Peter Robinson - A Necessary End

"I know who you are, sir," the PC said. "Ernie Childers told me. I'm PC Grant, Tony Grant. Ernie warned me. Said you were asking questions about Eddie Gill."

"Just routine," Banks said. "Like we do in all murder investigations."

Grant glanced over his shoulder. "Look, sir," he said, "I can't talk to you here."

"Where, then?" Banks felt his heart speed up.

"Do you know the Angel's Trumpet?"

Banks shook his head. "Don't know the place well. Only been here once before."

'it'll take too long to explain," Grant said. They finished helping themselves to dessert and turned around just in time to spot one of Grant's colleagues walking towards them.

"Marine Drive, then, just round from the fun-fair," Banks said quickly out of the corner of his mouth. It was the only place he could think of offhand. "About an hour."

"Fine," Grant said as a uniformed sergeant joined them.

"Good of you to come, Chief Inspector," the sergeant said, holding out his hand. "We appreciate it."

Grant had merged back into the crowd, and as Banks exchanged trivialities with the sergeant, his mind was on the meeting ahead, and the nervous, covert way in which it had been arranged.

"He made me feel dirty," Mara said to Seth. "The way he looked at me."

"Don't let it get to you. That's just his technique. He's trying to goad you into saying something you'll regret."

"But what about Paul? You saw the way he was picking on him. What can we do?"

Paul had taken off as soon as Burgess and Hatchley left. He had said he was feeling claustrophobic and needed a walk on the moors to calm down after the onslaught. He hadn't objected to Zoe's company, so Seth and Mara were left alone.

"What is there to do?" Seth said.

"But you saw the way that bastard went at him. I wouldn't put it past him to frame Paul if it came down to it. He has got a record."

"They'd still need evidence."

"He could plant it."

"He couldn't just plant any old knife. It'd have to be the one that fitted the wound. They have scientists working for them. You can't put things across on that lot so easily, you know."

"I suppose not." Mara bit her lip and decided to take the plunge. "Seth? Have you noticed that the knife's missing? That old flick-knife from the mantelpiece."

Seth looked at her in silence for a while. His brown eyes were sad, and the bags under them indicated lack of sleep. "Yes," he said, "I have. But I didn't say anything. I didn't want to cause any alarm. It'll probably turn up."

"But what if… what if that was the knife?"

"Oh come on, Mara, surely you can't believe that. There are plenty of flick-knives in the country. Why should it be that one? Somebody's probably borrowed it. It'll turn up."

"Yes. But what if? I mean, Paul could have taken it, couldn't he?"

Seth drummed his fingers on the chair arm. "You know how many people were around on Friday afternoon," he said. "Any one of them could have taken it. When did you last notice it, for example?"

"I don't remember."

"See? And it still doesn't mean it was the knife that was used. Someone might just have borrowed it and forgot to say anything."

"I suppose so." But Mara wasn't convinced. It seemed too much of a coincidence that a flick-knife had been used to kill the policeman and the flick-knife from the mantelpiece was missing. She thought Seth was grasping for straws in trying to explain it away as he was, but she wanted to believe him.

"There you are, then," he said. "Why assume it's Paul just because he has a violent past? He's changed. You're thinking like the police."

Mara wanted to, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Seth about the blood.

Somehow, along with everything else, that information seemed so final, so damning.

She had decided to get in touch with that friend of Dennis Osmond's, Jenny. Mara liked her, though she wasn't too sure about Osmond himself. And Jenny was a professional psychologist. Mara could put her a theoretical case, using Paul's background, and ask if such a person was likely to be dangerous. She could say it was a part of some research she was doing for a story or something. Jenny would believe her.

"Maybe he should go away," Seth said after a while.

"Paul? But why?"

"It might be best for him. For all of us. Till it's over. You can see how all this is getting to him."

"It's getting to all of us," Mara said. "You, too."

"Yes, but—"

"Where would he go? You know he hasn't got anybody else to turn to." Despite her fears, Mara couldn't help but want to protect Paul. She didn't understand her feelings, but as much as she suspected him, she couldn't just give up and send him away.

Seth stared at the floor.

"It could look bad, too," Mara argued. "The police would think he was running away because he was guilty."

"Let him stay, then. Just make up your mind."

"Don't you care about him?"

"Of course I care about him. That's why I suggested he get away. Come on, Mara, which way do you want it? If I suggest he goes, I'm being cruel, and if he stays he might have to put up with a hell of a lot more from that fascist bastard we had around this afternoon. What do you want? Do you think he can take it? Look how he reacted to today's little chat. That was a picnic compared to what'll happen if they decide to take him in for questioning. And we can't protect him. Well? How much do you think he can take?"

"I don't know." Things had suddenly got even more complicated for Mara, "I want what's best for Paul."

"Let's ask him, then. We can't make his decisions for him."

"No! We've got to stand by him. If we approach him, he might think we believe he's guilty and want him out of the way."

"But we'd have to approach him to ask if he'd like to go away for a while, until things settle down."

"So we do nothing. If he wants to stay, he stays, and we stand by him, whatever. If he goes, then it's his decision. We don't force him out. He's not stupid, Seth, I'm sure he knows he's in for a lot of police harassment. The last thing he needs is to feel that we're against him, too."

"Okay." Seth nodded and stood up. "We'll leave it at that. I've got to go and do some work on that old sideboard now. I'm already late. You all right?"

Mara looked up at him and smiled. "I'll manage."

"Good." He bent and kissed her, then went out back to his workshop.

But Mara wasn't all right. Left to herself, she began to imagine all kinds of terrible things. The world of Maggie's Farm had seemed at first to offer the stability, love and freedom she had always been searching for, but now it had broken adrift. The feeling was like that she remembered having during a mild earthquake in California, when she'd travelled around the States, with Matthew, eons ago. Suddenly, the floor of the room, the house's foundations, the solid earth on which they were built, had seemed no more stable than water. A ripple had passed fleetingly under her, and what she had always thought durable turned out to be flimsy, untrustworthy and transient. The quake had only lasted for ten seconds and hadn't registered above five on the Richter scale, but the impression had remained with her ever since. Now it was coming back stronger than ever.

On the mantelpiece, among the clutter of sea shells, pebbles, fossils and feathers, she could see the faint outline of dust around where the knife had been. As she wiped the surface clean, she thanked her lucky stars that the police had been looking for material things, not absences.

Banks drove along Foreshore Road and Sandside by the Old Harbour. The amusement arcades and gift shops were all closed. In season, crowds of holiday-makers always gathered around the racks of cheeky postcards, teenagers queued for the Ghost Train, and children dragged their parents to the booths that sold candy-floss and Scarborough rock. But now the prom was deserted. Even on the seaward side, there were no stalls selling cockles, winkles and boiled shrimp. A thick, high cloud-cover had set in, and the sea sloshed at the barnacle-crusted harbour walls like molten metal. Fishing boats rocked at their moorings, and stacks of lobster-pots teetered on the quayside. Towering over the scene, high on its promontory, the ruined castle looked like something out of a black-and-white horror film.