‘It’s not much to go on, though, is it? A handful of photographs?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘I suppose we can get someone to trawl through the escort agency file photos, check the online dating services, see if she turns up on one of them?’

‘So you think he was meeting someone he knew out there last night, maybe about something connected with the girl and the photos?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps he even thought he was meeting the girl herself? That would cause him to be less on guard.’

‘Maybe he did meet her,’ suggested Gervaise. ‘Maybe she killed him.’

‘It’s possible,’ Banks agreed. ‘But it’s far too early to speculate. One way or another, I think the pictures are connected with his murder, which is what makes me think of blackmail, that they must have been taken while his wife was still alive to be of any use to anyone.’ Banks paused. ‘Any chance of a few extra bodies?’

‘You know what it’s like these days, Alan. But I’ll ask ACC McLaughlin, see what I can do. And I’ll take care of the media. I should bring our Press Officer in on this. One of our own. A high-profile case. I’ll set up a conference.’

‘Appreciated. Winsome and the others are already working on the staff and patient interviews at St Peter’s, but we also need to go over Bill Quinn’s old cases, talk to his colleagues, see if anyone had a grudge against him big enough to kill him, any hard men recently released from jail, that sort of thing. I’ll start by paying DI Ken Blackstone a visit in Leeds before I head out to Rawdon to check out Quinn’s house. Ken knew Bill Quinn fairly well, so he should be able to tell me a bit more about what sort of copper he was. We also need his mobile phone records. Credit card and bank statements, too.’ Banks glanced over at the trophies on the bookcase. ‘Er... by the way, I noticed a few archery awards there. You don’t happen to know anything about crossbows, do you?’

‘Afraid not,’ said Gervaise. ‘I’m strictly a longbow person. And I think you’ll find that most serious archers disdain crossbows. They’re hunters’ weapons, mostly, not for sporting competitions.’

‘Well, they’re pretty easy to get hold of,’ Banks said. ‘No questions asked, as long as you’re over eighteen. They’re quiet, and just as deadly as a bullet from the right distance. We need to canvass the shops and Internet sites where people buy these things.’

Gervaise scribbled something on her pad. ‘What else does the choice of weapon tell you?’ she asked.

‘Well, I don’t know much about the mechanics of crossbows, but I assume they could be used just as easily by a man or a woman. They’re efficient, anonymous and cold. And quiet. I don’t know about the range, but it was a moonlit night, and the killer was obviously able to get close enough and stay hidden in the trees. The bolt had buried itself deep in the chest, pierced the heart, according to Tom Burns. He thinks it was shot from about fifty or sixty feet away. If the killer was hiding behind a tree and wearing dark clothing, the odds are that Quinn wouldn’t have known he was there. Or she. Dr Glendenning will be able to tell us more.’

‘It sounds to me suspiciously like a hit.’

‘That’s one possibility,’ said Banks. ‘Which is why we need to find out if anyone had a reason for making a hit on Bill Quinn. We all make enemies on this job, but it’s rare that any of them follow through with their threats, especially in such a cold-blooded way.’

‘Maybe there was another reason?’ Gervaise suggested. ‘Maybe DI Quinn had got himself into deep trouble. Maybe he’d been sleeping with the enemy. It happens. The grey area. Money. Corruption. Gambling debts. Drugs. Or a woman. The girl in the photograph, for example? She must be somebody’s daughter, if not someone’s wife or girlfriend. A jealous husband or lover, perhaps? Maybe Quinn thought he was in love with her, and that’s why he kept the photos? As you say, a trophy, or memento. All he had left of her. A mid-life crisis? Perhaps he was hoping to rekindle the romance after his wife had died and he was suddenly free. Maybe we’re dealing with a love triangle?’ She put her pad down and rubbed her eyes. ‘Too many questions, too many possibilities. How’s DI Cabbot doing, by the way?’

‘Fine,’ said Banks. ‘She’s in Cornwall staying with her father.’

‘She’s due back Monday, right. Clean bill of health?’

‘Far as I know,’ Banks said. Annie Cabbot had been recuperating from a serious operation to remove bullet fragments from an area close to her spine. The wait for surgery had been a long one — she had first had to regain strength from a previous injury to her right lung before the operation on her back could be carried out — but it had been a success in that the fragments had been removed and Annie still had the use of all her limbs. Her recovery had been very slow, however, and involved far more excruciating pain than the surgeons had expected, followed by a great deal of physical therapy, some of it at St Peter’s. The spinal cord was intact, but there had been some disc, muscle and vertebrae problems they hadn’t foreseen. Annie had coped well with the pain and uncertainty, Banks thought, getting stronger every day, but he knew that the shooting had also left her with internal demons she would have to deal with eventually. She would be unlikely to go to a psychologist or psychiatrist because of the stigma involved. Rightly or wrongly, seeking professional help for mental problems was viewed as a weakness in the force. Many coppers still maintained that it was bad for the career, and perhaps it was.

‘I was thinking of putting her on desk duties for a while, until she gets her sea legs back again. What do you think?’