Hanging Valley ib-4

by Peter Robinson

  Mrs Haines cut in. ‘No, that’s not right. That’s not the reason he went.’

  ‘Why did he go, then? Sentimental reasons?’

  ‘Partly, I suppose. But he went to stay with friends.’

  ‘What friends?’

  ‘Sam and Katie. They run a guest house - Greenock’s. Bernie was going to stay with Sam and Katie.’

  Struggling to keep his excitement and surprise to himself, Banks asked how Bernard had got to know Sam and Katie. At first, Mrs Haines seemed unable to concentrate for weeping, but Banks encouraged her gently, and soon she was telling him the whole story, pulling at the handkerchief on her lap as she spoke.

  ‘They knew each other from Armley, from after we came to Leeds. Sam lived there, too. We were neighbours. Bernie was always going on about Swainshead and how wonderful it was, and I think it were him as put the idea into Sam’s head. Anyways, Sam and Katie scrimped and saved and that’s where they ended up.’

  ‘Did Bernie have any other close friends in Swainshead?’

  ‘Not really,’ Esther said. ‘Most of his childhood mates had moved away. There weren’t any jobs for them up there.’

  ‘How did he get on with the Colliers?’

  ‘A bit above our station,’ Esther said. ‘Oh, they’d say hello, but they weren’t friends of his, not as far as I know. You can’t be, can you, not with the sons of the fellow what owns your land?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Banks said. ‘Was there any bitterness over losing the farm?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, no. Sadness, yes, but bitterness? No. It were us own fault. There wasn’t much land fit for anything but sheep, and when the flock took sick…’

  ‘What was Mr Collier’s attitude?’

  ‘Mr Walter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He were right sorry for us. He helped out as much as he could, but it were no use. He were preparing to sell off to John Fletcher anyway. Getting out of farming, he were.’

  ‘How would that have affected you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The sale.’

  ‘Oh. Mr Walter said he’d write it into the terms that we could stay. John Fletcher didn’t mind. He and Dad got on quite well.’

  ‘So there was no ill feeling between your family and John Fletcher or the Colliers?’

  ‘No. Not to speak of. But I didn’t think much of them.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She pulled harder at the handkerchief on her lap, and it began to tear along one edge. ‘I always thought they were a pair of right toffee-nosed gits, but I never said nowt. Stephen thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and that Nicholas is a bit doolally, if you ask me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s like a little kid, gets all overexcited. Especially when he’s had a drink or two. Practically slavers all over a person, he does. Especially women. He even tried it on with me once, but I sent him away with his tail between his legs.’ She shuddered. ‘I don’t know how they put up with him at that there school, unless they’re all a bit that way.’

  ‘What about Stephen?’

  Esther shrugged. ‘Seems a pleasant enough gent on the outside. Bit of a smoothie, really. Got a lot more class than his brother. Bit two-faced, though.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You know. All friendly one minute, then cuts you dead next time he sees you. But they can afford to do that, can’t they?’

  ‘Who can?’

  ‘Rich folks. Don’t have to live like ordinary people, like you and me, do they?’

  ‘I don’t imagine they have the same priorities, no,’ Banks said, unsure whether he approved of being called an ordinary person. ‘Did he try it on too?’

  ‘Mr Stephen? No. Oh, he liked the girls, all right, but he was too much of a gentleman, for all his faults.’

  Mrs Haines seemed to have forgotten her grief for a few moments, so absorbed had she been in the past, but as soon as silence fell, her tears began to flow again and her husband put his arm around her. In the kitchen, something smashed, and the child ran wailing into the room and buried his jammy face in Esther Haines’s lap.

  Banks stood up. ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news.’

  Esther nodded, handkerchief pressed to her mouth, and Mr Haines showed him to the door. ‘What are we to do about… you know…’

  ‘The remains?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘We’ll be in touch soon,’ Banks said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Upstairs, a baby started crying.

  The first thing Banks did was look for a phone box to call Sandra and tell her when he’d be back. That didn’t prove as easy as it sounded. The first three he came across had been vandalized, and he had to drive almost two miles before he found one that worked.

  It was a pleasant drive back to Eastvale through Harrogate and Ripon. In a quiet mood, he slipped in Delius’s North Country Sketches instead of the 1960s pop he’d been listening to. As he drove, he tried to piece together all the information he’d got that day. Whichever way he looked at it, the trail led back to Swainshead, the Greenocks, the Colliers and John Fletcher.

  5

  ONE

  Only the cry of a distant curlew and the sound of water gurgling over rocks in the stream at the back broke the silence.

