Peter Robinson - Many Rivers to Cross

Banks gave Annie a slightly annoyed glance, hoping to indicate that she was getting Myers’s back up too much too soon. True, he seemed a puffed-up, self-important pillock, and he did look a lot like Nigel Farage, but there were ways of treating such people in an interview. Still, Annie had been angry and sarcastic a lot lately. Banks wondered if it had anything to do with Ray and Zelda. Best leave that for the moment, he decided.

‘It’s about Sunday night,’ he said. ‘The night of the murder.’

‘But I went over that with—’

‘Yes, I know you told DC Masterson all you knew, but sometimes we find it’s useful to go over old ground with fresh eyes, so to speak. As you may know, we’ve been working in the park at the bottom of Elmet Hill for the past couple of days.’

‘A neighbour told me,’ Myers said. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

‘I was wondering if you knew that the place was a hangout for marijuana smokers, casual sexual liaisons and other such things?’

‘What? The park? That’s ridiculous. It’s not anyone from around here, I can assure you.’

‘Who else, then?’

‘Hollyfield.’

‘Come on, there’s hardly anyone left there, Mr Myers. No, I think your days of blaming every local evil on the Hollyfield Estate are just about over, especially now that Howard Stokes is dead.’

‘What are you suggesting? That’s the old man who was found dead over there of a heroin overdose, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Howard Stokes. He lived on Hollyfield Lane for many years. Lived a perfectly normal life.’

‘You can’t tell me that’s a normal life. A drug addict. Not unless you’re a bloody Guardian reader and you think everything most decent folk view as abnormal is normal, and vice versa.’

‘As it happens, I do read the Guardian , Mr Myers, but that’s by the by. A Mail man, yourself, are you?’

‘Telegraph,’ Myers grunted.

‘Admirable. The thinking man’s Mail . Anyway, what concerns me now is the extent of the after-hours activity in the park and what you, as head of the local Neighbourhood Watch, might be able to tell me about it.’

‘I told you, I know nothing about it. You surely don’t think I’ve been down there smoking marijuana, do you?’

Banks laughed. ‘I very much doubt it. But it strikes me that you might have known what the park was being used for, and you and your colleagues might have made the occasional sweep of the area, just to discourage it. Your son, Chris, for example, was reprimanded for drugs just last year.’

‘Nothing came of that,’ said Myers. ‘Chris was completely exonerated. He had no drugs in his possession whatsoever.’

‘No, but he was in a place where drugs were being consumed.’

‘No charges were brought. You’ve no right to bring that up. Chris has no criminal record. All mention of what happened should be expunged from your records.’

Banks thanked his lucky stars for the old incident sheets and glanced at Annie. ‘Let’s move on, then,’ he said. ‘You are in charge of the Neighbourhood Watch, so it can hardly be unusual to assume that you have some idea of what’s going on in the neighbourhood, can it? I’m simply asking for the benefit of your expertise. Doesn’t that seem reasonable?’

‘On the surface of it, naturally it does,’ Myers blustered. ‘But in reality, I’m sure you know as well I do that our brief stops at Cardigan Drive. We don’t police Hollyfield.’

‘Nobody does,’ said Banks.

‘Well, you know what they say. Physician, heal thyself.’

Banks sighed. ‘If only it were that easy. We don’t have the resources. That’s why we rely on people like you to help us. People who have some sense of pride in their neighbourhoods, people who value the safety and security of their families and neighbours. We know we’re falling way short.’

Myers seemed to puff himself up. ‘Well... er... as you put it like that, yes, we are certainly aware of the constrictions the police work under, and we’re more than happy to help. After all, it means we’re helping ourselves, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ said Banks. ‘Glad you see it that way.’

‘But it doesn’t alter the fact that I’m still afraid I don’t know anything. We never did patrol Hollyfield, and these days there seems even less point, as there’s hardly anyone left living there.’

‘But did you or any of your fellow watchers patrol the park that Sunday night? Did you see Samir suddenly appear there, and in the confusion of the moment, stab him?’

‘That’s absurd!’ said Myers. ‘Now you’re accusing me of murder.’ He got up. ‘I want my solicitor. Immediately.’

‘Calm down, Mr Myers,’ said Banks. ‘Keep your hair on. I’m merely asking you a question: did you or any of your colleagues kill Samir Boulad?’

Myers eased himself back into his chair. ‘Then the answer’s obvious. No. But I suppose that’s what you’d expect me to say, whether I’m guilty or innocent. And I can assure you that I’m innocent.’

Banks shrugged. ‘I’ve known plenty of murderers who like to confess.’

‘I am not a murderer. And for your information, there was no one patrolling the park that night.’

‘Are you certain about that?’

‘Of course I am.’

At that moment a tall, athletic boy with golden curls flopping over his pasty face came through the back gate; he stopped dead when he saw his father sitting with two strangers. Myers looked as if this new presence was the last thing he wanted.

‘Uh, sorry,’ said the boy, making to sidle past them and go into the kitchen.

Banks stood up. ‘You must be Christopher Myers?’

Chris shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. ‘Uh, yeah, that’s right.’

Banks introduced himself and Annie. ‘Why don’t you join us for a minute?’ he said. ‘There’s a free chair.’

‘Er, I think I’d better... you know...’

‘Please, sit down,’ said Banks, a steelier edge to his voice. ‘This won’t take long.’

Chris eased himself on to the chair, which was far too small for him. He stretched his long legs out to one side.

‘We were just talking about the park,’ Banks went on. ‘You might have noticed some activity down there today?’

‘Yeah. I wondered what was going on.’

‘We’ve got new information,’ said Banks. ‘We’ve got the CSIs and forensic officers going through the place with fine-tooth combs.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Ever been down there, Christopher?’

‘Chris. Everyone calls me Chris. The park? Well, sure. I mean, I grew up here. We used to go and play on the swings and stuff.’

‘I mean more recently.’

‘I’ve passed through it, you know, but it’s not somewhere I’d hang out.’

‘Why’s that?’

Chris shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just isn’t, that’s all.’

‘Do you pass through it on your way to number twenty-six Hollyfield Lane to buy your drugs?’

‘My what?’

‘Don’t listen to him, son,’ said Myers.

‘Are you sure you don’t sneak down to the park for the occasional spliff?’

‘Mr Banks!’ It was Granville Myers again, half-standing. ‘That’s a bit much, isn’t it? First you accuse me, and now you accuse my son.’

‘I wasn’t aware I was accusing him of anything except smoking an occasional joint,’ said Banks. ‘That’s illegal, but we tend to overlook it most of the time.’

‘You’re insinuating that Chris was in the park on Sunday. That he killed this Arab boy.’

Chris looked confused. ‘What’s going on, Dad?’ he asked. ‘Who’s accusing who of what?’

‘Were you?’ Banks asked. ‘In the park when Samir was killed?’