Peter Robinson - A Dedicated Man

‘We might be able to answer that last one soon,’ Gristhorpe said. ‘I’ve got men following the becks all the way up the hillside looking for physical evidence. There’ll be some kind of grisly map of her progress.’

‘That’s scotched work for today,’ Jack Barker punned weakly as he accepted his third refill from Penny. It was over two hours since they had seen the wreckage of Sally Lumb tumble down the valley side. Penny had stopped after her second drink, but Barker was still at it.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t,’ Penny warned him.

‘It’s already too late. Thanks for your concern, though.’

When Penny looked down at Barker, she felt the stirring of something like love. Whatever it was, the feeling disoriented her and she was angry with herself for not knowing what to do. Though it had felt good at first when they had come back to the cottage and he had held her, she hated the feelings of weakness that came with it. She knew that her feelings for him were not platonic, but instead of reaching out, she drew in and strengthened her shell.

Barker seemed to sense something of her chaotic emotions, she thought, when he reached out again for her hand, which she allowed him to hold lightly.

‘I suppose I always did have a weak stomach,’ he said. ‘Pathetic really, isn’t it? Here I am writing about blood and guts for a living and as soon as I see…’ His words trailed off and he started to shake. He put his glass on the table, spilling some Scotch as he did so. Then Penny sat beside him and held him. It seemed ages to her before either of them moved, and each would have said the other broke away first.

‘You should get some sleep, Jack,’ Penny said softly.

‘What the hell’s going on, Penny?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening to this place?’

‘I don’t know,’ Penny answered, stroking his hair. ‘At least, I. ..’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Or maybe nothing. I don’t know. But it’s got to stop.’

‘Under a packhorse bridge,’ Banks said. ‘That’s what the super told me. On the south slope.’

‘What does that mean?’ Sandra asked. They were having an early evening drink in the Queen’s Arms. Sandra had just finished shopping, and Banks had suggested that, as they had seen so little of one another the past few days, they meet for a chat. Brian and Tracy were old enough to manage on their own for an hour or two.

‘It means he was wrong about where to look first, and he’s kicking himself for that.’

‘But he couldn’t have known,’ Sandra said. ‘It made perfect sense to look on the north side first.’

‘That’s what everyone says, but you know what he’s like.’

‘Yes. Just like you. Stubborn. Takes it all on himself.’

‘He’ll get over it,’ Banks said. ‘Anyway, they found clothes fibres on the stones under this bridge. She must have been hidden there and covered with stones. Then when the heavy rains came, some of the stones were washed aside and she was carried down the valley. They’ve not found any traces above the bridge, and it looked like an ideal place – isolated but accessible by car, just.’

‘Does it help, finding the body?’

‘Not really. Not the state it’s in. And too much time has gone by. We’ll ask around of course – anybody heading that way, or back – but we can’t expect too much. Whoever we’re dealing with is smart, and he’s not likely to make silly mistakes.’

‘This probably had to be done in a hurry, though,’ Sandra reminded him. ‘There wouldn’t have been much time for planning.’

‘Still, it’s not going to be easy.’

‘Is it ever?’

Banks shrugged and lit a cigarette.

‘By the way,’ Sandra said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to say so before now, but I’m glad you got rid of that bloody pipe.’

‘It didn’t suit me.’

‘No.’

‘Too Country Life?’

Sandra laughed. ‘Yes, I’d say so. You’d not fool many, though. Least of all yourself.’

‘There’s not many would say they’re glad to see a person smoke, either,’ Banks said, holding out the pack while Sandra, an occasional smoker, helped herself. ‘But I do intend to cut down and stick to these mild things.’

‘Promises!’

‘The girl, you know,’ Banks said after a brief pause, ‘was a virgin as far as forensic could make out. Hadn’t been shot, stabbed, poisoned or sexually assaulted. Virgin.’

‘I wonder if that’s a good thing,’ Sandra asked.

‘What? That she hadn’t been assaulted?’

‘No. That she died a virgin.’

‘It won’t make any difference to her now, poor beggar,’ said Banks. ‘And I doubt it’s the kind of thing they inscribe on tombstones. But at least we can be sure she wasn’t tormented or tortured. She probably died very quickly, without even knowing what was happening.’

‘Are you going to get the killer soon, Alan?’ Sandra asked, swirling the smooth fragments of ice in the bottom of her glass. ‘And don’t treat me like a reporter. Be honest.’

‘I’d like to say yes, but we’ve got so damn little to go on. We can trace the girl’s movements until about nine o’clock Friday evening, and that’s it.’

‘While we were at the folk club?’

‘Yes.’

Sandra shivered. ‘We were so close.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘It’s just a funny feeling, that’s all. What about the writer and the singer?’

‘She could be protecting him, or they could be working together. It’s hard to know what to believe when things are clouded by so much gossip. The others all go back so far, too. Lord knows what complex webs of feelings they’ve set up between one another over the years. It seems to me that in a place like Helmthorpe emotions go deeper and last longer than in a big city.’

‘Nonsense. Think about all those feuds and gang rivalries in London.’

‘That’s business, in a way. I mean the ordinary things between people.’

‘Who had the best motive?’ Sandra asked.

‘The one with the least opportunity.’ Banks smiled at the irony. ‘That’s if you call a lot of money a good motive. There could also be all kinds of jealousies involved. That’s why I can’t leave Barker and Penny Cartwright out of it altogether.’

‘The wife inherits?’

‘Yes.’

‘She came in for some bridge work yesterday.’

‘What did you think of her?’

‘I didn’t see much of her, really. Only when she came to the window to confirm her appointment. She seemed quite an attractive woman.’

‘She didn’t look much to me.’

‘That’s typical of a man,’ Sandra said. ‘All you can see is the surface.’

‘But you must admit she’s let herself go.’

‘It looks like it, yes,’ Sandra said slowly. ‘But I don’t think so. It’s all there. She’s fine under all those awful clothes. Her bone structure’s good, too. Of course, if you’d known her before or not seen her for a long time, she’d definitely look as if she’d gone downhill, I suppose.’

‘A pretty young thing.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Banks said. ‘Just remembering something. Go on.’

‘All I’m saying is the potential’s there for her to be an attractive woman. She can’t be much older than me.’

‘Late thirties.’

‘Well, then. She must only look plain because she wants to, because it doesn’t matter to her. Not all women are obsessed with their looks, you know. Perhaps there are other things more important to her.’

‘Perhaps. What you’re saying,’ Banks went on slowly, ‘is that with the right hairstyle, good clothes and a little make-up…’

‘She could be quite a stunner, yes.’