  Then Sam Greenock echoed the news: ‘Bernie? Dead? I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Banks said. It was the second time in two days that he had been the bearer of bad news, but this time it was easier. The investigation proper had begun, and he had more on his mind than Sam Greenock’s disbelief, real or feigned.

  They sat in the living room at the back of the house: the Greenocks, Banks, and Sergeant Hatchley taking notes. Katie gazed out of the window, or sometimes she stared at the huge ugly wooden cross on the mantelpiece. She had said nothing, given no reaction at all.

  ‘It’s true he was staying with you then, is it?’ Banks asked.

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t his name show up on the register? We went to a lot of trouble checking every place in Swainsdale.’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ Sam said. ‘He was staying with us as a friend. Besides, you know as well as I do that those guest books aren’t legal requirements; they’re only for people to write comments in if they want, show they’ve been here.’

  ‘When our man called and asked if you’d had any Canadians staying recently, why didn’t you mention Bernard Allen?’

  ‘He didn’t ask me anything. He just looked at the register. Besides, I never thought of Bernie as a Canadian. Oh, I know he lived there, but that’s not everything, is it? I’ve known people who lived in Saudi Arabia for a year working on the oil fields but I don’t think of them as Saudis.’

  ‘Come off it, Sam. Bernard Allen had been in Canada for eight years, and you hadn’t seen him for four.

  This was only his third trip back,’ said Banks.

  ‘Still…’

  ‘Did you have any reason to lie about Bernie being here?’

  ‘No. I told you-’

  ‘Because if you did, we can charge you with concealing information. That’s serious, Sam. You could get two years.’

  Sam leaned forward. ‘Look, I never thought. That policeman who came, he didn’t tell us what he was looking for.’

  ‘We can check, you know.’

  ‘Bloody check then. It’s true.’

  Sam couldn’t remember the officer’s name, so Banks asked Hatchley to make a note of the time and date.

  It would be easy enough to find out who had made the visit and what approach he had taken. He still wasn’t sure about Sam Greenock, though.

  Banks sighed. ‘All right. We’ll leave that for now. Which room did he stay in?’

  Sam looked at Katie. She was staring out on the fell side, so he had to nudge her and repeat the question.

  ‘Five,’
she said, as if speaking from a great distance. ‘Room five.’

  ‘We’ll need to have a look,’ Banks told her.

  ‘It was two weeks ago,’ Sam said. ‘There’s been other people in since then. That’s where we took Fellowes after he’d found the body.’

  ‘We’ll still need to look.’

  ‘Do you think he’s hidden some secret message there, Inspector? Taped it to the bottom of the dresser drawer, maybe?’

  ‘You’ve been reading too many espionage novels. And if I were you, I’d cut the bloody sarcasm. You might start me thinking that there’s some reason you don’t want me to look in Bernie Allen’s room. And while we’re at it, he’s not the first person to get killed after leaving this guest house, is he, Sam?’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ said Sam. ‘If you’re trying to imply-’

  Banks held his hand up. ‘I’m not trying to imply anything. What was it the man said: once is happenstance, twice is coincidence? Let’s just hope there’s not a third time.’

  Sam put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Really, I am. It’s the shock. And now all these questions.’

  ‘Look at it from my point of view, Sam. Bernard Allen was killed after he left your guest house. That’s given his killer about two whole weeks to cover his tracks, leave the country, arrange for an alibi, whatever. I need everything I can get, and I need it quickly. And the last thing I need is some clever bugger who just might have been withholding information to start playing the comic.’

  ‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?’

  ‘First of all, you can tell us when he left.’

  ‘About two weeks ago.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘Katie?’

  Again, with great difficulty, Katie turned her attention to the people in the room. Banks repeated his question.

  ‘It was a Friday,’ she said.

  Hatchley checked the dates against his diary. That’d be the seventeenth, sir,’ he said. ‘Friday. May the seventeenth.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Just after breakfast. About nine thirty. He said he wanted to get an early start,’ Sam said.

  ‘Where was he going?’

  ‘He was heading for the Pennine Way, then up to Swaledale.’

  ‘Do you know where he was intending to stay?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No. He just said he’d find somewhere on the way. There are plenty of places; it’s a very popular route.’

  ‘Did he say anything to you about visiting the hanging valley on his way?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t have been surprised, though. He used to play there when he was a kid, or so he said.’

  ‘What did you do after he’d gone?’

  ‘I drove to Eastvale to do some shopping. I always do on a Friday morning.’

  ‘What shops did you go to?’

  ‘What is this? Are you trying to tell me I’m a suspect in the murder of my friend?’

