Peter Robinson - A Dedicated Man

‘Thought you’d stopped and taken up pipe puffing,’ Hatchley said, handing over his packet of Senior Service.

‘Not any more. I never could stand the blasted thing.’

Hatchley smiled and gave him a light. ‘Then I suggest, sir,’ he said, ‘that you start buying your own.’

The door of the interview room opened and a pacified Hazel Kirk came out to rejoin her waiting friends, who had all been whispering, wondering what was going on. The policewoman, looking concerned, stood in the doorway and beckoned Banks over.

‘What is it?’ he asked, closing the door behind him.

‘The girl, sir,’ the PC began. ‘Why she was upset. It might mean something.’

‘Well? Go on.’

‘Sorry, sir. She got upset because Sally had told her she thought she knew who the killer was, and when she got home, Hazel told her parents.’ She paused, and Banks drew on his cigarette waiting for her to continue. ‘They just laughed and said Sally Lumb always did have an overactive imagination, but the girl’s father had had a bit of a run-in with Steadman a few weeks ago, and Hazel thought…’

‘Yes, I can imagine what she thought,’ Banks said. For all his virtues, Steadman had certainly been a thorn in the side of some locals. ‘What was it this time?’ he asked. ‘Arguments over land or charges of moral laxity?’

‘Sir?’

‘Sorry, it doesn’t matter,’ Banks said. ‘Go on. What’s the background?’

‘She didn’t say, sir. Wouldn’t. I’m brought in from Wensleydale. Constable Weaver might know something.’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you very much, Constable…?’

‘Smithies, sir.’

‘Thank you very much, Constable Smithies. You did a good job calming her down and getting her to open up like that,’ Banks said, then left her blushing in the interview room.

Weaver was on the phone when Banks reached the desk, but he cut the conversation short.

‘The weather people from Reckston Moor, sir,’ he explained. ‘They say it’d be madness to send out search parties on the moors for at least twenty-four hours.’

‘Bloody northern weather,’ Banks cursed. Hatchley, eavesdropping, grinned and winked at Weaver, who ignored him.

‘They don’t expect the rain to let up for a while, and the land’s boggy. Visibility is as bad as you can get up the valley sides. It’s all moorland above there, sir, both ways, miles of it.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Banks said. ‘And there’s nothing we can do about it, is there? Just make sure everything’s set to go the minute the situation improves. Have you arranged for helicopters?’

‘Yes, sir. Superintendent Gristhorpe’s handling it. But they can’t go out in this weather.’

‘No, of course not. Look, you know that girl who was in here a few minutes ago?’

Weaver nodded. ‘Hazel Kirk. Yes.’

‘Know anything about her father?’

‘Robert Kirk. Family’s been here for generations. Came from Scotland originally.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He works at Noble’s in Eastvale. You know, the big shoe shop in that new shopping centre near the bus station.’

‘I know it. Anything else.’

‘He’s very active in the local church, sir,’ Weaver went on. ‘One or two people think he’s a bit of a religious nutter, if you know what I mean. Touch of the fire and brimstone. Strong Presbyterian streak – his ancestors brought it with them from Scotland, if you ask me. Anyway, he’s always writing letters to the papers about too much sex on television. His latest fad is a campaign to ban rock videos and bring censorship into the music business. There’s not much support for that round here though, sir. Nobody really cares one way or another.’

‘What’s your opinion of him?’

‘Nutty but harmless.’

‘Certain?’

Weaver nodded. ‘Never been in trouble with us, sir. And he is very religious, like. Wouldn’t harm a fly.’

‘Religious people are often the most violent. Aren’t the Iranians religious? Anyway, have a chat with him, would you, and ask him what he argued with Harold Steadman about.’

‘There wasn’t any argument, sir,’ Weaver replied. ‘Kirk complained to the headmaster of Eastvale Comprehensive about letting someone with such lax moral standards as Harold Steadman mix with teenage girls.’

‘What?’

‘It’s true, sir,’ Weaver went on, grinning. ‘He’d seen Steadman with Penny Cartwright now and then, and to Kirk she was nothing less than the whore of Babylon. Remember, he was around when Penny left Helmthorpe in the first place; all those rumours of incest, then the Sodom and Gomorrah of the music business. Steadman would sometimes give Hazel and the other girls a ride home from school, and he’d take them on field trips and invite them to his house. Kirk complained. Nobody took him seriously, of course. I even overheard Steadman and his mates having a good chuckle over the business in the Bridge one night.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Banks asked. There was something in the icy quietness of his tone that sent danger signals to Weaver.

‘I- It didn’t seem important, sir.’

‘Didn’t seem important?’ Banks repeated. ‘We’re investigating a murder, laddie. Do you realize that? Everything’s important. Even if it’s not important it’s important if it has anything to do with the victim and his circle. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Weaver said shakily. ‘Will that be all, sir?’

‘Is that all?’

‘Sir?’

‘Is there anything else you ought to tell me?’

‘No, sir. I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Then that’s all. Come on, Sergeant Hatchley, let’s get back to civilization.’

‘Bit rough on him, weren’t you, sir?’ said Hatchley as they turned up their collars and walked to their cars.

‘It won’t kill him.’

‘Think there’s owt in it, this Kirk business?’

‘No. No more than there was in the major. Unless Kirk’s a serious nutter, and Weaver assures me he isn’t. Like nearly everything else in this case, there’s just too much damn gossip. That’s why it’s hard to tell the lies from the truth. Kirk, Major Cartwright – nothing but gossip. Better run a check on his background though, just to make sure. I suppose he thinks Steadman was trying to corrupt his angelic young Hazel.’

‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ Hatchley said. ‘The jeans these kids wear nowadays… You’d need a bloody shoehorn to get into them.’

Banks laughed. ‘Enough lewd thoughts about teenagers, Sergeant.’

‘Aye,’ Hatchley said. ‘It’s a bloody good job we can’t be arrested for what we think. Look, sir, there’s a tobacconist’s. And it’s open.’

It was late Sunday afternoon before the rain stopped completely, but the first search parties set out at mid-morning. By then it was only drizzling; the clouds had thinned, promising a fine day, and visibility was good. Plenty of locals had been willing to go out on Saturday, despite the weather conditions, but they had been warned against doing so.

The Sunday search was coordinated by Superintendent Gristhorpe, who had marked out areas on Ordnance Survey maps and assigned these to each small party. He directed operations from the communications room in Eastvale Regional Headquarters, and as the reports came in, he shaded the ground that had been covered.

Meanwhile, enquiries continued in the major cities. In addition to their regular duties, police on car and foot patrols in Newcastle, Leeds, London, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and other large cities were also keeping an eye out for the young blonde girl. Theatres, drama companies and acting schools were all checked carefully, and though numerous sightings were called in and followed up, they all proved to be false. Closer to home, Robert Kirk was investigated, questioned and let go. For one thing, he couldn’t drive, and certainly nobody had carried Harold Steadman all the way from Helmthorpe to Crow Scar.