‘It must have.’
‘We don’t even know that Anne Ralston’s disappearance was connected with Addison’s killing, for a start.’
‘It’s too much of a coincidence, surely?’ Banks said. ‘A private detective is killed and a local woman disappears on practically the same day. If it happened in London, or even in Eastvale, I’d be inclined to think there was no link, but in a small village like Swainshead…?’
‘Aye,’ said Gristhorpe. ‘Put like that… But we need a lot more to go on. No, not that one; it’s too flat.’
Gristhorpe brushed aside the stone Banks had picked up.
‘Sorry.’ Banks searched the pile for something better. ‘I’m working on the assumption that Anne Ralston knew something about Addison’s murder, right?’
‘Right. I’ll go along with that just for the sake of argument.’
‘If she did know something and disappeared without telling us, it means one of two things: either she was paid off, or she was scared for her own life.’
Gristhorpe nodded. ‘Or she might have been protecting someone,’ he added.
‘But then there’d be no need to run.’
‘Maybe she didn’t trust herself to bear up under pressure. Who knows? Go on.’
‘For five years nobody hears any more of her, then suddenly Bernard Allen turns up and tells Katie Greenock he’s been seeing the Ralston woman in Toronto. The next thing we know, Allen’s dead before he can get back there. Now, Katie said that Bernard had been told not to spread it around about him knowing Anne. Was she protecting him, or herself? Or both? We don’t know. What we do know, though, is that she didn’t want her whereabouts known. Allen tells Katie, anyway, and she tells her husband. I think we can safely assume that Sam Greenock told everyone else. Allen must have become a threat to someone because he’d met up with Anne Ralston, who might have known something about Addison’s murder. Stephen Collier was closely associated with her so he looks like a good suspect, but there’s no reason to concentrate on him alone. It could have been any of them - Fletcher, Nicholas, Sam Greenock, even Katie - they were all in Swainshead at the time both Addison and Allen were killed, and we’ve no idea what or who that private detective was after five years ago.’
‘What about opportunity?’
‘Same thing. Everybody knew the route Allen was taking out of Swainshead. He’d talked all about it in the White Rose the night before. And most of them also knew how attached he was to that valley. The killer could easily have hidden among the trees up there and watched for him.’
‘All right,’ Gristhorpe said, placing a through-stone. ‘But what about their alibis?’
‘We’ve only got Fletcher’s word that he was at home. He could have got to the valley from the north without anyone knowing. He lives alone on the fell side and there are no other houses nearby. As for the Colliers, Stephen says he was at the office and Nicholas was at school. We haven’t checked yet, but if Nicholas wasn’t actually teaching a class and Stephen wasn’t in a meeting, either of them could have slipped out for a while, or turned up later. It would have been easy for Nicholas, again approaching from the north, and Stephen could have got up from half a mile past Rawley Force. It’s not much of a climb, and there’s plenty of cover to hide the car off the Helmthorpe road. I had a look on my way over here.’
‘The Greenocks?’
‘Sam could have got there from the road too. He went to Eastvale for supplies, but the shopkeepers can’t say exactly what time he got there. Carter’s doesn’t open till nine, anyway, and the chap in the newsagent’s says Sam usually drops in at about eleven. That gives him plenty of time. He might have had another motive, too.’
Gristhorpe raised his bushy eyebrows.
‘The woman denies it, but I got a strong impression that something went on between Katie Greenock and Bernard Allen.’
‘And you think if Sam got wind of it…?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about Mrs Greenock?’
‘She says she was at home cleaning, but all the guests would have gone out by then. Nobody could confirm that she stayed in.’
‘Have you checked the Colliers’ stories?’
‘Sergeant Hatchley’s doing it tomorrow morning. There’s no one at the factory on a Sunday.’
‘Well, maybe we’ll be a bit clearer when we get all that sorted out.’
‘I’m going back to Swainshead for another night. I’ll want to talk to Stephen Collier again, for one.’
Gristhorpe nodded. ‘Take it easy though, Alan. I’ve already had an earful from the DCC about your last visit.’
‘He didn’t waste any time, did he? Anyway, I could do with a bit of information on the Addison case and the Ralston woman’s disappearance. How did the alibis check out?’
Gristhorpe put down the stone he was weighing in his hand and frowned. Banks lit a cigarette - at least smoking was allowed in the open, if not in the house. He looked at the sky and noticed it had clouded over very quickly. He could sniff rain in the air.
‘Everyone said they were at home. We couldn’t prove otherwise. It was a cold dark February evening. We pushed Stephen Collier as hard as we dared, but he had a perfect alibi for the day of the girl’s disappearance: he was in Carlisle at a business meeting.’
‘Was Walter Collier around in those days?’
‘No. He was dead by then.’