  ‘Just answer the bloody question.’

  ‘All right, Inspector, there’s no-’

  ‘It’s Chief Inspector.’ Banks didn’t usually pull his rank, but Sam Greenock had rubbed him up the wrong way.

  ‘Chief Inspector, then. Where did I go? I went to Carter’s for some seeds, peat moss and fertilizer. Katie’s trying to get a vegetable patch going in the back garden. It’ll save us a bit of money in the long run.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No. But they’ll remember me there. I called in at a newsagent’s for some magazines - that one on King Street opposite the school road.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘I’m a regular there, too.’

  ‘Thanks, that’ll do fine for a start. What kind of car do you drive?’

  ‘A Land Rover. It’s in the garage.’

  ‘And you, Mrs Greenock, what did you do after Bernard Allen left?’

  ‘Me? Housework. What else?’

  Banks turned back to Sam. ‘You met Allen in Leeds about ten years ago, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. In Armley. We lived just off Tong Road and the Allens came to live next door after they gave up the farm. Bernie and I were about the same age, so we palled up.’

  ‘What was he doing then?’

  ‘Just finishing at university. It was only York, so he was home most weekends and holidays. We used to go for a jar or two every Saturday night.’

  ‘How did the family take the move?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘They adapted. At first Mr Allen, Bernie’s dad, went around as if he’d been kicked out of paradise. It must have been very hard for him though, swapping farm work for a crummy factory job. Hard on the pride.’

  ‘Is that what he said?’

  ‘Never in so many words, no. You could just tell. He’s a tough old bird anyway, so they survived.’

  ‘And Bernard?’

  ‘He tried to fit in. But you know what it’s like. He got his degree and all, but he couldn’t get the kind of work he wanted. He lived at home and did all kinds of odd jobs - mushroom picking at Greenhill Nurseries, sweeping factory yards, production line… all dull routine work.’

  ‘Is that when he decided to go to Canada?’

  ‘After a year or so of it, yes. He’d had enough. Someone he knew from university had already gone over and said it wasn’t too hard to get teaching jobs in the colleges. He said they paid well, too.’

  ‘Who was this?’

  ‘His name was Bob Morgan. I think he and Bernie taught at the same place, Toronto Community College.’

  ‘Was Bernie homesick?’

  ‘I suppose so. I mean, you don’t forget your roots, do you? But he stayed. One thing leads to another. He made friends over there, got married, divorced.’

  ‘What was his state of mind while he was staying here?’

  ‘He was fine. Cheerful. Happy to be back.’

  ‘Did he talk about coming home to stay?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘He knew better than that. There aren’t any jobs for him.’

  ‘So he didn’t seem unusually homesick or depressed, and he didn’t say he was planning to come back.’

  ‘No.’

  Banks lit a cigarette and studied Katie’s profile. She was a blank; he had no idea what she was thinking.

  ‘How long have you been in Swainshead?’ he asked Sam.

  ‘Six years.’

  ‘And it’s going well?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Can’t complain. We’re hardly millionaires, but we like the life.’

  ‘And you, Mrs Greenock?’

  Katie turned and focused on him. ‘Yes. It’s better than cleaning rooms at the Queen’s Hotel.’

  ‘Did Bernie have any other friends in the village apart from you?’

  ‘Not really,’ Sam answered. ‘See, most of the kids he grew up with had moved away. A lot do these days.

  They see the good life on telly and soon as they’re old enough there’s no stopping them. Like Denny, Bernie’s older brother. Off to Australia like a shot, he was.’

  ‘Was Bernie friendly with the Colliers?’ Esther Haines had said not, but Banks thought she might have been prejudiced by her own opinions of Nicholas and Stephen.

  ‘Well, I’d hardly say they were friends. Acquaintances, more like. But we had an evening or two in the White Rose together. I think Bernie was always a bit uncomfortable around Stephen and Nick though, them having been his landlords so to speak, the local gentry and all.’

  Banks nodded. ‘Can you think of anyone in the village who might have wanted him out of the way?’

  ‘Bernie? Good Lord, no.’

  ‘He had no enemies?’

  ‘None that I know of. Not here.’

  ‘What about in Leeds?’

  ‘Not there either, as far as I know. Maybe somebody followed him over from Canada, an enemy he’d made there?’

  ‘Mrs Greenock,’ Banks said, turning to Katie again, ‘do you know of anyone with a reason for getting rid of Bernard
Allen?’

  Katie hesitated before answering. ‘No. He was harmless. Just a friendly sort of person. Nobody would want to hurt him.’