Peter Robinson - Friend of the Devil

There didn’t seem much that Annie could say to that. “Do you know where she went in Canada?”

“Ask the Everetts. Ruth and Charles. It’s their house she was living in, and they’re her friends.”

“Thanks,” said Annie, “I will.”

“I never went back to school, you know,” Claire said.

“What?”

“After… you know… Kim. I just couldn’t face going back. I suppose I could have done my exams, maybe gone to university, but… none of it seemed to matter somehow.”

“And now?”

“Well, I’ve got a job. Me and mum are all right, aren’t we?”

Mrs. Toth smiled.

Annie could think of nothing else to ask, and she couldn’t stand being in the room for a moment longer. “Look,” she said to Claire as she stood up and reached for her briefcase, “if you think of anything that might help…” She handed her a card.

“Help with what exactly?”

“I’m investigating Lucy Payne’s murder.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. She ripped the card in pieces and scattered them on the floor. “When hell freezes over,” she said, folding her arms.

The open-air café below Malcolm Austin’s window seemed a reasonable place for a second interview with Stuart Kinsey, Banks thought, as he and Winsome settled down at the flimsy fold-up chairs and rickety table under the shade of a budding plane tree. And as they had found him in the department library working on an essay, it was a short trip for everyone. It was still a bit chilly to sit outside for long, and Banks was glad of his leather jacket. Every now and then a breeze rattled the branches of the tree and ruffled the surface of Banks’s coffee.

“What is it you want now?” Kinsey asked. “I’ve already told you what I know.”

“That wasn’t very much, was it?” Winsome said.

“I can’t help it, can I? I feel awful enough as it is, knowing I was there, so close…”

“What could you have done?” Banks asked.

“I… I don’t—”

“Nothing,” said Banks. It probably wasn’t strictly true. If Kinsey had arrived in Taylor’s Yard at the same time the killer was assaulting Hayley, he might have interrupted things, and the killer might have fled, leaving her alive. But what was the point in letting him believe that? “You had no idea what was going on,” he said, “and besides, it was all over by then. Stop whipping yourself.”

Kinsey said nothing for a few moments, just stared down into his coffee.

“How fond of Hayley were you?” Banks asked.

Kinsey looked at him. He had an angry red spot beside his mouth. “Why are you asking me that? Do you still believe I’d hurt her?”

“Calm down,” Banks said. “Nobody’s saying that. You told us the last time we talked to you that you fancied Hayley, but that she didn’t reciprocate.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m just wondering how that made you feel.”

“How it made me feel ? How do you think it made me feel? How does it make you feel when someone you want so much you can’t even sleep doesn’t so much as acknowledge your existence?”

“Surely it wasn’t as bad as that?” Banks said. “You hung out with Hayley, you saw plenty of her, went to the pictures and so on.”

“Yeah, but mostly the whole crew was around. It was rare we were together, just me and her.”

“You had conversations. You admitted you even kissed her once.”

Kinsey gave Banks a withering glance. He felt he probably deserved it. Conversation and a couple of friendly kisses weren’t much compensation when you were walking around with a hard-on that took up so much skin you couldn’t close your eyes.

“Stuart, you’re the only person we can place at the scene of the crime at the right time,” said Winsome, in as matter-of-fact and reasonable a voice as she could manage. “And you’ve got the motive, too: your unrequited infatuation with Hayley. We need some answers.”

“Means, motive and opportunity. How bloody convenient for you. How many more times do I have to tell you that I didn’t do it? For all the frustrations, I cared about Hayley, and I don’t think I could ever kill anyone. I’m a fucking pacifist, for crying out loud. A poet.”

“No need to swear,” said Winsome.

He looked at her, contrite. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It’s just so unfair, that’s all. I lose a friend and all you do is try to make me into a criminal.”

“What happened in the Maze that night?” Banks asked.

“I’ve already told you.”

“Tell us again. More coffee?”

“No. No, thanks. I’m wired enough already.”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup,” said Banks. Winsome rolled her eyes and went over to the stand.

“Just between you and me,” Banks said, leaning forward, “did you ever get anywhere with Hayley beyond a couple of kisses in the back row at the pictures? Come on, you can tell me the truth.”

Kinsey licked his lips. He seemed on the verge of tears. Finally, he nodded. “Just once,” he said. “That’s what hurts so much.”

“You slept with her?”

“No. Good Lord, no. Not that. We just… you know… kissed and messed about. And then it was like she didn’t want to know me.”

“That would make any man angry,” said Banks, seeing Winsome on her way back with the coffee. “Having her right there, tasting her, then having her taken away forever. Thinking of other people having her.”

“I wasn’t angry. Disappointed, I suppose. It wasn’t as if she made any promises or anything. We’d had a couple of drinks. It just felt so… right… and then it was like it never happened. For her. Now, no matter what, it’ll never happen again.”

Winsome put one coffee down in front of Banks and took one for herself. “Let’s get back to Saturday night in the Maze,” Banks said. “There might be something you’ve forgotten. I know it’s difficult, but try to reimagine it.”

“I’ll try,” said Kinsey.

Banks sipped some hot, weak coffee and blew on the surface. “You all went into the Bar None around twenty past twelve, is that right?”

“That’s right,” said Kinsey. “The music was bloody awful, some sort of the industrial hip-hop subelectronic disco… I don’t know what. It was loud, too. I felt… You know, we’d all been drinking, and it was hot in there. I was thinking about Hayley, just wishing she’d come with us and feeling jealous that, you know, she was off to see some other lucky bloke.”

“So you were upset?” Winsome asked.

“I suppose so. Not really. I mean, I wasn’t in a rage or anything, just more disappointed. I needed a p — I needed to go to the toilet, too, so I went to the back of the club, where the toilets are, and I saw the door. I knew where it went. I’d been out that way before when I…”

“When you what?” Banks asked.

Kinsey managed a rare smile. “When I was under eighteen and the police came.”

Banks smiled back. “I know what you mean.” He’d been drinking in pubs since the age of sixteen. “Go on.”

“I didn’t think she’d have gone far. I know it’s confusing back there, so I figured she’d stick close to the square, just out of sight, maybe round the first corner. I don’t know what I was thinking. Honest. I suppose it was my plan to follow her and see where she went afterward, try to find out who she was seeing. I certainly wasn’t going to hurt her or anything.”

“What happened next?”

“You know what happened next. I didn’t find her. I was quite deep in the Maze before I knew it, and I thought I heard something from back toward the square. I walked closer, but I didn’t hear it again.”

“Can you describe the sound again?”

“It was like a muffled sort of thump, as if you hit a door or something with a pillow round your fist. And there was like a scream… no, not a scream… that would have really made me think there was something wrong, but like a gasp, a cry. I mean, to be honest…”