Peter Robinson: A Necessary End

"So you put up with her?"

"It was easy enough. She was only with us three days before those SS men from the hospital took her back."

"Dennis Osmond came up first, didn't he?"

"Yes. But he was too soft, they said. He didn't see why she shouldn't stay where she was, especially as she hadn't been committed or anything, just checked herself in. He argued with the hospital people, but it was no good."

"How did Osmond and Liz get along?"

"I don't know really. I mean, he stuck up for her, that's all."

"There wasn't anything between them?"

"What do you mean? Sexual?"

"Anything."

"I doubt it. They only met twice, and I wouldn't say she was his type."

"And that was the first time Seth met Osmond?"

"As far as I know."

"Did you get the impression that Osmond had known Liz before?"

"No, I didn't. But impressions can be wrong. What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure myself. Just following my nose."

"Mr Banks," Mara whispered suddenly, "do you think Dennis Osmond killed Seth? Is that it? I know Seth couldn't have done it himself, and I… I can't seem to think straight"

"Steady on." Banks caught her in his arms as she slid forward from the stool. Her hair smelled of apples. He sat her on a stiff-backed chair in the corner, and her eyes filled with tears. "All right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. That sedative takes most of the feeling out of me, but…"

"It's still there?"

"Yes. Just below the surface."

"We can continue this later if you like. I'll drive you home." He thought how pleased Hatchley would be to see the Cortina turning up again.

Mara shook her head. "No, it's all right. I can handle it. I'm just confused. Maybe some water."

Banks brought her a glass from the tap at the stained porcelain sink in the corner.

"So are we," he said. "Confused. It looked like a suicide in some ways, but there were contradictions."

"He wouldn't kill himself, I'm sure of it. Paul was back again. Seth was happy. He had the farm, friends, the children…."

Banks didn't know what to say to make her feel better.

"When he tried before," she said, "was it because of Alison?"

"Yes."

"I can understand that. It makes sense. But not now. Someone must have killed him." Mara sipped at her water. "Anyone could have come in through the side gate and sneaked up on him."

"It didn't happen like that, Mara. Take my word for it, he had to know the person. It was someone he felt comfortable with. Have you seen or heard anything from Liz Dale since she left?"

"I haven't, no. Seth went to visit her in the hospital a couple of times, but then he lost touch."

"Any letters?"

"Not that he told me about."

"Christmas card?"

"No."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"No. Is it important?"

"It could be. Do you know anything about her background?"

Mara frowned and rubbed her temple. "As far as I know she's from down south somewhere. She used to be a nurse until… Well, she fell in with a bad crowd, got involved with drugs and lost her job. Since then she just sort of drifted."

"And ended up in Hebden Bridge?"

"Yes."

"Did you see her do any drugs at the farm?"

"No. And I'm not just saying that. She was off heroin. That was part of the problem, why she was unable to cope."

"Was Seth ever an addict?"

"I don't think so. I think he'd have told me about that. We talked about drugs, how we felt about them and how they weren't really important, so I think he'd have told me."

"And you've no idea where Liz is now?"

"None at all."

"What about Alison?"

"What about her? She's dead."

A hint of bitterness had crept into her tone, and Banks wondered why. Jealousy?

It could happen. Plenty of people were jealous of previous lovers, even dead ones. Or was he angry at Seth for not making her fully a part of his life, for not sharing all his feelings? She unfastened her hair and shook her head, allowing the chestnut tresses to cascade over her shoulders.

"Can I have another cigarette?"

"Of course." Banks gave her one. "Surely Seth must have told you something," he said. "You don't live with someone for two years and find out nothing about their past."

"Don't you? And how would you know?"

Banks didn't know. When he had met Sandra, they had been young and had little past to talk about, none of it very interesting. "It just doesn't make sense," he said.

The shop bell clanged and broke the silence. They heard Elspeth welcoming a customer, an American by the sound of his drawl.

"What are you going to do now?" Banks asked.

Mara rubbed her eyes. "I don't know. I'm too tired to throw another pot. I think I'll just go home and go to bed early."

"Do you want a ride?"

"No. Really. A bit of fresh air and exercise will do me good."

Banks smiled. "I wish my sergeant felt the same way."

"What?"

Banks explained and Mara managed a weak smile.

They walked out together, Banks collecting a sour look from Elspeth on the way. Outside the Black Sheep, Mara turned away.

"I am sorry, you know, about your loss," Banks said awkwardly to her back. Mara turned around and stared at him for a long time. He couldn't make out what she was thinking or feeling.

"I do believe you are," she said finally.

"And Jenny sends her condolences. She says to give her a call if you ever need anything… a friend."

Mara said nothing.

"She didn't betray your confidence, you know. She was worried about you. And you went to her because you were worried about Paul, didn't you?"

Mara nodded slowly.

"Well, give her a call. All right?"

"All right." And tall though she was, Mara seemed a slight figure walking up the lane in the dark toward the Roman road. Banks stood and watched till she was out of sight.

Hatchley was already in the Black Sheep-halfway through his second pint, judging by the empty glass next to the half-full one in front of him. Banks went to the bar first, bought two more and sat down. As far as he was concerned, Hatchley could drink as much as he wanted. He was a lousy driver even when sober, and Banks had no intention of letting him anywhere near the Cortina's driving seat.

"Anything?" the sergeant asked.

"No, not really. You?"

"That big bloke with the shaggy beard put up a bit of an argument at first, but the little lass with the red hair told him it was best to cooperate."

"Damn," Banks said. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten. Mara's prints. Never mind, I'll get them later."

"Anyway," Hatchley went on, "most of the letters in the cabinet were carbons, but I managed to rescue a couple of drafts from the waste bin."

"Good."

"You don't sound so pleased," Hatchley complained.

"What? Oh, sorry. Thinking of something else. Let's drink up and get your findings sent over to the lab."

Hatchley drained his third pint with astonishing speed and looked at his watch.

"It's going on for six-thirty," he said. "No point rushing now; they'll all have buggered off home for the night." He glanced over at the bar. "Might as well have another."

Banks smiled. "Unassailable logic, Sergeant. All right. Better make it a quick one, though. And it's your round."

At home, Banks managed to warm up a frozen dinner — peas, mashed potatoes and veal cutlet — without ruining it. After washing the dishes — or, rather, rinsing his knife and fork and coffee cup and throwing the metal tray into the rubbish bin, he called Sandra.

"So when do I get my wife back?" he asked.

"Wednesday morning. Early train," Sandra said. "We should be home around lunch-time. Dad's a lot better now and Mum's coping better than I'd imagined."

"Good. I'll try and be in," Banks said. "It depends."