Peter Robinson: Bad Boy

“How did you feel about that?”

“I was frightened,” said Tracy. “I mean, I thought he was nice, but suddenly he seemed so angry, so unpredictable. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I was only the messenger.”

“What happened next?”

“He grabbed me and said we had to get out of there.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

“So you were already a hostage, right from the start?”

“I suppose so. I don’t know what he was thinking. All I know is that he needed a place to go and he was taking me with him.”

“How did you end up at my cottage?”

Tracy turned away. “He…he made me take him there. He said he’d got nowhere to go, and he needed to be somewhere nobody could find him for a while, till things got sorted out. He asked me if I knew anywhere. I was really scared. It was all I could think of. I thought he might hurt me if I said I didn’t know anywhere.”

“Did you feel that you were free to leave him at this time?”

“No. I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I mean, I wasn’t tied up or anything, but he had hold of my arm, and he was hurting me. I thought of your cottage. I knew you were on holiday. I’m so sorry. I…Look, I’m confused. You’re interrogating me just like one of your suspects. I don’t know why it all happened the way it did. I look back and it all seems like a blur, a terrible nightmare. All I know is that I’m the victim here.”

“Calm down, Tracy,” Banks said. “I know this is difficult for you.” Tracy wiped her eyes and sipped more wine. One or two people were looking over, but Banks ignored them. The machines were still making enough noise to drown out their conversation, and “Be My Baby” was playing. Banks kept his voice down, all the same. “I’m not interrogating you,” he said, “but I have to ask these questions. Okay?”

Tracy nodded. “Okay.”

“On the way out of Leeds, Jaff stopped at Victor Mallory’s house. Why?”

“To change cars. Jaff was worried that the police might be looking for him in his own car.”

“So you knew about the gun by then, right?”

“No. He didn’t tell me about that until we got to your cottage, otherwise I might have been more concerned about getting away. He just seemed in a desperate hurry to leave Leeds. I thought maybe…you know…he was worried about getting busted for drugs.”

“You said you didn’t know he was a dealer.”

“I knew he had stuff from time to time. Just not a dealer like you mean.”

“Why didn’t he head straight for London?”

“Because he said he needed to make some phone calls, set up some deals. I didn’t know what he meant at the time, what he was talking about, but now I think he meant about selling the coke-there was a lot of it-and getting a phony passport and all that. He said it would take time, and he needed to lie low. He was on his mobile a lot.”

“But you didn’t know why was he running?”

“Not at that time. Not when we stopped at Victor’s, no.”

“Did you go inside Victor Mallory’s house with him?”

“No. Jaff told me to wait in the car.”

“Were you restrained in any way?”

“No.”

“So you could have simply got out and walked away at this point?”

“I suppose so. I wish I had, now. But I was confused. He told me to wait. He needed me to direct him to your cottage. He didn’t know the countryside. He’d never even heard of Gratly. But if I’d known what…I’d have got out and run as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” said Banks. “I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I’m just trying to get things clear, that’s all. How long was he in there?”

“I don’t know. Five or ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

“Do you know Victor?”

Tracy shrugged. “I’d met him a couple of times at the clubs. He seemed okay.”

“What happened next?”

“We switched cars and drove to Gratly. I’m sorry, Dad, sorry for leading him to the cottage. I really didn’t know what he was like, what he would do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your CD collection. You mean you don’t know?”

“I haven’t been allowed home yet. The SOCOs have just about finished, and Superintendent Gervaise says she’ll arrange to send in a clean up team after them, then I can go back. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

“He made a bit of a mess, that’s all, chucking CDs around, breaking some of the jewel cases, spilling drinks.”

“Don’t worry. That’s not your fault. How did you find out about the gun Erin took?”

“We saw the news. They didn’t mention it specifically, but someone said they’d seen the police bring out a gun-shaped object wrapped in a tea cloth. He knew that’s what it was, that it had been missing from his bedroom and Erin must have taken it to get at him. That’s when he first told me what was going on.”

“Did he tell you why he was so upset about the police having it?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just asked him why he needed a gun, and why Erin had taken it. He said that now I knew about it, I should see that he couldn’t let me go, that I had to stay with him to the bitter end.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. Please, Dad. You’re interrogating me again. Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course I do,” said Banks, though he was starting to have some misgivings about Tracy’s version of events. “And I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I just want to get it all clear in my mind.”

“It’s not even clear in my mind.”

Banks sipped some Black Sheep. “I understand that. That’s the reason for the questions. They’re supposed to focus you, not make you feel as if you’re being interrogated.”

“I’m sorry.” Tracy twirled her glass. “He opened your wine. Drank some of the really good stuff. And your whiskey.”

“That’s all right,” Banks said, wondering just what sort of a mess McCready had made, and what he would find missing when he got home. “Telstar” started playing. It took Banks right back to when he was about twelve and used to listen to Alan Freeman’s Pick of the Pops every Sunday afternoon on a transistor in the park with his friends, looking at the girls who walked by, so pretty in their Sunday summer dresses, blushing and flirting. Graham Marshall always used to be with them, until he disappeared one Sunday morning during his paper round. Years later, Banks had helped to uncover what had happened to him. Graham’s face flashed before his mind’s eye as the music played. They had all liked that weird organ sound on “Telstar.”

Tracy lowered her voice and leaned forward. “And he had drugs. Some pot. Cocaine. A lot of it, in big plastic bags. Kilos. But he filled a little plastic bag for his own use. He was taking it all the time. He was crazy.”

“Yes. Our men found it in his hold-all along with about fifty thousand pounds. Know where that came from?”

“No. He had it from the start, I think, from his flat. At least he had the hold-all, and it seemed heavy. I didn’t take any of the coke. Honest, I didn’t, Dad.”

“It’s all right. I believe you. So he drank some wine, drank some whiskey, smoked some marijuana, snorted some coke. A right old knees-up, by the sound of it. Where were you while all this was going on?”

“Just sitting there watching. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He was much bigger and stronger than me.”

“I understand that. Did he…?”

“Rape me?” Tracy looked directly into Banks’s eyes and nodded. “Yes. He did. Later. When he found out who I was. He took me upstairs, to your room. I tried to fight, tried to resist him, but it was no good. He was so much stronger. He threw me down on the bed and-”