‘What was he like?’
‘He was quite an impressive man. Complex. He had a lot of power and influence in the dale, some of which has carried over to the sons, as you’ve already found out. Now, you know how I feel about privilege and such, but you had to respect Walter; he never really abused his position. He was proud, especially of the family and its achievements, but he managed to be kind and considerate without being condescending.
He was also a regular churchgoer, a religious man, but he liked the ladies and he could drink most villagers under the table. Don’t ask me how he managed to square that with himself. It’s rare for a Dales farmer, especially one from a family as long-established as the Colliers, to sell up. But Walter was a man of vision.
He saw what things were coming to, so he shifted his interests to food processing and encouraged his sons to get good educations rather than strong muscles.’
‘What was he like as a father?’
‘I’d imagine he was a bit of a tyrant,’ Gristhorpe answered, ‘though I can’t say for certain. Used to being obeyed, getting his own way. They probably felt the back of his hand more than once.’
Banks held out his palm and felt the first, hesitant drops of rain. ‘When Anne Ralston disappeared,’ he asked, ‘were there no signs at all of what might have happened to her?’
‘Nothing. There were a few clothes missing, that’s all.’
‘What about money, bank accounts?’
‘She didn’t have one. She got a wage packet every two weeks from Collier Foods. What she did with the cash, I’ve no idea. Maybe she hid it under the mattress.’
‘But you didn’t find any in the cottage?’
‘Not a brass farthing.’
‘So she could have packed a few things, a bit of money, and simply run off?’
‘Yes. We never found out what happened to her, until now.’ Gristhorpe stood up and scowled at the grey sky. A flock of rooks wheeled above the valley side. ‘Better go inside.’
As they walked round to the side door, they saw Sandra and the children come hurrying up the drive with their coats thrown over their heads. Banks waved to them.
‘It would be very interesting to have a chat with Anne Ralston, wouldn’t it?’ he said.
Gristhorpe looked at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘Aye, it would. But I’m not sure the department would be able to justify the expense.’
‘Still…’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Gristhorpe said. Then Sandra, Brian and Tracy came racing into the house.
7
ONE
Katie finished her cleaning in a daz
e when Banks had gone, and she was so distracted she almost forgot to put the roast in on time. The Greenock Guest House always served a traditional Yorkshire Sunday dinner, both for guests and non-residents, at two o’clock. It was Sam’s idea. Thank God he was in the pub, his usual Sunday lunch-time haunt, Katie thought. He’d be bending elbows with the wonderful Colliers.
Perhaps Sam needn’t know what the policeman had made her tell. But the inspector would be sure to question him, she knew, and he would find out; he was bound to accuse her of betraying him.
With a start, she realized she was in room five, where the talk had taken place on the second morning of Bernie’s stay. But it wasn’t his words she thought of now. The rush of images almost overwhelmed her at first, but she forced herself to re-examine what had happened. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a sin, after all?
Of course it was, she told herself; it was a double sin, for she was a married woman. But it had happened, she couldn’t deny that. The first time in all her married life.
That morning she had been cleaning the rooms as usual, when Bernie had come back to put on his walking boots. The sky had brightened, he said, and he had decided to go for a good long walk after all. They’d talked for as much time as she dared take off from her chores, then he had sat on the bed while she washed the windows. All the time she had been aware of him watching her. Finally, when she felt his arms around her waist, she told him no. She had her back to him and he bent to kiss her neck where the wisps of blonde hair were swept up and tied while she worked. She struggled, but he held her tightly and his hands found her breasts. She dropped the chamois and it fell in the bucket and splashed water on the carpet.
Why did she let him? She had always liked him, but why this? Why let him do what she hated most? She thought perhaps it was because he offered her a chance to escape, and that this was the price she would have to pay. He was gentler than Sam. His mouth moved over her shoulder and his hands slid down along her stomach and over her thighs. She didn’t have the heart or the courage to put up a fight; men were so strong. Surely, she thought, it could do no harm as long as she didn’t feel pleasure. She couldn’t tell Sam.
That would mean she’d have to lie, too. She would have to wash her mouth out with soap.
Then he said he loved her, that he’d always wanted her, as his hands unfastened her skirt. She struggled again, but less violently this time, and he backed her towards the bed. There, he finished undressing her.
She was trembling, but so was he; even body language speaks ambiguously at times. She held on to the bedposts tightly as he bore down on her, and she knew he thought her groans were sounds of pleasure.
Why did men want her like this? Why did they want to do these things to her?
He kissed her breasts and said he would take her back to Canada with him, and suddenly that seemed like the answer. She wanted to get away, she needed to. Swainshead and Sam were stifling her.
