Peter Robinson - A Dedicated Man

‘It’s ludicrous,’ Penny said, as if she had been listening in on Banks’s thoughts. ‘I see what you mean when you say you’re stuck.’ She finished her drink, put down the glass, and stood up to leave.

Banks stayed on, drinking rather gloomily and craving another cigarette. Then Hatchley walked in. The sergeant brought two pints over and wedged himself into the chair Penny had just left.

‘Any developments?’ Banks asked.

‘Weaver’s men have talked to someone who saw Sally Lumb in the public call box on Hill Road at four o’clock Friday afternoon,’ Hatchley reported. ‘And someone else thinks he saw her walking along Helmthorpe High Street at about nine o’clock.’

‘What direction?’

‘East.’

‘She could have been going anywhere.’

‘Except west,’ Hatchley said. ‘By the way, I’ve been in touch with a mate of mine in York. Keeps tabs on all the queers and perverts down there, and there’s nothing on Ramsden at all. Not a dicky bird.’

‘I didn’t think there would be,’ Banks said glumly. ‘We’re barking up the wrong tree, Sergeant.’

‘That’s as maybe, but who’s going to lead us to the right ’un?’

Banks watched the rain stream down the dirty window-pane and sighed. ‘Do you think the two are linked?’ he asked. ‘Steadman and the Lumb girl?’

Hatchley wiped his lips with the back of his hand and burped. ‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? The girl has the only piece of real information we get about the dumping of Steadman’s body, and she goes missing.’

‘But she’d already told us what she knew.’

‘Did the killer know that?’ Hatchley asked.

‘It doesn’t matter, does it? He didn’t even know anybody had heard him burying Steadman below Crow Scar, unless…’

‘Unless the girl let him know.’

‘Right. Either intentionally or otherwise. But that still assumes she knew more than she told us, that she knew who it was.’

‘Not if it was unintentional,’ Hatchley pointed out. ‘A girl like that tells all her friends, maybe hints that she knows more than she does. This is a small place, remember. It’s not like London. It’s easy to be overheard here, and word travels quickly.’

‘The coffee bar,’ Banks muttered.

‘Come again?’

‘The coffee bar. The place she hung around with her friends. Come on, we’d better question those girls again. If they know what Sally knew, they could be in danger as well. I didn’t want them to think that Sally had been killed, or that her disappearance had anything to do with Steadman, but there’s no time for softly-softly any more.’

Hatchley gulped down the rest of his pint, then dragged himself to his feet and plodded along behind.

Anne Downes was both nervous and excited to find herself in the police station. Not that it was much of a place, but it was alive with important activity: people coming and going, phones ringing, the ancient telex machine clattering. The two other girls paid less attention to their surroundings and seemed more preoccupied with their internal sense of unease. Hazel was the worst, biting her nails and shifting position as if she had St Vitus’s dance; Kathy pretended to lounge coolly, casually uninterested in the whole affair, but she was biting her lower lip so hard it turned red.

The policewoman had been friendly enough when she’d picked them up at the coffee bar and driven them the short distance to the station, and the small attractive chief inspector had smiled and said he wouldn’t keep them long. But they all knew there was something going on.

Anne was the first to be called into the tiny interview room. Its walls were bare and the mere two chairs and a table made the place seem over-furnished. It was the kind of room that made you claustrophobic.

Banks sat opposite Anne, and a policewoman with a notebook in her hand stood in the corner by a narrow barred window.

‘I’d just like to ask you a few questions, Anne,’ Banks began.

She looked at him quizzically from behind the thick lenses and nodded.

‘First of all, I suppose you know why I want to see you again?’

‘Yes,’ Anne replied. ‘You think Sally’s been murdered because of something she knew.’

Banks, taken aback by her directness, asked what her opinion was.

‘I’d say it’s possible, yes,’ Anne answered, her young brow furrowed in thought. ‘I’ve already told you that I don’t believe she’s run away or got lost, and that doesn’t leave much more to choose from, does it, especially with this other business going on?’

She’d make a good detective, Banks thought – quick, perceptive, logical. ‘Have you got any other ideas?’ he asked.

‘Maybe I was wrong,’ Anne said, her voice beginning to shake.

‘Wrong about what?’

‘When I said Sally was all talk, all big ideas. Maybe she really did know something. Maybe she thought she’d make a name for herself by following it up.’

‘Why should she do that?’

Anne adjusted her glasses and shook her head. The thick lenses magnified the tears forming in her eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered.

‘Did she tell you anything at all that indicated she knew who the person was? Think about it. Anything.’

Anne thought, and the tears held off. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘She just hinted that she knew things, that she’d solved some kind of mystery. I mean, yes, she did sort of say that she knew who it was, but she didn’t give us any names or anything. She said she had to make sure; she didn’t want to cause any trouble.’

‘Do Sally’s parents have a telephone?’

‘Yes. They’ve had one for ages. Why?’

‘Can you think of any reason why Sally would use a public phone box on Friday afternoon?’

‘No.’

‘Not even if she wanted to call Kevin or some other boyfriend? I know that parents aren’t always understanding.’

‘There was only Kevin, and Sally’s mum and dad knew about him. They weren’t a hundred per cent keen, but he’s a nice enough boy, so they didn’t make a fuss about it.’

‘Did Sally say where she was going on Friday evening?’

‘No. I’d no idea she was going anywhere.’

‘Thank you very much, Anne,’ Banks said.

The policewoman showed her out and brought Kathy Chalmers in next. Kathy was upset by then, but there were no tears, and although she seemed to realize dimly what it was all about, she had nothing to add.

The last girl, Hazel Kirk, was another matter. She knew as well as the others what was going on, but she pretended ignorance. She said she couldn’t even remember whether Sally had said anything about knowing who the killer was. The more Banks questioned her, the more fidgety and edgy she became. Finally she burst into tears and told Banks to leave her alone. He nodded to the policewoman, who moved forward to speak to her, and left the room.

Sergeant Hatchley was sitting on the edge of Weaver’s desk looking over reports from provincial police and railway authorities. He glanced up as Banks approached. ‘Any luck?’

Banks shook his head. ‘The first one’s the most intelligent, but even she couldn’t tell us much. What she did say confirms our suspicions though. If Sally thought she knew who the killer was and arranged for a meeting, then we can be pretty sure what’s happened to her. It must have been someone she knew, someone she wasn’t afraid of. There’s got to be a motive, dammit, and it’s got to be right before our eyes.’ He banged his fist on the desk, surprising Hatchley with the sudden violence. It reminded the sergeant that his boss came from a tough patch. He wasn’t a plodder; he was used to action.

‘Got a cigarette?’ Banks asked.