Peter Robinson - A Necessary End

Banks laughed. "That's not my point. Think about it. If you were there with Osmond right up until the time he got arrested, then you'd be a witness that he didn't stab PC Gill."

"I see. So Dennis is a prime suspect as far as you're concerned?"

"He is as far as Burgess is concerned. And that's what counts."

Banks wondered if he, too, wanted Osmond to be guilty. Part of him, he had to admit, did. He was also wondering whether or not to tell Jenny about the assault charges. It would be a mean thing to do right now, he decided, because he couldn't trust his motives. Would he be telling her for her own good, or out of the jealousy he felt, out of a desire to hurt her relationship with Osmond?

"I see what you mean," Jenny said finally. "No, I wasn't at the demo. I don't know what happened. Dennis has talked to me about it, of course — and, by the way, he's going ahead with his own inquiry into the thing, you know, along with Tim and Abha. And Burgess is going to come off pretty badly. Apparently he was around again today with Hatchley."

Banks knew that. He also knew that the dirty duo had got no more out of anyone than they had the first time around. They'd probably be drowning their sorrows in the Queen's Arms by now, and with a bit of luck Dirty Dick would push it too far with Glenys and her Cyril would thump him.

"Back to the demo," Banks said. "What exactly has Dennis said?"

"He doesn't know what happened to that policeman. Do you think I'd be sitting here talking to you, answering your questions, if I wasn't trying to convince you that he had nothing to do with it?"

"So he saw nothing?"

"No. He said he heard somebody shout — he didn't catch the words — and after that it was chaos."

That seemed to square with what Tony Grant and Tim and Abha had said about the riot's origin. Banks took a sip of Sauternes and watched it make legs down the inside of his glass.

"Did he ever mention PC Gill to you?"

Jenny shrugged. "He may have done. I didn't have much to do with the demo, as I said."

"Did you ever hear the name?"

"I don't know." Jenny was getting prickly. "I can't say I pay much attention to Dennis's political concerns. And if you're going to take a cheap shot at that, forget it. Unless you want a lap full of hot coffee."

Banks decided it was best to veer away from the subject of Osmond. "You know the people at Maggie's Farm, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes. Dennis got friendly with Seth and Mara. We've been up a few times. I like them, especially Mara."

"What's the set-up there?"

Jenny swirled the cognac and took another sip. "Seth bought the place about three years ago," she said. "Apparently, it was in a bit of a state, which was why he got it quite cheaply. He fixed it up, renovated the old barn and rented it out. After Mara, Rick came next, I think, with Julian. He was having some problems with his wife."

"Yes, I've heard about his wife," Banks said. "Do you know anything else about her?"

"No. Except according to Rick her name must be Bitch."

"What about Zoe?"

"I'm not sure how she met up with them. She came later. As far as I know she's from the east coast. She seems like a bit of a space cadet, but I suspect she's quite shrewd, really. You'd be surprised how many people are into that New Age stuff these days. Looking for something, I suppose… reassurance… I don't know. Anyway, she makes a good living from it. She does the weekly horoscope in the Gazette, too, and takes a little booth on the coast on summer weekends for doing tarot readings and what not. You know, Madame Zoe, Gypsy Fortune Teller…"

"The east coast? Could it be Scarborough?"

Jenny shook her head. "Whitby, I think."

"Still," Banks muttered, "it's not far away."

"What isn't?"

The waitress brought coffee, and Banks lit another cigarette, careful to keep the smoke away from Jenny.

"Tell me about Mara."

"I like Mara a lot. She's bright, and she's had an interesting life. She was in some religious organization before she came to the farm, but she got disillusioned. She seems to want to settle down a bit now. For some reason, we get along quite well. Seth, as I say, I don't know much about. He grew up in the sixties and he hasn't sold out — I mean he hasn't become a stockbroker or an accountant, at least. His main interest is his carpentry. There's also something about a woman in his past."

"What woman?"

"Oh, it was just something Mara said. Apparently Seth doesn't like to talk about it. He had a lover who died. Maybe they were even married, I don't know. That was just before he bought the farm."

"What was her name?"

"Alison, I think."

"How did she die?"

"Some kind of accident."

"What kind?"

"That's all I know, really. I'm not being evasive. Mara said it's all she knows, too. Seth only told her because he got drunk once. Apparently he's not much of a drinker."

"And that's all you know?"

"Yes. It was some kind of motor accident. She got knocked down or something."

"Where was he living then?"

"Hebden Bridge, I think. Why does it matter?"

"It probably doesn't. I just like to know as much as I can about who I'm dealing with. They were involved in the demo, and every time I question someone, Maggie's Farm comes up."

It would be easy enough to check the Hebden Bridge accident records, though where Gill might come into it, Banks had no idea. Perhaps he had been on traffic duty at the time? He would hardly have been involved in a religious organization either, unless he felt a close friend or relation had been brainwashed by such a group.

"What about Paul Boyd?" he asked.

Jenny paused. "He's quite new up there. I can't say I know him well. To tell you the truth — and to speak quite unprofessionally — he gives me the creeps. But Mara's very attached to him, like he's a younger brother, or a son, even. There's about seventeen years between them. He's another generation, really-punk, post-sixties. Mara thinks he just needs tender loving care, something he's never had much of, apparently."

"What do you think of Paul professionally?"

"It's hard to answer that. As I said, I haven't really talked to him that much. He seems angry, antisocial. Maybe life at the farm will give him some sense of belonging. If you think about it, what reason does he have to love the world? No adult has ever given him a break, nor has society. He feels worthless and rejected, so he makes himself look like a reject; he holds it to him and shouts it out, as people do. And that," Jenny said with a mock bow, "is Dr Fuller's humble opinion."

Banks nodded. "It makes sense."

"But it doesn't make him a killer."

"No." He couldn't think of any more questions without returning to the dangerous territory of Dennis Osmond, and things had gone so well for the past half hour or so that he didn't want to risk ending the evening on a sour note. Jenny was bound to be guarded if he really started pushing about Osmond again. Banks picked up the bill, which Jenny insisted on sharing, and they left. The drive home went smoothly, but Banks felt guilty because he was sure he was a bit over the limit, and if anyone ought to know better about drunken driving, it was a policeman. Not that he felt drunk. After all, he hadn't had much to drink, really. He was perfectly in control. But that's what they all said when the crystals changed colour. Jenny told him not to be silly, he was quite all right. When he dropped her off, there was no invitation to come in for a coffee, and he was glad of that.

Luckily, he thought as he tried to fall asleep, Jenny hadn't pushed him about his own theories. If she had, he would have told her — and trusted her to make sure it got no further — about his little chat with Tony Grant on Marine Drive, the implications of which put a different light on things.