So she didn’t struggle any more. Bernard talked of the vast prairie skies and of lakes as boundless as oceans as his hands caressed her still body. Yes, he would take her with him, he said; he had always wanted her. Urgently, he drew himself along the length of her body and entered her. She bit her tongue in loathing and self-disgust, and he looked into her eyes and smiled as she made little strangled cries that must have sounded like pleasure.
After, as they dressed, Katie had tried to hide the shame of her nakedness from his gaze. He had laughed and told her he found her modesty very appealing. She said he’d better go, that Sam would be back, and he reminded her about Canada.
‘I’ll send for you when I get back,’ he promised. ‘I’ll find a place for us and I’ll send for you. Anne’s there, too. She wanted to get away, just like you. She’s happy now.’
‘Yes,’ she had said, anxious to get rid of him. ‘I’ll come with you.’ Then he had kissed her and left the room.
After that morning, they had hardly spoken to one another - mostly because Sam had been around or Katie had contrived to avoid Bernie - but he kept giving her meaningful glances whenever nobody was looking.
She believed him. He would send for her.
Not any more. All for nothing. All gone. All she had left was the guilt. ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap,’ her granny had always said. She had behaved wantonly, like that time she had swayed to the distant music. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t enjoyed it; now everything was a mess, Bernie was dead, and the police were all over the place. She was reaping what she had sown.
TWO
Stephen Collier was sitting in his spacious living room reading a thick leather-bound report when Banks and Hatchley called that evening. The French windows were open on to the patio and lawn, and the fountain played against a backdrop of drystone-walled fell side. A brief heavy shower had cleansed the landscape and in the gentle evening light the grass was lush and green, the limestone outcrops bright as marble.
Stephen seemed surprised and annoyed at a second visit from the police so close on the heels of the first, but he quickly regained his composure and offered drinks.
‘I’ll have a Scotch, please,’ Banks said.
‘Sergeant Hatchley?’
‘Don’t mind if I do, sir.’ Hatchley glanced towards Banks, who nodded his permission. After all, he had spoiled the sergeant’s weekend. Hatchley took out his notebook and settled in a corner with his drink.
‘What can I do for you this time?’ Stephen asked. ‘Do you want to see my brother, too?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Banks said. ‘I want to talk to you about Anne Ralston.’
Collier frowned. ‘Anne Ralston? What about her? That was years ago.’
‘I’d like to know what happened.’
‘Aren’t I entitled to know why?’
‘Will you just bear with me for a while?’
‘Very well.’
‘As far as I know,’ Banks began, ‘she disappeared the day after the private detective, Raymond Addison, was killed. Am I right?’
‘I wouldn’t know when he was killed,’ Stephen said. ‘Though I do remember Superintendent Gristhorpe saying something about a post-mortem report.’
‘But it was around that time she disappeared?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she was an employee of Collier Foods?’
‘Yes. Your superintendent already knows all this. Please get to the point, Chief Inspector.’ He tapped the book on his lap. ‘I have an important report to study for a meeting in the morning.’
‘I won’t keep you long, sir,’ Banks said, ‘if you’ll just answer my questions. Were you going out with Anne Ralston at the time of her disappearance?’
‘Yes. You know I was. But I don’t see-’
Banks held up his hand. ‘Let me finish, please. Can you think of any reason why she should disappear?’
‘None.’
‘What do you think happened to her?’
Collier walked over to the cocktail cabinet and refilled his glass. He offered Banks and Hatchley cigarettes from a box on the glass-topped coffee table.
‘I thought she might have gone off to see the world,’ he answered. ‘It was something she’d often talked about.’
‘Didn’t it worry you?’
‘Didn’t what worry me?’
‘Her disappearance.’
‘I must admit, in some of my darker moments I thought something might have happened to her - a wandering psychopath or something - especially with the Addison business. But I decided it wasn’t so out of character for Anne to just up and go.’
‘Weren’t you bothered that she never got in touch with you? Or did she?’
Collier smiled. ‘No, Chief Inspector, she didn’t. And, yes, it was a bit of a blow to the ego at first. But I got used to it. It wasn’t as if we were engaged or living together.’
‘I noticed you mentioned a moment ago that you linked her disappearance with the Addison killing - a wandering psychopath. Did it occur to you to link the two events in any other way?’
<
br /> ‘What do you mean?’
‘Could Anne Ralston have had something to do with Addison’s visit to Swainshead? He was a private detective, after all.’
‘Yes, I know. But nobody here had any idea why he was in the area. If it was anything to do with Anne, she certainly kept quiet about it. Maybe he was just on holiday. I’m sure private eyes have holidays too.’
‘Would she have been likely to tell you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t imagine she told me everything about her life. Ours was a casual relationship. I’d never have expected her to bare her soul.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t more serious on her part?’
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